Page 33 of Escape Girl

Ms. Harper,

This afternoon I flew into Chicago with my client, Bella Bradley. It’s my understanding that the reason Bella hired me is because you recommended she do so. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that our paths have overlapped for a third time. Shall we meet to discuss? Bella and I are available all day tomorrow.

Emily Austin

I hit the send button a little harder than necessary and went to take the world’s longest, hottest shower. I forgot to turn on the bathroom fan, so the mirrors became opaque with steam. Which reminded me how Bobby used to draw hearts on our bathroom mirrors after his shower and write sappy things for me to find later.

With a huff, I wiped the mirrors clean and frowned at myself.Ugh.I looked like shit. My skin was pasty, and it would take an entire tube of concealer to mask the dark circles under my eyes. I needed an appointment with a colorist, stat. My gingerroots were coming in, brightening my scalp in a way that looked bizarre with the rest of my ash-brown hair.

Sighing, I pulled on the hotel robe and left the bathroom. Disappointment in my reflection was nothing new. I hadn’t smiled at the woman in the mirror in more than half a decade.

Jo Harper had already responded to my message.

Emily,

I’m so glad you’re here. We have a lot to talk about. Let’s meet at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow at Fizz.

Jo

She’d included a link to Fizz’s website. It was a neighborhood bar on the city’s north side. That was weird. If we were meeting to talk about Bella’s case, why were we meeting after business hours and in a bar? Hadn’t she just started a company? Didn’t they have an office? Damn it, why did she have to be so cryptic? Couldn’t she have included just the tiniest bit of information in her response?

I couldn’t even focus on being upset about her reply because another emotional bomb exploded in my email box: an escape room invitation from Bobby.Anotherone? What the hell? I hadn’t answered the riddle to last night’s, and I hadn’t even opened the one from today except to see the title.

Hmmm, what would this one be? Oh, easy: our wedding day.

I opened the email—only to see the title, not to enter the escape room. I just wanted to know if I was right.

I wasn’t. I’d expected it to say “New Year’s Eve” or something similar. Instead, it said “Honeymoon in Real Life,” and a shocked sound erupted from my throat.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair, that Bobby knew me so well. If it had been an escape room designed around our super fancy wedding, I would have emotionally shrugged and moved on.

Our wedding had been beautiful, obviously. Sven Saturn’s daughter could only have a beautiful wedding. It was held in the Grand Ballroom at the Palace Hotel. My father had moved mountains to reserve it on such short notice. My dress was couture from a designer most of Hollywood was currently obsessed with, a princessy frothy thing that the women in the boutique practically foamed at the mouth over. We had a ten-piece band and oyster appetizers and a cake almost as tall as I was.

I didn’t care about any of it.

When it became clear that I wasn’t budging on my wedding date, my father immediately hired the best wedding planner on the West Coast, and she pulled off the miracle-wedding-in-two-months. All I had to do was nod and point and smile. I did smile, in all of the pictures, from ear to ear.

Inside though…

And Bobby knew?

An enormous lump grew in my throat, and my fingers really, really wanted to open this latest escape room.

The day after our wedding, I woke up a little grumpy in the big hotel bed. My feet ached from being in heels for fourteen hours the day before, and I had a headache from all the champagne. The ache I’d carried in my chest the entire day hadn’t quite disappeared yet either.

But then I’d heard Bobby singing in the shower. “Good as Hell” by Lizzo, if I wasn’t mistaken. I burst into giggles, cleansing laughter that chased away all the aches in body and heart. That was myhusbandin there singing.

I was still grinning like a loon when he emerged from the bathroom. As soon as he saw me up and beaming, he dove into the bed. Tickled me and kissed me from head to toe while I screamed with laughter and joy.

Later, over tea in bed, I asked, “Are you disappointed that we’re not flying somewhere today? Should we have planned a honeymoon after all?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nope. We have the rest of our lives to travel. The last few months have been insane.” True that. Besides planning the wedding of Silicon Valley’s dreams, we’d also navigated the insane San Francisco real estate market to purchase our first home together. He kissed my bare shoulder. “It’s still a honeymoon, even if we don’t go anywhere.”

He was right. The next week, my first week of being his wife, was magical. We rearranged furniture in our new condo to make it a comfortable place for both of us. We cooked for one another. His pesto was delicious; I burned the pork chops. When we went out for coffee, he ordered from the barista, saying, “I’ll have a cappuccino. My brilliant wife will have your strongest tea.” We conspired together about setting Jamie up with various friendly acquaintances. I finally accepted the San Francisco job offer and set a start date. We went to the libraries together, and Bobby taught me how to play chess.

After making love and before falling asleep those nights, I’d marvel to myself,This is my life, this is my actual life now.

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