“What kind of pact?”
“In ten years, if we’re both still single—and I know I’ll be—we get married no matter where we are in life. If you’ve made it, if you haven’t. If I’m running the ranch, if I’m not. We’ll worry about the specifics when the time comes. But for the next ten years, I say we focus on all the things we want to do while we’re young and free knowing we’ll come back to each other in the end.”
“So like a marriage pact.”
“Yeah. A marriage pact.”
“You sure you want to make a promise like that?” I cock my head.
“Never been so sure of anything in my life,” he says without pause. “You’re the only one for me, Blaire. If I have to wait ten years to call you mine again, it’s a small price to pay when we’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it.”
My stomach somersaults and I slink my arms over his shoulders, rising on my toes to kiss every inch of the face I’ve memorized down to the last freckle.
“I love you so damn much,” he says, scooping me back into his arms and placing me back on the bed. “I’ll wait for you, Blaire. I promise.”
Wyatt Buchanan already stole my heart and soul, and just like that, he also steals my forever.
1
Ten Years Later
* * *
Blaire
* * *
“Wait, I thought you had the night off?” My roommate, Giada, leans in the doorway of the cramped Lower East Side bathroom we share, eyeing my all-black work ensemble.
I smooth my hair into a low bun before securing it with a clear elastic. “I did. But I was asked to come in and cover.”
“Ah.” She pouts.
“I know.” I tame a flyaway before slicking on a coat of classic red long-wear lipstick. We were supposed to do mud masks, order Thai, and binge watch some new true crime doc on Netflix tonight, but my boss called and all but offered me her first born if I’d come in tonight and pick up a few tables. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Diego sprained his ankle this week, and Masha is out of town, Brennan is still in training, and we’re already short in the kitchen.”
“No, it’s fine. I get it. Someone has to save the day. Might as well be the person who never says no to anyone.”
Turning to face her, I place my hands on her arms. “Don’t be mad, okay? I already feel awful.”
She rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but I know she gets it. Giada grew up in Jersey, the daughter of a restaurateur. She practically lived in the back office of her family’s popular Italian restaurant for the bulk of her childhood. Clanging pots and pans were her lullaby some nights. By twelve, she was filling cannolis. By fourteen she was learning how to properly grate fresh Parmigiano Reggiano. By sixteen, she was working mandatory weekend shifts and stockpiling tip money as her ticket out of there. And by eighteen, she cashed in her life savings and moved to the city to make her own way, vowing never to work in a restaurant again.
These days, the smell of chicken parm still makes her nauseous.
I squeeze past her and trot to my room, swiping my apron, keys, and phone from my nightstand, only to find a slew of missed calls all in a row. My heart trips for a second when I think about the audition I had last week. I was so certain I nailed it, and the casting director seemed overly enthusiastic about the subtle nuances I was bringing to the character, but so far it’s been … crickets.
I scroll through my phone, only to find it wasn’t my agent who called me repeatedly—it was my stepmother, Odette.
Odette never calls me.
It’s always been my father who calls.
A cool sweat blankets my brow as I dial her back. My heart inches up my chest with each stilted beat, and my mouth runs dry.
“Blaire?” Odette answers in the middle of the first ring. “Oh, thank goodness you called back.”
“Is my father okay?” I cut to the chase.
She hesitates. “He’s … he was just admitted to the hospital over in Greenspout. He’s okay. For now. But he took a fall earlier today. At least that’s what I think happened. I found him behind the garage. He was cleaning the gutters, and he must have fallen off the ladder. He was disoriented, but there was a contusion on his forehead and he’s complaining of blurry vision, so they want to keep him overnight for observation.”
I exhale and take a seat on the edge of my bed.
This could’ve been so much worse.
“I was just thinking … that it might be nice if you came home?” She speaks slowly, carefully. “I know we’ve always come out your way, but I think it’d mean a lot to your father to have you home again. Just for a visit, you know. Something to lift his spirits. And I don’t know, maybe you could have a talk with him about finally retiring? His doctor’s been pushing him to hang up his hat for years, but you know how your father is. Stubborn as a mule.”