The keys unlocked more than Andrew’s apartment. She already knew this wasn’t where he’d lived with Cate. In the blog, she’d mentioned a duplex on the Upper East Side. Andrew’s new apartment was downtown. It was a typical pre-war layout with a narrow galley kitchen, white ceramic tiles, and an open countertop overlooking the living room. On it, she placed the dinner she’d picked up on the way home, as well as a few toiletries from a cheap convenience store. Thank heaven they also sold underwear. As far as clothes, she’d snagged a few reject dresses from the designer floor on her way out of the building.
On the far wall, a row of windows overlooked Seventh Avenue South. Her gaze wandered down the dark hallway that led to his bedroom. She’d save that for last.
Take-out menus under magnets were neatly lined up on the refrigerator door. Sure, his desk looked like it had been grabbed by Godzilla, shaken and put back, but this place was immaculate.
Thank goodness, though.
His scent lingered in every room, but the strongest traces were in his bedroom. Without wondering if she were allowed to or not, she opened a drawer in one of his bureaus. She fingered through the pile of clothes.
The colors drew her attention. “Jets and Yankees, huh?”
While these weren’t her favorite teams, her dad would love this man. “I hope he doesn’t mind me putting some Mets and Giants colors in here.”
She smiled and closed the drawer. He had to know she would snoop. He’d not just started dating women. Where to look next. Hmm.
Andrew’s closet was filled with Prada shirts, pressed and lined up, organized by color. Very little white. Burgundy mostly. That looked best on him. Her fingers touched every piece of fabric. All these clothes had been on his body and they just sat there now waiting.
“I know how you feel,” she said to a pair of pants. “You’ll be on him soon. And me, too, hopefully.”
Wanting to get a better look, she pulled on a silver chain to turn on the light, but it blinded her.
“Geez.” She waved her hands to find the chain again.
A splash of color on a shelf way up high caught her attention. A pink and lavender floral hat box wasn’t very manly. It must have belonged to Cate. What could be in there?
Gwen shook her head. Maybe Andrew just kept the box. She turned the light off and left the bedroom to force down some dinner.
After a yawn-filled sad call with Andrew, where he practically fell asleep on the phone, Gwen brushed her teeth as the two sides of her personality argued back and forth.
You want to look in that box, don’t you?
No, I don’t .
Come on!
It’s wrong, isn’t it?
Maybe...maybe not.
Unable to figure out the cable and television remote combinations, she grabbed her tablet, but couldn’t even play any online games because the Wi-Fi password Andrew had given her didn’t work.
It’d been too late to ask him to repeat it.
Alone in the dark, she stared at the ceiling from his bed. Even though it was lonely as hell, she felt comfortable. She fought the odd feeling that she’d not slept there with him yet.
Yet, a delicious thought. Unless, her news about the baby screwed things up.
She stretched in the cozy Jets tee-shirt, giving into a yawn, but slapped her hands down, too restless to sleep.
“Oh, what the hell.” She whisked the covers away and went back to the closet.
Her fingers found the string and the bulb blazed back to life. Looking up to figure out how to maneuver that box down, stung her eyes. Okay, that’s the first sign this was wrong.
“I guess it doesn’t matter how I get it down,” she said dragging his desk chair from the living room. The box sat so high up, she bet he just slid it in no problem. The chair wobbled as she jumped, trying to touch it. “Great. Someone will find me dead right here, and he’ll know what I did.”
She huffed and reached up one more time, dislodging the box. It hit her head on the way down, popped open, and dozens of pictures rained down on her.
“Son of a bitch.” She scrambled off the chair to switch the main light back on.
She gathered everything that had spilled out, checking under the bed so a year from now, he won’t find an old photo there, too.
Sprawled across the floor was Andrew’s whole life. In a few minutes, she watched the man she loved grow up. There were even some headshots from his modeling days. How young he looked!
How thin he looked made her catch her breath. He’d been reedy as well when she had met him, both times. Now his face had filled out and the muscles on his shoulders no longer looked like they’d been strangled tight. In her hands was the old Andrew. Thin and unhappy.
Way at the bottom of the pile were the pictures she really risked her life to see. The ones of him and Cate. This pile didn’t match the chronological order of his life. The heartbroken Andrew tucked these photos away.
A brown envelope sat in the middle of the batch. She peeked inside. “Yikes.” Her hands shook, going through images of Andrew undressed and in a compromising position with another woman.
It should have bothered Gwen that he’d kept these reminders of his intimate life with Cate, but throwing out pictures of someone he once loved must have been difficult.
Going back to the more respectable photos, Gwen saw how Andrew had matured during that relationship. Cate was as beautiful as Gwen remembered from the blog. The evidence of the ideal couple she had conjured sat in her hands. Lanvin’s top models. Fashion’s original power couple. A tall, stunning blonde next to an even taller, gorgeous, dark-haired man. They looked happy. Natural.
Like they belonged together.
Sifting through all these photos where Cate looked absolutely fabulous begged the question, why had Andrew chosen one of her looking so sick to keep on his desk? Why remember her like that?
She sifted through one flawless picture after the other. Ho hum. Where did Gwen fit in this equation? She’d known her whole life she was pretty. Cate Morgan was another level. This was beyond her.
Gwen shook her head and placed everything back in the box. Tomorrow she’d get a forklift and put it back. Back where it belonged. Cate’s memory had been tucked away in a box. Stored up so
high, even Andrew needed a ladder to look back.
I’m here in his bed, and I’m having his baby.
Did Andrew even want kids? There were people out there who didn’t. Gwen was pretty sure Skye was one of those people. And men, too. There were men who didn’t do the right thing by pregnant girlfriends.
What if everything she thought she knew about Andrew was wrong?
Burning on that last thought, Gwen tossed and turned until dawn, too many horrible what-if questions taunting her, fracturing her, her mind racing and running away with her sanity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ndrew had to run to make this damn plane. Grinding holiday traffic delayed his transport van to Athe Milan airport. He’d run all the way back to New York if he could. Being without Gwen these past two weeks made the hours crawl by. She’d gotten under his skin. Over it and under it. In the best way possible. He didn’t think he was capable of connecting to her the way he had.
On the plane, he settled into his seat and thought back to these past few days. He sensed something was wrong with Gwen. The distance must have been hard on her as well. It troubled him how the days apart may have torn her down. She’d brought out the best of him, bringing back the man he used to be. He wanted to do the same for her. He looked forward to hours of getting under her skin...and over it...and inside it.