Chapter Thirty-Nine Caroline

You didn’t even defend me when Rory accused me of taking the books.”

“Huh?” Max is standing over me with a knife, its silvery jagged edges illuminated in the dim light. My heart thrashes in my chest. This can’t be real, and yet it is. I shake my head—maybe I’m dreaming. That this is a dream is the only thing that would possibly reconcile it.

“The books. The author’s books. You stole them. Not the Italians, not Nate—and not me. You.”

Beyoncé—of all things—is playing softly on Max’s Bose speaker on the table, odd in this room that feels like I’ve been transported to the Turkish Grand Bazaar. Especially this song: “Cozy.” The exact opposite of how I feel. I strain, struggling to release my arms twisted behind my back. Max tied my hands with something, his tie, I think.

He eyes me, then heads toward the door, his back to me. Now’s my chance—I don’t think, just lunge, aiming my shoulder toward the knife at his side.

He swivels and suddenly I feel something hard connect with my stomach. His fist. Excruciating pain follows, like he’s bowling strikes, using me as his lane.

As I writhe on the floor, my vision blurs with the Lalique crystal panel formed into flowers, inlaid in the wooden wall. I am vaguely aware of the door clicking open, then closed.

“There.” He’s in my face now, dragging me up. His blue eyes meet mine—the ones I daydreamed about a thousand times, fixed on me from under the chuppah, as I walked toward him, into our beautiful new life. He deposits me on the bed face down with a thump. My body throbs against satin, my vision swallowed up in stars. It hurts, physical ache, but the shock of it all is far more acute.

Max hurting me, Max trying to hurt me.

“Yes,” he tells me, panting. “We’ve been over this. I took the books. I didn’t hide it from you, C. You know I couldn’t have anything out there about Operation Kazuka.”

“Exactly.” I try to twist my body so I’m facing back up, have better access to air. I finally manage to roll over. “You were worried Rory would read it. That she’d realize something was off, if Ginevra knew that phrase. You probably should have been more careful when Ginevra was interviewing you. Because I’m not the one who let Operation Kazuka slip. You are.”

Max shakes his head furiously. “Shut up about Operation Kazuka!”

But I can’t keep quiet. Not anymore. “It’s why I knew immediately you’d taken the books. After I read the Operation Kazuka line, and then they went mysteriously missing, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who took them. And I wasn’t surprised you’d kept a copy… had it like a trophy in your room after the hike—”

“It wasn’t a trophy! You’re twisting it all up. You know I needed a copy for legal, to get them involved. Ginevra’s not gonna risk a lawsuit, not for one phrase that’s meaningless to her. She’ll take it out. Or change it. I don’t care. I needed to make sure that in the meantime, Rory didn’t see it. And cut the innocent act, C. Once you knew I’d kept a copy, you practically begged me for it.”

I inch back from him. “I didn’t beg you.”

“You did. And you lied. Said you just wanted to see how it all turned out, make sure there were no other surprises. Lies. You were protecting your own ass. Yours and Nate’s, and your sick affair.”

I’m quiet, because on this point he’s right.

“So it was justice that Rory caught you with the book. That she is sure it was you. It works.” He nods, whispers to himself. “It’s perfect.”

It pinches my heart when I realize what he means. “This is insane! Please, Max, think about all this logically. You won’t get away with it. You know you won’t!”

“There’s no other way.” He bites his lip, looks childlike for a second, sending ribbons of hope at my chest. But then his face reassumes its determined bent.

I scream, a rip-curdle sound, but as I do, the train bleats in tandem, letting off one of its shrill, screeching puffs through the smokestack as the locomotive rolls over the track. In a moment, Max is on me again, clamping my mouth, the knife blade against my biceps. He hisses, “I’ll use it. Don’t make me use it.”

I’m crying now, into his hand, which he once used to hug me and hold me and weave into my own. I’m not tough like I wish I were. Like Rory would be, if she were in my shoes. Oh God, he really means it. He really wants to kill me. I understand that on a base level now, that he’s not playing around, trying to get me to shut up for longer, like buying me off with those payments.

“If you scream again, no one will hear,” Max murmurs into my ear. “Your room is next door, after all. Empty. I gave Francesco the night off. Just put the Do Not Disturb sign on my door. Next door on my other side’s the supply closet. Everyone’s sleeping anyhow.”

“Ansel wouldn’t want this! You know that. If you actually stopped and thought. And what do you think—you’re going to kill me? Stab me? And get away with it?” I wriggle on the bed, trying to wrangle out of the tie binding my wrists. If only I can get my hands free, slip the whistle in my mouth…

“Honestly, I’d rather not stab you. And I won’t unless you force me to.” He walks to the window between the bed and table, fiddles with the catch.

What is he…?

A horrifying thought seizes my brain.

“You don’t mean, you can’t possibly m—”

“You tried to kill yourself earlier at the Colosseum. No one will question when you return to finish the job.”

A loud, long, primal roar rips out of me.

Max is on me again, his hand clamped on my mouth, the knife in front of my face.

“Shut up, or this will go very quickly,” he hisses, his blue eyes blazing. “I said I don’t want to kill you with a knife. But I will. Don’t fucking test me again.”

I go very still. “What—no—if you kill me with a—knife, you’ll never be able to cover it up.”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t need to cover it up. It would be self-defense. Pretty obvious.”

“What—how would…?”

“Well, you’re embezzling from me. That’s what Ginevra thinks. That’s what Rory thinks, too—glad you told me all that. The money’s in your account. The bank statements are crystal clear. Let’s be honest, it’s going to be so cut-and-dried that they’re not going to look into who made the actual transfers. You came to my cabin. I threatened to expose you once and for all, and you attacked me with a knife. You tried to silence me. So… anything that happens after that, well, me fighting back—it can all be explained.”

I’m sobbing now, thrashing. “No one will believe you,” I manage through my tears. “No one will believe I came into your room and threatened you.”

His eyes flicker toward the window again. “I think you’re wrong. I think they will believe it, and I think you think so, too…” He nods his head at me, at the shriveling mess I’ve unraveled into. “But I told you—I don’t actually want to stab you. And I won’t, if you make this easier on yourself.”

“No one will believe I threw myself out your window, either!” I choke out.

“Oh, c’mon, you know they will. I gave you my key after all.”

“I forgot your key in my room. I knocked when I came over here.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “That can be fixed. I can grab it from your room—after. So you came in with the key and…” He points beside me to the bed. I notice now it’s rumpled; he must have been sleeping when I knocked—the silk damask throw pillow askew against the wall, the ivory brocade coverlet in a heap on the floor. His eyes shoot back in his sockets as he thinks. “You came in, slipped into bed with me. But you were still distraught, and while I was sleeping…”

My breath stalls in my throat. “Please—and you didn’t hear?”

“Maybe I did hear, and I tried to stop you, but you were already—” He makes a slash at his throat, and I gasp. He frowns. “Or if it’s too farfetched that you killed yourself in my room, then they’ll have to believe you did it in yours.” He dangles my key—the one to my room, that I brought into his. He turns it in loops on his forefinger. “After, I’ll go to your room and open your window.”

I still at the plausibility of all the stories he’s weaving, stories that, in a chilling way, feel like they could somehow pass muster. “My DNA is all over your room. And your DNA is all over me.”

“Well, you came over before, I guess. I left you my key. Everyone knows you nearly jumped—you needed soothing. Oh, this is hard for me, too, C! This sucks. It’s all your fault! You’re the one pushing me to this! Don’t you see it, C? Don’t you see that you’re responsible for all of it!”

His face is puce with rage as he reaches for me again. I wiggle back, try to burrow into myself. He’s right. They’re going to think I jumped. Rory is going to think I jumped. And she’s going to be left behind… all alone… with her brother. A monster. My eyes fill with fresh tears at the thought of Rory—dealing with me dead. Believing I killed myself because I’d betrayed her and betrayed Max. I did betray her is the thing. The tears clog my throat, my nose, obstructing my breath. I did betray her, and all I want is to make it up to her. Explain how it happened… the stress I’ve been dealing with…

Rory—she’s my best friend. My soul sister. The thought of never seeing her again pries me apart, bone by bone.

“Please don’t, Max!” I try to swipe my cheek against my shoulder, but the tears keep falling, sliding. “Please don’t do this. I love you. We’ll figure this out. I won’t say anything to anyone! Just… please—”

“Own your part in this, C!” His breath tunnels at my face, his eyes still fiery. “You didn’t mind when I paid off your debts. You didn’t mind pocketing my bribes. But when it came to protecting me, you were out so fast you—”

“I didn’t take your bribes!”

“Oh? You’re telling me you didn’t take the money that went into your account every month, ever since you figured out Operation Kazuka?”

“What was I supposed to do?” I hear myself pleading. “I couldn’t figure out how to pay it back. How to stop it from entering my account. I told you a million times I didn’t want it!”

“Didn’t stop you from buying that panther ring.” My heart settles dully in its cavity. Because on that point, he’s right.

“I’m weak,” I whisper. “I’ve made mistakes. But you have, too. And I swear, Max. I didn’t want the money. I only kept it to give you more time. To give Ansel more time. I only kept it because it kept appearing in my account, and how was I supposed to send it back?”

He laughs bitterly. “You could have refused. Told me you didn’t need bribes to keep my confidences.”

“Your confidences? Please.” Anger is a geyser now up my throat. “You’re the one responsible for this! Stop trying to shift the blame to me! Can’t you see that you’re hurting people? That this can’t be right, if you think you have to hurt me to get where you want to go? You can still stop, Max! It’s not too late.”

“It is too late,” he says in a cold decisive way that makes my chest rigid with fear. He hefts me up and clamps his hand over my mouth once again. He switches off the speakers, so even Beyoncé’s muted, comforting voice departs, leaving me all alone with him. I scream into his palm, trying to bite him but not managing to, and all I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears and the thrash of my body, trying so hard, but so unsuccessfully, to whip out of his grip.

Suddenly I feel my body shift in the air, horizontal, and the tie he’s used to bind my wrists spring free. Then there’s a sudden burst of air.

I’m startled as it gusts into my face—and even more so as my torso crushes on the sill below and I am shoved forward, straight out into the black night’s abyss.