Chapter 58

When I wake the next morning, Grant isn’t in his bed.

I feel bitter and tired, and my eyes hurt from crying. I want to apologize just to make all the awful feelings go away – but I don’t even know what to apologize for.

For telling the truth? He’s a thief. Period. Yeah, he’s brilliant… charming… incredibly hot… and good-hearted… but he’s still a fucking thief. All those other things don’t cancel out the one. And his denial about it is just so… ugh. He thinks he can cover up his worst attributes by using a fancier name, like a wino claiming he’s a sommelier, or a meth cooker claiming he’s a chemist.

Whatever.

I dress and go downstairs to the private dining room, where JP is smoking a cigarette and Dominique is playing solitaire. Both of them ignore me.

Grant is nowhere to be seen.

There’s a platter of croissants and pastries, and a decanter of coffee. I pour myself a cup.

“Anybody seen Grant?” I ask.

“He is talking to Marcel,” JP says.

“…oh.”

“I realized something last night,” JP con