As I went on with the rest of what had happened between me and Killian, Lucy, God bless her, made all the right noises of sympathy and outrage. “What a dick. So you’re through with him? There’s no second chance?”
“None,” I said, then took a gulp of my drink so I could continue to pretend I was fine. It wasn’t as though I’d never broken up with someone before, but with Killian it was a million times worse. It was all my stupid heart’s fault! It had said that Killian could not only give me the romance-novel sex, but romance-novel everything. And my head was partially to blame, too. If I’d just stuck to true love doesn’t exist in real life, I wouldn’t be so down. “Men just aren’t worth it, Luce. The only thing that matters in life is what you can actually hold.”
“You can hold a man. It’s even nice, if it’s the right guy.”
“No, I mean like money and things, not a guy. And I don’t like the whole process of finding the right guy. Kissing all these frogs sucks. Not to mention it’s gross.” I knocked back the rest of my drink to wash away the imaginary amphibian taste from my mouth. Lucy didn’t get my unhappiness—or how nasty it was to deal with subpar men—because she’d gotten lucky with Blue. They’d been together since high school. So it made sense she’d believe in true love. “I’m going to go become a nun and write in some quiet, reclusive abbey.” I’d make sure to pick a place so remote that no groupies could ever visit. Or stalkers. Or celebrities, especially rock stars. “Somewhere in the Alps,” I added.
“Can nuns write about premarital sex?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. And I’m sure nobody would care very much so long as I paid…” I snapped my fingers, trying to think of the word and failing. “You know, the ten percent church tax.”
“The tithe,” Lucy said, laughing softly.
“Yes. That.”
“I know a better revenge.” She leaned forward. “Write him into your next book. He can be the villain. And not even a sexy villain, but a dumb, bumbling villain with a small and permanently limp penis.”
I chuckled weakly. Yeah, that was the most logical and realistic revenge. I’d done that to my dad in all my books, even though he didn’t know because he didn’t read my books and I never told him. So it hadn’t felt all that satisfying. And winning the bet hadn’t seemed to improve my satisfaction quotient either.
Killian could star in my next book as the horrible ex-husband of my heroine. Who was short, ugly, smelly and impotent. Coming up with a revenge character usually cheered me up. But right then, it didn’t make me feel any better.
Chapter Forty-Three
Emily
When I got up the next morning, I dashed to the door and opened it. The hotel had left a bag with four papers. This was the day Holly should have had the ads appear. I needed my trophies.
After all, I didn’t have much else to look forward to. Other than meeting my readers at the signing in three hours, that was.
My heart pounded as anticipation rushed through me. I flipped through the first paper, looking for the ad. Articles…more articles…some pictures… Ah ha!
To Emma Grant,
You are right. Romance is the most wonderful genre. It celebrates love and an optimistic future. Its readers are intelligent, interesting and lead fulfilling lives. And most importantly, they are amazing women who deserve to be as happy and beloved as the women in the romance novels they read.
I’m sorry I didn’t accept that sooner. I’m glad you taught me better.
–Brandon Breckenridge
Bitterness and triumph hit me at the same time, two hard fists from opposite directions, stealing my breath and leaving me dizzy and shaky. At least he sounded humble in writing, even if he’d been a total asshole when we talked on the phone. My hands slightly unsteady, I took a snapshot of the ad with my phone, then posted it on all my social media profiles. I made sure to tag my dad so all his friends could see it, too. As the shakiness faded, gleeful pleasure started to bubble up within me, and I laughed, imagining the expression on Dad’s face when he saw what I’d done.
Then I blocked him from my phone. I was done with him.
No matter how he tried to spin it, I’d won. I’d done it on my own. It had nothing to do with him, and he didn’t get to take any credit. And I was proud of the fact that I accomplished what I’d set out to do.
I wish Killian were here to see the ads with me.
I scowled. Shouldn’t be thinking about him. He didn’t get to be part of the celebration, not after what he’d said and how he’d made me feel.
Not after breaking my old cynicism about love and making me think that he was the one.
I flipped through the rest of the papers so I could take pictures of them all before grabbing coffee and heading to the signing. Then stopped short.
There was another full-page ad:
Dear Emily,
I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?
–Killian Axelrod
P.S. You are absolutely awesome and amazing.
What the…? My mind went blank, then my pulse started to race as confusion and exasperation at myself surged. I had to be seeing things, because there was no way this was the same Killian Axelrod who’d broken my heart. I must’ve just been really hung up on full-page ad apologies. I blinked a few times to clear my vision. The ad remained right next to Dad’s. Was this really Killian?
Okay, so maybe it really was him, because how many Emily and Killian Axelrod pairings did we have in the world, and how many of those Killians had done something bad enough to warrant a huge apology? But a full-page ad? That was over the top, wasn’t it?
I thought about it, running my teeth over my lower lip, uncertain what to make of this move. Why not just call if he wanted to talk? Why do this? He was always freaked out about his privacy and people posting stuff online. Although this was print media, it was still too public for his taste, wasn’t it? If he wanted to apologize, why didn’t he just ca—
We never exchanged phone numbers! But still… Wasn’t this just over-the-top crazy?
My phone rang with a call from Mom.
“Did you see that ad?” she squealed. “That rat bastard’s one I expected, but the one with Emily and Killian… That’s you and him, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, happy she called Dad something appropriate for once but not too thrilled she’d seen the other ad.
“Did something happen between you and Killian?” She sounded concerned and mildly curious, without a hint of judgment. Like that time I’d told her I was going to be a romance writer.
“We…had an argument.”
“You should call him. He apologized. Publicly. It’s like a fire signal that everyone can see.”
That was true… Given how particular he was about privacy, this was a huge first move on his part. And just like that, my heart turned as gooey as warm chocolate. “I don’t have his number.”
“But he’s going to fret. I always do when people don’t respond to my texts.”
I almost laughed. She was the one who was worried. “He didn’t text, so he won’t be fretting.”
“But you’re going to forgive him, right?”