“Little cousin, don’t be all like that. Listen, I know you’ve been all big and grown up out in California, but New York’s not Stanford. It’s also not scary. You lived eighteen years in that house of horrors.”

He had no idea.

“You can make it just fine here. Just like the song says, baby, If you can make it…” His impromptu rendition of New York, New York put the smile back on my face.

“Pat, it’s fine. I’ll come up with something—”

“No. I just have to check with my… roommate.”

“What? No way. Is this a roommate or a roommate?” Patrick was always good looking. At the academy, even though he was older than me, I heard stories. He was well-known for his exploits: womanizer extraordinaire. Yet in private I never had that vibe. As a matter of fact, in private I had the opposite vibe.

“You mean you saw my mother and she didn’t tell you all about it?”

I shook my head. “No, but you know the Fitzgerald code.”

Patrick laughed. “Well, they haven’t disowned me, but I don’t think they’re announcing it at parties either.”

He was doing better than me. I had until the holidays and then I would be officially disowned. The hell with them. I’ll disown them.

“Are you happy?” I asked.

“More than I ever thought possible.”

I sighed. I knew that feeling, briefly. It was the best. “I don’t want to cause any problems.” I really didn’t.

“No problems. Let me talk to Cy. I’m not sure if he’ll be in or out of town. He travels a lot. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. One way or another: We. Are. Getting. Together!”

“Thanks, Pat. Is this thing serious? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Love you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

As I disconnected our call, the text message icon blinked wildly. I needed to text Chelsea and let her know that I’d reached Patrick.

I didn’t recognize the number, and no name came up with it. My teeth clenched as I swiped the screen. Of course, I didn’t know the number: it wasn’t programmed into my phone. That didn’t stop the message from popping up.

Unknown number: “ALEX, THIS IS BRYCE. DON’T DO IT AGAIN. DON’T RUN AWAY. THIS WAS ALWAYS THE PLAN…”

There were four messages.

Do I read or delete?

I hit the little icon of a trashcan.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I was leaving for New York. Tomorrow I was starting a new life. Neither the Montagues, Fitzgeralds, nor Spencers were going to dictate my life. They didn’t own me. If they thought I’d simply give up my dreams because of money, they didn’t know me.

They knew the girl they expected me to be. They knew Alexandria. Alexandria was gone. Alex was flying to New York tomorrow. She had a life to live.

There were millions of people in New York who had made it there. I would find a way.

WHAT THE HELL?

The taxi came to a stop at 1214 Fifth Avenue under a canopy, upon a private drive. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me get your bags.”

I trailed behind, my mouth agape as I backed onto the sidewalk, craned my neck up and up and up. The blue sky framed the glistening glass building. It was different than the traditional elegance I associated with New York and the Upper East Side. Most of the buildings were made of stone and brick with artistry and craftsmanship rarely seen anymore. This was the Museum Mile, Central Park, and all things refined.

This building, however, was different.

I passed through the opened door in utter awe; it was ultra-modern. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the large open lobby. The floor was bleached oak and there was a big desk in front of a lit ornately paneled wall.

How did Patrick live here? He was an intern. I knew the Fitzgeralds and Richardsons had money, old money, but I doubted either Uncle Preston or Aunt Gwen were willing to pay half of the rent on a place like this.

I paused with my suitcase near a large pillar and began to text Patrick. Just as I hit send, the elevator doors opened and I was swallowed in a warm embrace.

“Alex!” He pushed me away by the shoulders and spun me around. “Look at my little cousin, all grown up.” His brows moved up and down as his gaze settled on my breasts. “All grown up!”

I wiggled my brows back at him. Just like Bryce, Patrick had matured well. He wasn’t overly broad, but definitely fit. At about five-foot-ten, I guessed he was about one hundred and eighty pounds of muscle. His light brown hair had receded more than most for his age, but all that did was make his light brown eyes showcase his handsome face. “Not too bad yourself,” I said with another hug. He smelled divine.

He reached for my suitcase. “Well, come on up. It’s not much… but we manage.”

Once alone in the elevators, I asked, “Damn, Pat, this place is amazing. How—”

He nudged my side. “Wait until you see our place.”

He was right. I couldn’t do anything but hum and say things like wow, as he walked me around their three-bedroom apartment. We were on the forty-sixth floor, and the view from the windows in the living room as well as from Pat and Cy’s room was breathtaking. We weren’t next to the trees in Central Park—we were above them. From the window, I could see the park, multiple baseball fields, the lake… the view went on and on. “I bet you can see my apartment building from here.”

“We can meet up in the park on Saturdays. Do you still run?”

I shrugged, still too stunned to speak. Finally, I answered, “Some.” I had run at the academy. It gave me something to do and an excuse to get away from Montague Manor.

Patrick led me to a bedroom down the hallway from the open kitchen.

I’d seen pictures of the place I’d rented. My new kitchen was sufficient, but looked like it belonged in a shoebox or maybe a galley of a boat. It could fit into a corner of his.

I walked to the window in my room. The view was of roofs and buildings, not as amazing as the other direction, but still impressive. If I leaned to one side, I could catch a glimpse of the park. “So,” I began with my arms crossed over my chest, “apparently they pay interns really, really well.”

He put my bags on the bed. “Something like that. Do you want some lunch?”

I was starving. I’d taken one plane from Savannah to Charlotte and another from there to LaGuardia. It could have been worse, but it all began very early this morning.

I sat at the breakfast bar while Pat moved around the kitchen, cutting and dicing. By the time he was done, we each had one of the best-looking salads I’d ever seen.

“And you cook, too,” I said with a wink.

“Oh little cousin, I am a man of many talents.”

“Tell me about Cy.”

Patrick shook his head. “You tell me what’s going on. I called Mom last night after we got off the phone.”

Just like that—pop. My balloon deflated.

My chin dropped to my chest and the tears I’d thought had dried turned back on. I brushed one from my cheek.

Patrick covered my hand and squeezed it. “What the fuck did they do?”

That was such a loaded question. Did I go back to when I was ten? Did I open closet doors that were better left locked? Did I dust off skeletons that didn’t deserve to be brought back to life? Or did I concentrate on yesterday?

I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes with my napkin. “Recently?”

“Yes, sweetheart, otherwise we’d be here until tomorrow, and I only took one day off.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to take a day off for me.”

“I’m not. Look out there. It’s a fantastic summer day in the most beautiful city in the world. Let’s eat and go for a walk. If Central Park doesn’t make you feel better…” He widened his eyes. “…there’s a few little stores down on Fifth Avenue… oh, and some on Madison. I’ve got retail therapy down to a science.”