“Maybe this was just … a little vacation from realities,” I say then.
“What?” he bites out.
“Our little entanglement. Just a vacation from our lives or destinies. I don’t know.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of all this. Unable to make sense of losing the only guy I’ve ever fallen for. “But we’re in business and we’re adults. We can at least act like it.” I take another step back, gathering my courage and my pride close to me. “I’ll be fine. I’ll get over you.”
“Come here.”
“What for…”
“I just need to—” He grabs me and then we’re forehead to forehead, my face in his big hands. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” he hisses, his gaze carving into me.
“You’re doing the right thing,” I agree fervently, nodding, my throat aching.
He stares at me.
My eyes keep watering.
“Don’t,” I plead.
“Don’t what?”
“You look like a guy who means to kiss me for the last time.”
I pull free and swallow, putting half of the room between us. We both try to compose ourselves.
Christos’s jaw is working nonstop.
“We’ll be okay. You’re doing the right thing,” I repeat.
He nods, his jaw still locked so tight, it’s a marvel he can speak.
“Bryn, I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself.
“Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t be sorry. I want you to forget me. We need to both move on, Aaric.”
He stares at me like I just shot us both, and I smile as if I didn’t, and nod in emphasis.
“Promise me you’ll forget me.”
“No, bit. I promise you I never will.”
I swallow.
“You have to. We have to. For your child.”
“I lost my mother. I lost my daughter. And it kills me to lose you twice,” he hisses angrily.
I walk over and cup his jaw, and then on impulse, I put my thumb on his lips and rise on tiptoe to kiss my thumb. Never removing it. Feeling his lips part beneath my thumb, his tongue come out to lick me.
I inhale back a sob and pull free, hearing his groan of despair and an angry, “sonofabitch” hiss as I walk away with my heart in pieces and my brain struggling to comprehend my new reality. The one where Aaric is with Miranda, and I need to figure out how to live with that. How to be okay with that. Without him.
Christos
6 weeks ago…
“Darling, are you ready?”
Miranda walks over, and I get to my feet and take my phone. Two things strike me then. That she’s setting her hand on my chest, setting her mark, which vexes me—and the look in Bryn’s eyes.
“We’re done here,” I say, watching Bryn closely as I pocket my phone.
“I’ll wait for you in the car.” She kisses my jaw, and I clench as she walks away, unable to resist noticing the way Bryn keeps her gaze fixed on me, a sheen of regret in her eyes.
I walk forward, resisting the urge to reach out.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
“Christos.”
“I said I’ll think about it,” I add from the door.
“Please do. I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time?” she yells after me.
I smile and pause, amused and vexed that I still react to her more than I ever have to anyone. I return to the door and look at her. Small, looking hardly a year older than when I left Texas, and in my gut I know I’m in fucking trouble. “I’ll make contact,” I say, “if I’m interested in hearing more.” I nod. “Nice to see you, Bryn.”
“Nice to see you, Christos.”
I walk out to the car, climb inside in silence.
I know for a fact if I let her back into my life, this could be problematic.
But I can’t shake off the urge to know what she’s planning.
We ride to a black-tie event in the back of the Rolls. Miranda’s cloud of perfume clogging my air pipes.
“Look, if you want to sleep around with her, be discreet. If we’re to have an open marriage we should always be discreet about our liaisons.”
I send her a cool look that tells her that’s not my thing.
But she’s cool and ruthless. Understands I do it all for money. Even plan my wedding around convenience.
This is how I got to where I am.
Smart, cunning planning, no decision based on emotion.
This is why I left Austin too—there were no opportunities there for me to become what I am now.
It was easy to step into the role I did, having little emotional attachments. With my bit, however, I can never quite put a wall up between me and her. I can never quite be reasonable when it comes to her.
I still want to kiss her stupid.
Jesus.
She walks into my door, and suddenly I question everything. Who I am.
I busted my balls for years, wanting to be better. For her. For me.
I have everything I need, and more—more money than I could spend in a hundred lifetimes. And I still don’t have the one thing I’ve wanted most in my life.
“Who is she?” Miranda asks at my silence.
What she wants to know is who she is, if she’s important society-wise.
She’s not really asking who she is to me.
“From the Kelly’s department stores. The only daughter,” I answer.
“Poor dear.”
I stare out the window, jaw clenched because the answer, the real answer is,
My future.
And no matter how uncomfortable staring at it again is, I want it. I want her, I always will.
Bryn
Get dressed…
Put one foot in front of the other…
Be open to whatever comes next…
Trust that it’ll make sense in the future.
That’s my motto. But I don’t believe all of it. Because life has taught me. Loss is one of the things in life that stays. And some losses never make sense. Ever.
Still, I’m trying to get my life in order.
I figure if I stay busy enough, the pain will go away or at least recede. I’m working from nine to five, plus the weekends. My free time, I spend walking either alone, or with some of the dogs whose owners continue calling Sara, booking her to the limit.
I tell myself I won’t think of Christos every morning, and I repeat the thought at night—but obviously I’m not listening to myself. Because he’s everywhere. In House of Sass. In my email. My phone. In all of New York. In my mind and heart, the most.
“Okay, you need to start talking to me, don’t shut me out,” Becka said on the phone the other day.
“I can’t. It’s a Pandora’s box I don’t want to open.”
“Why not?”
“For fear I’ll never stop.” I groan.
“Crying? Oh, Bryn.”
That’s my life. I’ve lost my parents, and my Aunt Cecile, but I have never lost someone who is still living. There is comfort in seeing him every day at work, in knowing he breathes, but while the pain is more tolerable, it is still so acute sometimes. I cannot believe this is how things will end between us.
I’m not surprised when Becka arrives one Friday afternoon. I spot her standing at the door of my apartment when I arrive home from work, and my jaw hangs open.
“Becka?”
She drops her bag when she sees me and we hug.
I ask her what she’s doing here and why she isn’t writing—I need her book to distract me. She says, “I can write anywhere. And that’s what friends are for.”
“To join the pity party?”
“That, and also to sign them up for match.com.” At my displeased gesture, she hurries on, showing me my own image on her phone. “It’s time to get you out and dating, Bryn. The sooner you get over him the more productive and happy you will be.”
“I can’t,” I say.
She follows me inside. “Yes, you can.”
“Hey, do I know you?” Sara asks from the door to her room.
“I’m Becka,” she says.
“Oh. I’m Sara!”
“I’m also the guilty party who signed Bryn up for match.com.” Becka smirks.
“Quite genius, I approve. It’s been the most awful two weeks for her,” she goes on saying, joining us in the living room.
“Guys. STOP. The thought of being with another guy makes me want to choke.”
“You won’t choke,” Becka says.
“Except with dick—and only if you want to.” Sara nods vehemently.
They laugh but when I don’t join, Becka grabs my hand. “Your man is not yours anymore. He’s having a baby, Bryn. With someone else,” she says as gently as possible.
I curl up on the couch and look at the dating profile on Becka’s phone screen. She used a picture of me I sent her a few months ago when I arrived in New York. Thirsty to make it. Gung-ho attitude.
I’m smiling, pointing toward the sign that says WELCOME TO NEW YORK with a grin on my face and thirst in my eyes. That image makes me feel so beat up right now. But it reminds me of the girl I know, the one who survived the loss of her parents. It reminds me of how far I’ve come. “Give me that,” I whisper, peering into the profile description, which is TMI and cheesy as shit, so I fix it a bit to sound more like me. Simple, young, hoping to find love and success. What every woman wants.
Except I found both, with the same man—and yet I cannot have him.
My throat constricts remembering but I swallow it back and skim the rest of my profile.
I’m not kidding myself in thinking I’ll find some guy I’ll fall madly in love with and have babies with—in fact, I already know the only babies I want are his, and that’s not possible—but I need the distraction.
I can kid myself that I’m okay right now, but I don’t want to be just okay.
The more distractions keep me busy, the more time will help put distance between Christos and I. Eventually, I hope to one day wake up and not have to tell myself to not think of him and then proceed to think of him all day. Miss him all day.
In a few months, my heart can feel a little less heavy, and maybe I can love again. Maybe I can find the right guy for me…again. He may not be my soul mate, but he could be someone to spend a lifetime with. Like Jensen, but who likes girls.
“Okay, so how do we do this?” I peer at the picture she uploaded on my match.com profile.
“Okay.” Becka starts to show me. “Select a couple of hot or interesting-sounding guys, and give them a little wink…” she begins.
That night, I’m still scanning images of guys, trying to find at least one I can send a wink to when my phone rings.
Seeing his name on the screen and nearly having a heart attack, I answer the phone with trembling hands. “Hey.” His low, deep voice runs down my ear and straight to my stupid heart.
Christos.
“Hey,” I answer, blinking when I hear my alarm start buzzing on my nightstand.
I reach out to quiet it.
It’s 1 a.m.
Christos is calling me at 1 a.m.
My chest begins to collapse when I realize this could not be a coincidence. “Christos…what are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.
“It’s 1 a.m.,” is all he says.
“Are you not sleeping?” I ask.
“I am. Except there’s something I need to do every night at this hour.”
“What?” Set the alarm clocks?
“Call you.”
I swallow and struggle to calm my racing heart. “Really, there’s no need for you to call your business partner at 1 a.m. She is perfectly fine,” I assure.
“I know she is, partner. But I’m not.”
Silence.
He exhales. “Guess I wanted to hear your voice. Know you were doing well.”
“I’m okay,” I assure. “I’m doing great. Really. I see…I guess I see the silver lining now.”
Silence.
“Your son for you, for one. Or daughter. And for me…well, I guess I’ve realized you taught me not to be afraid to love. With your whole heart. Even if you could lose him. I’m not afraid to put myself out there again. I even signed up to match.com and may go out on a date. We’ll see,” I ramble. “But it’s all thanks to you. You are a man who is not afraid to commit to a woman, even if she isn’t the right one. You’re a good man. You were a boy that made others pale. And you’re a man that no man can compete against. You’ll always be in my life in some way. You’ll always be my first love. There’s a reason for everything,” I keep going, trying to sound positive.
“I want to be your last,” he hisses passionately, under his breath. “Your fucking only. Who’s this asshole you’re going out on a date with, huh?”
I’m momentarily speechless. Christos is jealous? I swallow and try to appease him. “Don’t act like my brother,” I chide, laughing.
He’s silent, and I don’t know what else to say. “Well, goodnight.”
“Bit?”
Silence. “I better go. Goodnight.”
My phone rings again, at 3 a.m.
I answer, my throat hurting. “Stop it. Please. The last thing I need to remember every two hours is…Stop calling me. Please.”
He curses under his breath, hissing low, “I’m trying to give you space but I cannot sit here, look at the clock, and do nothing, knowing you’re awake.”
“Christos. Please. Go make your family and leave me be. Stop playing with my emotions like this!”
“If I’m playing with yours, you have no idea what I’m doing to mine.”
At 5 a.m. I don’t answer.
At 7 a.m. I cave in and answer again. “Aaric,” I say, “if it’s true you loved me at all, don’t call me again.”
I hang up firmly and then bawl like a baby.
Christos
4 weeks ago…
“It’s not convenient for you, is it?” she asks as she slides into her bed.
“No, bit, it’s not convenient.” I look at her in bed and she looks good enough to eat. I pull up the covers. “I thought I finally had my shit together and then you come along to fuck it up. You tend to do that to me—you really are quite the Wicked Miss Kelly.”
She smiles.
I cannot resist brushing my thumb over her smile.
“Goodnight, bit.”
“’Night.”
I drink her up, thirsty for the look of her, and force myself to go. The knowledge that she wakes herself up at night to make sure there’s no fire brought my protective instincts to the forefront, and it irritates me that she has to sleep alone. That no one is there, with her, to make her feel safe.
I summon my driver with a text to my location at the curb, thinking of the ring I purchased only recently—and the fact that I don’t want it in my apartment any longer.
Business has never tasted sour before.
Bryn is confusing. Reminding me of things I wanted that I thought were over now. Turns out they’re not.
“To Miss Santorini’s,” I tell my driver as I climb into the car.
Miranda is decorating when I arrive at her Columbus Circle penthouse. I walk in in silence and pour us both whiskeys. I hand her a glass, then carry the other to the sofa, where I take a seat and invite her to sit across from me.
She does, watching me closely.
“I asked Cole to help me look at wedding locations. When you propose, I was thinking we should—” She stops babbling with a look at my expression.
“It’s over, Miranda,” I say.
“What?”
“It’s over.”
Her lips purse, and she raises her chin haughtily. “That whole block of land you want in Prospect Heights, my dad will never sell it to you if you do this.”
“I know.”
“You’ll always be a grease monkey, Christos. My father can get you respect—”
“I’m respected well enough.”
Anger flares in her eyes. “It?
??s that tramp.”
“Don’t call her a tramp,” I say, with low menace.
“You’re not the kind of guy to walk away from business for some fancy.”
I get to my feet and approach her on the couch. “Actually,” I say, “I’m exactly the kind of guy that’s worked his whole life to recognize when it’s not a fancy. I’m not going to pass something like her up.”
She frowns. I lean over her on the couch.
“Tell whatever story you want to tell. Say you dumped me. That I’m no good.”
“This is a terrible mistake. We made sense. We made sense, Christos.”
“I’m sorry.” I kiss her cheek. “Pick up your stuff any time. Leave your key with Clare.”
“Christos, you’ll hurt her,” she says.
I step out of the room.
“She’ll hurt you!”
Maybe.
And I don’t care.
I must pursue this with Bryn.
I cannot let my one real chance with her pass.
Bryn
I’ve been getting everything ready for the launch of House of Sass; most of the details I need to handle in person, at the warehouse. I’m sore all over, but I’m putting my everything into the project. It’s not only that I want to succeed, that I want the Kelly name to be attached to good things—not bad—but that I also want to prove to Christos that he was right in believing in me. Despite my busy week, thoughts of him keep coming. Not even music—my foolproof feel-good thing—can cheer me up; I seem to have developed the ability to find something mournful in every song I hear. Muscles sore and exhausted in every sense, I ask Becka for a little something to read before bed that night.
“No.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m in the middle of my book and they’re apart now.”
“Ugh. Give them an HEA.”
“I don’t know; I mean, realistically speaking, maybe they don’t get together…”
“Realistically speaking, my ass. People get together all the time.”
“But not always for the right reasons,” she counters. “Sometimes people stay apart for the right reasons, and that’s love. Doing it for each other, not wanting the other to compromise their integrity just to be together.”