Chapter 32

The next letter came a week later, as March turned to April.

Dear Sophie,

I can’t believe I’m still in Paris. I thought I hated it here. I thought I would take the first train out of this damned city and find somewhere new to wallow. That was the plan the night after I murdered your friend. I made it all the way to the Gare du Nord, but your words echoed in my mind. Not the ones where you called me a rat, though I’ve thought of them often. Or the ones where you told me you never wanted to see me again.

The ones where you wanted me to die.

And I thought, if that was what I deserved, then I’ve strayed so far from who I thought I was that I’m not sure I’ll make it back alive.

So, I turned around and went back to my hotel. By the next morning, I’d found my therapist. This morning, we went back and forth on whether I should tell you this—whether you would hate that I’m in Paris because of you. I’m sure you do. But it’s a big city, so as long as I drop this letter off while you’re not home, you’ll never have to see me again—just like you wanted.

I asked my therapist this morning if there was something wrong with me—some medical diagnosis that could explain why I self-sabotage every good thing in my life. She promised we would look into it, but because vampire bodies, hormones, and minds function so differently than humans, there may never be an answer for me.

I’ll have to learn to be okay with that.

I’ve been exploring the city, teaching myself to appreciate things I never would have. I’ve never been one for art museums, but there are so many here that I figured I might as well try them. I visited the Musée de l”Orangerie, like you suggested, and the water lilies took my breath away.

I was out for a walk yesterday. My therapist recommended I walk every morning to think about my emotions and set my intentions for the day, and the morning sun reminded me of you. A thousand shades of gold. Warm enough to melt the ice in the deepest parts of my soul.

I miss you.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

Eliza

“She’s persistent,” Willa said after I showed her the letter. “What do you think she wants?”

Deflated, I shrugged and leaned against the kitchen island. I sipped my glass of chardonnay and did my best to shove down the leftover emotions threatening to course through me.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I said, licking my lips. “I don’t want her in my life.”

Willa hummed but said nothing else as I tore up the letter and shoved it in the trash can.

As relieved as I was to hear she was getting the help she needed, I needed to be better at cutting the last pieces of Eliza out of my life. I shouldn’t have read the letter, yet I couldn’t help myself.

I missed her.

I missed the sound of her laugh and the feel of her skin. I missed every kiss she’d decorated my body with and the way she blushed when she caught me looking at her for too long. I missed the moments we had that were good—the times I believed she was good for me. The times I trusted her.

And while Addie was getting better day by day, I wasn’t sure I could ever erase the image of Eliza snapping her neck so viciously. Holland’s cries and Willa’s screams echoed in my dreams at night, keeping me awake.

How could I ever forgive Eliza for what she’d done?

And yet… why couldn’t I let her go?

“You know, Wren and I could post up outside one of these days and scare her off, if you want us to,” Willa offered.

I shook my head. “I’m sure she’ll give up, eventually.”

Willa frowned. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what? Like the guilt of realizing I love the woman who killed my best friend is eating me alive?” I snapped, then covered my mouth. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Pity filled Willa’s eyes, and she took a long breath. “You love Eliza.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” I tried, then sobbed and set my wine glass on the counter. “Yes.”

I missed her.

I loved her.

I hated myself for it.

Willa placed her hand over mine and squeezed. “You should talk to Addie.”

I wrenched my hand away. “Addie is the last person I should talk to about this.”

“No,” Willa countered. “Holland is the last person you should talk to. Addie feels like you’ve distanced yourself from her since she died, and she’s hurting, and she misses you. She deserves an explanation.”

I frowned, guilt pooling deeper in my gut. Great, not only had I gotten my best friend killed, but I’d unintentionally made her feel worse about it. And I was in love with her murderer.

“But not tonight,” Willa continued as if her words hadn’t stabbed me in the gut. “She’s on a date with Holland, and you’re going to help me buy a horse.”

I gulped down the rest of my chardonnay as she walked to open the apartment door before Wren could knock.

“I’m not helping you buy it. I’m helping Wren buy it,” I countered with as much amusement as I could.

Willa stuck her tongue out at me. “Daddy’s money, my horse.”

Wren burst into laughter, and I gagged. “Please, never say that again.”

Willa and Wren continued to laugh as I followed them out the door.

This was what friendship and companionship were supposed to feel like: light, easy, comfortable. It was supposed to be filled with laughter, teasing, and unwavering support and loyalty. I wasn’t supposed to have to wonder if the people who meant the most to me even wanted me around, or whether they would lash out and kill someone else I loved.

No matter how I felt about her, Eliza was not meant to be in my life—not ever, not again.