“So I went with him to try to reassure him, and it was just more of the same, hot and cold, amazing sex and then hours of stony silence, not answering my texts, no explanation when he returned to the hotel. By the time I got home, I was raw and sad and confused. Then I had my meeting with Christopher and he was just . . . my brother, you know? This good, safe, kind guy. The contrast couldn’t be more pronounced, and I fell apart. Because I realized, what Jean-Claude had been doing, it was such . . .” She scrunches her eyes shut. “Such bullshit, that I believed and felt guilty for. That I did not deserve.”

“No,” I whisper. “You didn’t. But it’s done now. And you’ll heal.”

Tears streak down her cheeks. “How?”

“One day at a time. Therapy. Quiet nights in with your people. Mom’s home-cooked meals.”

A sob jumps out of her. “It feels like it’ll never be better. Like I’ll always hurt like this.”

“It gets better, JuJu. I promise.”

“How long?” she says through tears, burying her head in my neck. “How long?”

I wrap my arms around her and kiss her hair, dread seeping into my heart. New tears—tears for me and Jamie, for what I know we have to give up—prick my eyes. “As long as it takes.”

· THIRTY-SIX ·

Jamie

I let myself into Bea and her sister’s apartment hours later, careful to shut the door quietly. I imagine after such a terrible, exhausting evening, Juliet’s asleep.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I spot Bea on the couch, her back to me. When she turns and faces my way, my stomach drops. She’s crying.

“Bea.” I close the distance between us as she springs off the couch and throws herself into my arms. A wave of relief rushes through me. If she’s leaning into me, everything’s all right. It has to be.

“Juliet’s safe from him,” I tell her. “So is Christopher. His lawyer is working on a restraining order, and I’ve texted Jean-Claude, told him he has forty-eight hours to get out of my place.”

Bea nods, then whispers, “Thank you, Jamie.”

I kiss the crown of her head. “How is Juliet?”

“Awful.”

I hug her hard, swaying her gently, because I know it soothes her. “What can I do?”

“Kill him,” she growls.

“If only pistols at dawn weren’t a thing of the past and I hadn’t pledged the Hippocratic oath.”

Her voice grows hard. “I hate him. I hate him for hurting her.” She wipes her tears from her cheeks angrily. “I know my sister’s not perfect. I know she overstepped in what she did to bring us together. But he hurt her. He hurt her and Christopher, and they’re my family, Jamie. And now we have to pick up the pieces. I wish she’d never met him.”