Chapter 4: Initials

Demi called at midnight, Scotland time.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the loft with the heater ticking and watched her name light up the screen.

It was seven in the evening in New York.

She would be in the Brooklyn loft with a glass of wine and the ring box on the counter.

I answered on the fifth ring.

"Jas," she said, in the bright warm voice she used for the camera. "Hi. Finally."

"Hello, Demi."

"Are you okay? Are you eating? Dennis said you were in a cinema. Is that a joke?"

"It's a cinema."

"You're being very calm. It's scaring me."

"I read the papers," I said. "The ones from March."

For a moment I only heard her breathing.

"They were boilerplate," she said.

"Page six says I gave away my share of the company."

"You said you didn't care about the company. You said you only wanted to make things."

"I said that because I thought we were the company."

"Jas." Her voice changed, lower now, and I could tell the camera voice was gone. "Please don't do this over the phone."

"You handed me a ring that fit him."

"It's a prop."

"It's engraved with the night you said you were working late."

She was quiet.

Then she let out a short, wet breath and said, "I was going to tell you after the finale."

"Tell me what?"

"That it isn't a show anymore."

I put my free hand flat on the blanket.

The tartan edge was rough under my palm, and I held on to it.

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