I’m about to step into the room when I notice a door a few feet away from the bedroom left slightly ajar. I’ve never gone into the room. Beck said it was an office he never used, so it never interested me. But now with him gone, I’m curious what’s in the space, and why he doesn’t use it often. Whatever it is, the house cleaners must’ve been cleaning in there and forgot to close the door all the way.
I can’t help myself. My curiosity gets the best of me as my fingers push against the wood door, pushing it open. I take a cautious step inside.
I’m taken aback by what I see.
This room isn’t an office. At least not in the stereotypical way. It’s a studio.
An art studio.
“Oh my god,” I whisper in awe, taking steps deeper into the room. My eyes don’t know what to land on first. I marvel at the scene in front of me, wondering how long it’s been the dream studio for an artist. And why Beck has a state-of-the-art studio when he’s not artistic in the slightest.
The lighting in here is enough to take one’s breath away. The open windows that take up half the far wall are a dream. A drafter’s table sits right in front of it, the perfect location to get daylight and the sun on your face while also getting to stay inside.
“What is all this?” I mutter, looking around to take in the beauty of the space. I had no idea this was in here, and I don’t know how long it’s been this way. Has Beck always had an art studio hidden away? Why did he never mention it?
There’s a shelf that’s taller than me filled with art supplies. Some of my favorite brands sit on the shelf, even equipped with brands I’ve never used because they were too expensive, but ones I’d dreamed of creating art with one day.
It’s a dream. And I have no idea why he has it here, or why he’s never mentioned it to me.
I’m about to break and call him when something catches my eye.
On one of the walls, I spot a neatly framed picture. It’s the only thing hanging on the wall, looking almost out of place with how small it is compared to the empty space around it.
I hurry to take a closer look, gasping when I come face to face with what is hung on the wall.
It’s a picture of Beck. The picture of Beck. The one I’d drawn on the beach two summers ago.
I’d been distraught when I couldn’t find it the morning we left The Hamptons, but I couldn’t really tell Carter. I didn’t know how I’d explain to him that I couldn’t find a portrait I’d drawn of his brother, so I’d had to forget about it.
But I never really forgot.
All this time, Beck had it. Not only had he stolen it, he’d hung it up in his house.
As I look from the picture to the room, pieces start falling together. I realize that Beck may have lied to me from the very beginning, but deep down, I know I believe every word he told me the night of our engagement party.
He wouldn’t have done all of this if he was trying to get back at Carter.
I know deep in my soul that Beck loves me. It’s a realization that settles through my entire body, my heart, my entire being. I regret ever doubting him or doubting us. Our love is too beautiful to have ever been what Carter accused it of being. I should’ve trusted Beck. He’d lied to me, and I can be angry at him for that, but he still never faltered in showing the lengths he’d take for love. For me.
I stare at the picture I’d drawn of him, at my own drawing come to life staring back at me. I look at it with fresh eyes. Beck stares back at me. My mind catapults back to that night, as I replay his recounts of how he felt that night.
It all makes sense.
I’m brought back to his heated gaze. His lingering touch. He’d given me signals that night, I just hadn’t looked into them deeply.
Beck found a very unconventional way of bringing us together, but every lie and scheme he made led to us falling in love. My eyes move from the picture hanging on the wall back to the desk in the corner. Taking a step closer, I run my fingers over a familiar coffee cup that holds some sketching utensils.
I smile, tracing over the looping font of the words Greetings From the Hamptons. Tucked into a drawer at my apartment, I still have the sketch of this very mug. I can’t believe Beck has kept these things all this time.
I can’t believe he’s loved me all this time.
He’s loved me far longer than I’ve loved him, but it doesn’t change the fact that now, my heart is forever his. I can’t imagine it ever belonging to anyone else. I don’t want it to. For the rest of my life, I want him and only him. I don’t care how we started, all I care about is how we end. Or how we never end.
Now I just have to wait until he’s back to tell him.
And I know exactly how I want to do it.
He’s gone to great, elaborate lengths to have me. Now, it’s my turn.
I’ve been in boardrooms with some of the most intimidating people in the world, and I’ve never felt the kind of pressure I do right now. Stepping into the penthouse, knowing Margo is somewhere in here ready to either crush my heart or help heal it, has me riddled with anxiety.
I’m ready to lay it all out on the line for her, but I can admit to myself that I’m terrified none of it will be enough. What if she can’t get past the lies I told her to get her here? I’d thought I was telling small white lies that wouldn’t make a difference, but white lie after white lie has piled up. What if that isn’t something she’ll get past?
“Margo?” I yell into the silent space. There’s no sign of her anywhere. The place has been immaculately kept. I can’t help the fear that bubbles in my chest that wonders if she’s left. Ezra had told me she’d been here in my absence, but what if she’d snuck past him to get away.
My throat feels itchy as I take the stairs to her room two at a time. I wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, but I couldn’t waste another second. When she’d texted me that we needed to talk as soon as I got back, there was no way I could stay in San Jose another second longer.
Plus, I had company business to attend there—and personal business. Both were done. I made the deal, and I made sure that Carter won’t ever be bothering Margo or I ever again.
Now I just have to make sure Margo wants to even stay with me, or if she wants to say fuck you to me and our entire family and leave for good.
I’m worried that’s exactly what she’s done when I find her room empty. I race into her closet, some tension leaving my body when I find her belongings all still tucked neatly inside.
Searching the rest of the upstairs, I retreat back downstairs. I hadn’t checked the bedroom we shared because I figured she wasn’t sleeping there. But maybe in my absence she’d decided she liked it better.
If that’s the case and she does end up leaving me, I hope the sheets still smell like her. That I can pretend that her warm body is nestled into mine as I mourn what her and I could’ve been if I hadn’t told her lies.
I’m about to walk into the bedroom when I hear music wafting out from my former office. I stop, wondering if that’s where she’s been hiding. My heart picks up pace at the thought. Because if Margo is in there, it means she’s found the last secret I’d been keeping from her.
It wasn’t always supposed to stay a secret. I’d intended it to be a surprise one day, but not until I knew she was mine. Not for fake, but for real.