The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) by Adrianne Byrd Page B

edge of the bed, while her heart hammered against her rib cage.
The footsteps stopped at her door. Any second he would knock, and she would have to reach a decision.
While waiting for his soft rap, her lungs threatened to explode. Yet, she refused to release the air locked in them.
The silence was deafening, the wait excruciating. But the knock never came. Instead, she listened as he walked away.
The instant stab of disappointment surprised her, as well as the wave of fresh tears. Ophelia fell back against the bed, submerged in misery and confusion. Another door slammed at the other end of the hall, and silent tears slowly leaked from her eyes.
She had made her decision.
* * *
     
Solomon groaned at the sound of a ringing phone. He couldn’t imagine who was calling—he peeked at the glowing red numbers on his clock—at three in the morning. Briefly, he wavered between answering and ignoring the damn thing, but finally decided to pick up.
“This better be important,” he growled with his eyelids at half-mast.
“Sol?” came Ophelia’s unmistakable voice.
He was instantly alert. His ears became attuned to her sniffles and upset tone. “What’s wrong, Ophelia?”
When she didn’t readily answer, Solomon’s mind rushed through a long list of things her jerk of a fiancé could’ve done. His temper escalated as he jumped out of bed and headed toward his closet.
“I’m coming over,” he declared.
“No,” she croaked. “I don’t need you to come over.” More sniffles.
His footsteps slowed while his hand tightened on the receiver. “Then tell me what’s wrong?”
He listened to her draw a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
His shoulders relaxed as he sighed in relief. She wasn’t going to marry this dude after all. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”
“I wish that were true,” she answered shakily. “But Sol…I can’t see you anymore.”
Solomon froze, unable to comprehend what he’d just heard.
“I’m sorry, but I have to do this if I’m going to make this work with Jonas. And I do want to make this work.”
“Ophelia—”
“Please, Sol. Try to understand. He’s important to me.”
“More important than I am?” he thundered into the receiver. “You can just throw everything we’ve been through together out the window—just like that?”
“This isn’t easy for me.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Sol—”
“You’ve known this jerk for four months, and me for more than half your life.”
“Sol—”
“Who has always been there for you—been through boyfriends, and bailed you out of jail after one silly college protest after another?”
“This isn’t about any of that. I love Jonas.”
Solomon’s rage only multiplied at hearing those words. “Yeah, well, I love you, too, and look where the hell that’s gotten me.”
She was crying harder now, and he waited, desperately wanting her to respond to what he’d just confessed.
“I’m marrying Jonas,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Sol.”
“Ophelia.”
She disconnected the call.
“Ophelia,” he shouted and waited. After a few seconds, a recording came on the line, instructing him how to make a call. He hung up and tried to call Ophelia back. She didn’t answer her cell phone. Instead of leaving a message, he hurled the cordless phone across the room.
A mirror exploded. He stood immobile while he listened to shattered glass crash against the wooden floor. It was the perfect metaphor for what was happening to his heart.

Chapter 13
     
O phelia tucked her feet beneath her on the window seat and clutched her cell phone against her heart. The call was supposed to solve her problems. Now it felt as if she’d just made everything worse.
Well, I love you, too, and look where the hell that’s gotten me.
She shook her head and tried to erase his voice. There was no point in trying to read anything more into his words. Solomon had undoubtedly meant that he loved her as a