Chapter 35

Ican’t sit here by the fireplace. Not when I have a good idea of what Gabe, Lance, and Thomas are doing to Trixie downstairs.

I’d seen her when they brought her in, limp and haggard-looking. At first, I thought that’d been Lance and Gabe’s doing, but as they passed me, I could smell the liquor on her and realized she was in rough shape before they ever got there.

Lance had offered me a single nod, a sign that everything was going to be okay, then they’d disappeared, leaving us to sit around the fireplace.

I pace, wishing I could go outside and get some fresh air but knowing Steven won’t allow us out of the triple-locked doors.

“Sit down, woman,” Mia chastises. “You’re making me antsy with all your pacing.”

I shake my hands out. “Sorry. I just can’t believe Trixie did this. I mean, she was close. Not like you two, but . . . like a sister in some ways. She’s been there since before I even opened. I just don’t know what to think.”

“They’ll find out everything she knows,” Izzy says, trying to be reassuring and failing.

“You mean Gabe will.” It’s judgmental, ugly, and mean. He’s doing what he’s doing for us, but I don’t know how anyone could be comfortable with Gabe’s methods.

Izzy shrugs, accepting. “Yeah, he will. He’ll do whatever it takes, and I don’t think less of him for it. He takes that stain on his soul because he knows he can bear the weight on his shoulders better than you can. And it’s heavy, have no doubt.”

I don’t know what Izzy has been through. She kept a lot of what happened to her close to her vest, but I know hurt when I see it. And I don’t want to be the one who does that to my friend.

“I’m sorry, Iz. This is all just so far beyond my outer limits, you know? I don’t think less of Gabe, or you. It’s just . . . I never thought it’d go this far.”

She gets up, coming over to hug me. “I know. Not exactly the story I wrote for myself, either, but it’s mine. He’s mine, and I’ll do anything for him. And he’ll do literally anything for me.”

Mia interrupts our moment of friendship to say, “Speaking of our guys, that was some upper-tier Jedi shit that Lance pulled on you back at the apartment before things went to hell.”

She gets up, miming waving a lightsaber around in a figure-eight pattern. “Trust yourself, trust me,” she says in a high Yoda voice, “and you went all ‘Yes, Master’ for him.”

She starts humming like Yoda, and I laugh at her antics. “I did not go ‘Yes, Master’ for him. I just . . . realized he was right.”

I blush, the splotches hot on my cheeks as I remember that I basically did submit to him last night. But I chose it, and that’s between Lance and me, not the girls. Not that I won’t overshare with them again in the future, but last night was . . . special, and ours.

But they know me too well, can read the freckles on my face like tea leaves. “Ooh, she might not have been submissive to him then, but she sure has been since,” Mia says sagely. “No shame, girl. I like a bossy man.”

Lord, does she ever. Again, we overshare on the regular. Fifty shades of Goldstone is pretty much de rigeur.

“Seems like you might get that happily ever after you thought was never coming after all?” Izzy says, nudging me. “Gonna make a new cupcake for that?”

I bite my lip, ducking my chin because I was thinking the same thing this morning. Finally. And it feels good and right, warm and beautiful. Like as crazy as it may be, Lance was made just for me, a perfect fit.

An intense energy fills the room, and we all turn to see Lance standing in the doorway. He looks hard, the line of his jaw sharper somehow, the faint lines around his eyes from too much time squinting in the sun deeper than usual. “Char, she’s asking to talk to you,” he says neutrally. “Your call.”

I stand up, not sure I want to do this but my feet already deciding. “I need to know why. I’ll talk to her for that, at least. Did Gabe get what you need?”

Lance looks at Izzy, sharing in what I swear looks like respect to her. “He did. He’s a good man, and Trixie sang like a bird with very little encouragement. But he’ll need you tonight. I think this was different for him.”

Izzy nods, thanking Lance for the warning.

Lance takes my hand as we walk down the short flight of steps to the wine cellar. I gasp when I see Trixie tied to a chair, her hair a blonde mess of curls, and makeup running down her face in rivers. There’s no blood, at least, and she looks unhurt.

“Charlotte, Oh, my God . . . Charlotte. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about the building, I swear it. I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m . . . sorry.” The words spill out of her mouth, each one chasing the previous in a long run-on torrent of emotion.

“Why?” I whisper, forcing my back to remain straight, my eyes dry. She was my friend, and those emotions don’t die overnight. “That’s all I need to know . . . why?”

Trixie swallows, looking down. “I’m so sorry. When this whole mess started, I didn’t know you. On paper, you were just some rich bitch with a life of ease. From the outside, it looked like you grew up in a wealthy family, a dad and mom, and even a sister. It seemed like you were just doing the crazy dream thing with the bakery, like you didn’t have any real worries, just got everything handed to you on a silver platter. I was jealous because I’m . . . me.” She says it like it’s a death sentence, sadness pouring from her.

“And you kept going even after knowing the truth?” I ask, pissed. She knows all about my life. I shared so much with her during those long hours before we even opened. And even more later, as we got closer. There’s only one real question left, then. “Was any of it real?”

Fresh tears shine in the corners of her eyes, and she nods. “Remember what I told you about my life back home? It was all true. And I told myself when I left that hellhole that I was never going back. No matter what. I had nothing after the internship, so when Blackwell made me the offer, I had to take it. I didn’t know you, and I was desperate.”

I take a deep breath, understanding, in a way.

“And then I met you,” she says. “You were nothing like what I thought you’d be. Your life wasn’t any better than mine. Just different. You still had worries, and shitty parents, and had to work hard. It was just different than my life. But it was too late. I was stuck.”

“Stuck how?”

“If I told you the truth, you would’ve fired me on the spot. And without a job, I would’ve had to . . . I don’t know, probably dance like the girls back home. I would’ve ended up just like what I’d run from. And it would’ve been worse than before. Poor and hungry isn’t so bad when it’s all you know, but once you’ve had a taste of a good life, with friends and something to care about, I couldn’t—” She shakes her head vehemently, and in a way, I can almost see her point, although it hurts to think that.

I want to frame her as a villainous mastermind in my head, paint her with one stroke of personality, or maybe a personality disorder, that she could do something so conniving behind my back while simultaneously acting as my friend. But people aren’t that way, not me, and not her.

“I couldn’t go back, no matter what. So I thought if I kept my mouth shut, I could mitigate the damage as much as possible. It was the best I could do in a really shitty situation. So I made false claims to the Health Department, knowing that if they showed up, they wouldn’t find anything. And I let a guy in the back door to tweak the ovens. I thought he was making them run hot to just burn the cookies, not the whole store!”

“That was the guy who ended up attacking you,” she tells Lance. “I think they just wanted an excuse for the cops to arrest you.”

Turning back to me, she says, “I didn’t mean for you to find the phone. I’m sorry for making you doubt him. And I swear, I didn’t know about the bomb or whatever it was Blackwell did.”

“But you were complicit in all of it,” Lance growls. “You followed his orders, sent him intel, let Charlotte think I had betrayed her, and guided her to Thomas’s.”

Trixie sags. I really just want to ask why again, but I think it’s one of those questions that’ll never have a clear answer. “It didn’t have to be like this, Trixie.”

Gabe stands up, his eyes dark. “I think you should go upstairs, Charlotte.”

I look at Trixie once more. “I loved you like a sister,” I tell her honestly. “Truly, in my heart.”

She cries out again, “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

But then her eyes flick to Gabe, fresh fear bubbling up as she struggles against her restraints. I go back up the stairs, her apology echoing in my ears until I close the wine cellar door.

I force my feet back to the living room, where Mia and Izzy are waiting for me, each on one end of the couch. I sit between them, and they wrap their arms around me. The Three Musketeers, always. No matter what.