I fold my hands together, as if in prayer, hoping he gets that I’m pleading, and that he’ll show mercy.

He parts his cracked lips once more. “Here’s a rough estimate,” he says, fixing on a simpering smile. “A few weeks.”

He shoves a copy of the papers at us, rings the silver bell at his stand, and calls out “next.”

We walk along the hallway of the courthouse, heading to the exit. “Hey. Want to tell me what that was all about?” Natalie asks.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I mumble, “Just want this whole damn thing over.”

“Well, yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “That’s obvious.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t feel the same,” I spit out as we reach the exit.

I push open the door, holding it for her. Manners still matter even when everything else falls apart.

She walks into the bright sunlight of the Vegas afternoon, placing her hand above her eyes to shield them. “You wanted it,” she says coldly. “You wanted this.”

I frown. “What?”

“You made it clear from the start how much you wanted this, Wyatt,” she says, and now her tone is exasperated. With me. She tosses up her hands. “I thought you’d be happy. I thought this is what you wanted. Why aren’t you happy?”

“You think I should be happy?” I toss back at her, frustration bubbling up, rising to the surface. I’m waiting for her to strike. I need to be ready for her ambush.

“I thought we were going to date?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” There’s way more vitriol in my tone than I intend.

She backs away from me. Holds up both palms in a clear “don’t touch me.” Stares at me as if I’m someone she doesn’t even know.

Her blue eyes study me before she speaks. In them I see horror reflected at me. She’s horrified at me. “Why are you being so awful?” Her voice breaks. “I did this because you wanted it. You made me pro—”

Then she clasps her hand to her lips.

Her words tickle something in the back of my mind. Faint words, and I strain to hear them. Bits and pieces play in my head, and they feel like mine. Like things I said to her the night we married. As a song played. Our song.

Promise me, promise me, promise me.

What the hell did I ask her to do?

And now it’s my turn to search her face. Her lip quivers, and her eyes are wet, as if she’s holding back tears. That ache I felt for days returns, burrows into me, as if the animal that carved that hole is trying to tell me something. That maybe Natalie’s not the cause of my doubt. Perhaps she’s the end of it.

Rubbing a hand over my neck, I try to figure out what this moment means. And more importantly, what I believe to be true. Seeing her earnest eyes and her honest face, I don’t know how she could possibly be planning to screw me over. I don’t know how she could be stabbing me in the back. This woman—she’s not like that.

Call it a gut instinct.

Call it a feeling.

It’s true.

The question now is can I listen to it? If I was burned before, does that mean I’ll be burned again?

A reel of images flickers in my mind—all our times together, right down to that moo on the plane. Even though that damning voice mail message made me want to run, my heart is telling me I’ve gotten it all wrong. My heart is telling me to stay.

Just because I don’t trust easily doesn’t mean I shouldn’t believe this woman. If there’s anyone I should trust, it’s Natalie. And if I don’t try to fix this now, I’ll lose her. That’s a chance I can’t take, proof or not.

I go out on a limb.

“Nat, I’m sorry,” I say softly, reaching for her. “I’m just a mess right now. But I’m crazy about you, and I don’t want this to end,” I say, and it’s a start. It’s the only start I can manage right now.

“I didn’t, either.”

Didn’t.

“But you do now?” I ask, my voice wavering.

“I don’t like the way you just talked to me.”

My heart sinks. Here on the steps of the courthouse, she’s going up, I’m heading down. I reach for her arm, wrap my hand around it. “Is this how it ends?”

My voice barely sounds like my own.

Hers is a whisper, too. “You tell me.”

I want to ask about the voicemail, the call, the lawyer. I want to ask what I promised her. I want to know if I’ve fucked this up beyond repair. Most of all I want to know if there’s a chance of fixing it.

But before I can speak again, she raises a hand. “I can’t talk to you right now. We can talk later, if you decide you can treat me the way you always have, not the way you just acted. And I really hope you can do that. But right now, I need a break. I’ve done something crazy and probably foolish. So I’m going to go and see Lila about her closet, because that will take my mind off the email you’re about to receive.”

She marches down the steps and hails a cab that takes her away from me.

34

There’s no email.

I keep checking for whatever she’s sending me, between requesting an Uber and calling Lila to ask if she wants me to head over to work now.

Her voice is sweet, but firm. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off? I’m with Natalie, and we’ve got a few things to do.”

In the background, I swear I can hear Natalie cry. The sound of it twists my chest. I wish I could comfort her, but I’m not the one she wants to be with right now.