THE BIRTHDAY INVITATION

“Elliot? My boyfriend?”

Julian Mercer laughed so loudly that everyone in the private karaoke suite turned to look at me.

“Don't be ridiculous. I invited him because we needed somebody to pour the drinks.”

I was standing three feet behind him with a birthday cake in my hands.

Six hours. That was how long I'd spent making it, because Julian hated the overly sweet frosting most bakeries used, and because he'd once mentioned that his mother used to make chocolate cake with sour cherries. I had spent two days finding the recipe. Five years finding excuses to believe he cared about me.

And apparently I wasn't worth a chair at his party.

The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Then someone laughed. Lucas Reed, Julian's oldest friend, didn't. He looked from Julian to me and set down his glass.

“Come on, Jules,” another man said. “The guy practically lives at your place.”

“That doesn't make him my boyfriend.” Julian glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes finding mine. “Don't take it personally, Elliot. You know how I feel.”

I did. Or I should have.

Last Thursday he'd kissed me in his kitchen, one hand wrapped around the back of my neck, and told me to stay the night. Yesterday he'd asked me to collect his custom-made watch because he couldn't be bothered to leave the office. When another man flirted with me at a charity dinner, Julian had dragged me outside and demanded to know why I was embarrassing him.

But here, under the gold balloons I'd hung myself, we were apparently nothing.

“Set the cake down,” Julian said. “And get everyone another round, would you?”

I placed the cake on the table with hands that didn't quite feel like mine. A few people pretended to study the song list. Someone turned up the music.

I served drinks because my body knew how to obey Julian even when my heart was breaking. Afterward I escaped to the restroom and stood over the sink until my breathing settled.

At twenty-four, I was old enough to know better. I'd trained as an art conservator, had a portfolio of work and an invitation to join a restoration studio I'd postponed twice because Julian might need me in Crown City. I could distinguish a genuine eighteenth-century varnish from a modern imitation at a glance.

I apparently couldn't recognize a fake relationship when I was living in one.

On my way back, I heard my name through the half-open door.

“Seriously,” somebody said, “why invite Elliot if you're going to act like that?”

“I needed an extra pair of hands,” Julian replied. “He was happy enough to come.”

“Don't you feel anything for him?”

“I'm sick of his puppy-dog routine. If you like him so much, date him.”

Their laughter scraped against me.

“Then why keep calling him?” somebody asked.

“Because he comes when I call.” A lighter clicked. “What's wrong with having someone reliable around?”

Lucas said, sharply, “Julian, shut up.”

I pushed the door open.

Julian was reclining against the leather couch, a cigarette between two fingers. He looked almost bored to see me.

“Did you invite me to serve drinks?” I asked.

“Elliot—” Lucas began.

“I'm asking Julian.”

Julian took his time putting out the cigarette. “Yes. You enjoy taking care of me. I thought you'd have fun.”

That was the exact moment something inside me stopped fighting to survive.

“In five years,” I asked, “have you ever loved me? Even a little?”

His eyes hardened. “No.”

I waited for the familiar follow-up. A joke. A smile. A murmured invitation to come over later that would turn the knife into a promise. Nothing came.

“All right.”

I stepped past him.

He caught my sleeve. “Don't start making a scene.”

“I just want my gift back.”

The small box sat behind his chair. Inside was the vintage watch I'd spent months locating, the one he had once admired in a magazine. I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

“That's petty,” he said.

“Maybe.” I looked at the cake, the untouched candles, the men who had witnessed my humiliation without stopping it. “Happy birthday, Julian.”

“Elliot.” His voice acquired that warning edge I knew so well. “Don't walk out and expect me to chase you.”

I didn't look back. “I won't.”

Outside, Crown City glittered against the harbor. I drove until the clubs and restaurants gave way to the coast, then parked beside the overlook where I used to go as a teenager.

For the first time in years, Julian wasn't waiting at the center of my thoughts. Instead I was remembering things that hadn't happened yet.

A bottle breaking against my temple. My brother Noah standing in a ruined office, telling me our family was bankrupt. Julian's hand around my wrist. Headlights coming straight toward me.

I doubled over. The world folded into a series of pages, each one carrying words I somehow understood before I read them.

Elliot Bennett forgave Julian Mercer after a hundred chapters of suffering. Julian realized he had loved Elliot all along. They lived happily ever after.

I saw the first scene of the story too: a younger Julian chasing away boys who had cornered me after school, telling me, “Don't be afraid. I'll protect you.”

That had happened. All of it had happened—except the terrible future unfolding before my eyes.

I was the pathetic, endlessly forgiving hero of a romance that mistook cruelty for passion.

The wind tore at my coat as I stumbled toward the guardrail.

“No,” I whispered to the dark water. “Absolutely not.”

The last thing I saw was a black car turning off the coastal road. Then my knees buckled, and the world went black.