Maybe I did. I don't know.
Love isn't something I want. It's pain. It's always been pain.
Losing my father.
Losing my mother to grief.
Then to the sickness that claimed her lungs and her life.
I'm not sure if I loved Ty, but I know it broke my heart when he left. Even though I expected it. Even though I wanted it.
And when he met Rory and broke his promise to stay in touch—
That killed me.
I don't know the details. Only that he fell in love with her. That he left me a message, two months later, before his first trip to New York.
I'm coming to the city, but I can't see you. I'm sorry, Indie. I'm seeing someone now. I don't trust myself around you.
Was that a compliment, an insult, an admission?
I don't know.
If he really loved her, why didn't he trust himself?
It's hard to believe I have anything she doesn't.
She's a gorgeous socialite who reeks of class and sophistication.
I'm a broke girl who doesn't even play her guitar anymore.
He must have had a reason. Ty always has a reason.
But I don't know what it is.
And now…
He wants to marry me.
I'm sure he's willing to dig me out of debt, but it was hard enough not falling for him once.
Can I really do it twice?
Ty stays in my thoughts all night.
As I fetch martinis, pour brandy, listen to a man complain his wife doesn't understand him.
It's a weeknight. The room clears around eleven. We close at one. I tally my receipts, count my tips, cash out.
Find a note from a customer who ordered a four thousand dollar bottle of whiskey.
His cell, room number, offer for one night with me.
More than I make in three weeks.
Why is he willing to pay a price this high?
I'm attractive enough, but I'm not a knockout.
A novelty, maybe. With my asymmetrical haircut, my visible tattoos, my eyebrow piercing.
In high school, I was the weird artsy girl. Too quiet, too gawky, too lacking T & A.
Tall and thin, sure, but not all that feminine or pretty.
Striking maybe.
But not pretty.
Certainly not men's idea of sexy.
Or maybe I don't know men's idea of sexy. The guys who make overtures don't seem to mind my slight curves or my angular features.
Some of the offers…
I'm proud, yes, but I'm also human.
Sometimes, I'm tempted.
Sometimes, men offer enough to cover three months of bills.
Sometimes, I really need the money.
I try to talk myself into it.
Sienna is starting college in the fall. Sienna needs to stay out of this world—it's bad enough men gawk when she visits.
If this is what it takes—
I would do it. If one night with a stranger was standing between me and my sister's well-being, I would do it in a heartbeat.
So far—
I get by.
I read the man’s offer again. Think of Ty. The feel of his hands on my skin. The bliss of his body meeting mine. The sense of loneliness when he walked away.
I can't. I just can't.
So I toss the guy's number. Don my coat. Take the subway to our stop in Brooklyn.
It's a dozen blocks to our place.
I grab the mail, step inside, lock the door.
The usual collection of ads, bills, notices. Sienna's NYU welcome packet. That friendly reminder tuition is due in August.
Not that I have it. I thought her soccer scholarship would come through, but it didn't.
No, it's either loans or…
Fuck.
I can't do this.
It hurt so badly watching Ty leave once. I can't do it again.
But I can't risk my sister's future either.
There has to be something, some way I can do this without falling apart.
I find my cell and text him.
Chapter Four
Ty
There it is, on my cell screen. Four words with all the promise in the world.
Indigo: What are you offering?
A message from late last night.
After work. After hours of rich arseholes staring at her tits.
My stomach twists.
I don't want anyone glaring at her. Making her feel unsafe. Making her feel used.
And I certainly don't want anyone touching her.
It's ridiculous. I've been with other women. Where do I get off, hating the idea of her with another man?
But I do.
And there's no reasoning with the jealously in my veins.
I need her to agree.
Not just for my reputation.
Not just to secure our families' futures.
For me.
My publicist doesn't approve. She has a list of eligible women, women who grew up expecting a political marriage.
Women willing to marry a black man. It ruled out more than she expected, but I wasn't surprised. Manhattan is old money. And old ideals die hard.
Some of the women she picked are beautiful.
Some are charming.
None are Indie.
None of them want to understand me. Or want me to understand them.
Maybe it's ridiculous that our three months together left a mark on my soul, but they did.
If I'm doing this, if I'm committing to a life with someone I'll never love, it's her.
Ty: What do you want?
It's early. I don't expect a response. But she sends one right away.
Indigo: You don't have any of the things I want.
Ty: Try me.
Whatever it is, I can find it.
I can give her anything except my heart.
Chapter Five
Indigo
All day, I ignore Ty's text.
I research scholarships. I apply for jobs at better bars.
I listen to Dad's old records. The ska ones with enough energy to wake me from my haze.
Then I walk to Sienna's school, hug her hello, listen to her complain she's too old for pickups.
The warm smile on her face, the ease in her shoulders—
It's enough to convince me.
Of course, I'll consider his deal.
Whatever it takes to keep her safe. To keep us together.
Indigo: The mortgage. And Sienna's college. That's non-negotiable.
I slide my cell into the pocket of my jeans, but I'm too slow.
Sienna catches me. Taps my shoulders. "You're talking to a guy."
We're at the counter, waiting for our drinks. There's nowhere to hide. No way to pretend I'm suddenly fascinated by my surroundings. "Where would I meet a guy?"
"At Rick's?" She laughs. "I can't believe they actually call it Rick's. Has the owner even seen Casablanca? That place is the opposite of Rick's."
The Rick's Cafe Americano in Casablanca is all life and energy and heat. The Rick's in midtown is all quiet and stillness and cold.
I'm not sure the guy who owns Rick's has ever seen Casablanca. Whereas we've seen it about a thousand times.
It was Mom's favorite movie. She and dad watched it every month, on their anniversary.
They were like teenagers, celebrating their one-month anniversary.
Then he died and she stopped watching. And all the love in the house turned to grief.