“Don’t gimme that. You’ve had your allotted moping time, and in forty-eight hours, I’ll allow another wallowing session. I’ll even climb in bed with you for as long as you want.”
I lifted my head so I could see her. “As long as I want?”
“Days even. I’ll bring the takeout and John Hughes movies.”
“And Dirty Dancing.”
“Sure. Dirty Dancing, Sixteen Candles, Pride and Prejudice—whatever you want.”
“Not the Colin Firth one,” I warned.
She rolled her eyes long enough that one of her eyelids fluttered. “Fine, we’ll watch the wrong Pride and Prejudice, but only because you’re sad.”
“Fine,” I huffed, hauling myself to sit.
When I sighed, the triumphant look on her face faded. She took a seat next to me. “I’m sorry, Lila. For all of this.”
That heaviness that had taken up residence in my chest sank lower. I curled around it protectively. “It’s my own fault. All of it.”
“Hang on—I know you’re sad, but let’s not be delusional. Natasha Felix was not your fault. Brock was not your fault. Kash … well, that one is more complicated, but frankly, he’s being an asshole.”
“I was the harbinger of every fear he possesses. I fulfilled every prophecy. Lived up to the worst version of myself. He thought he wasn’t good enough for me when it was the other way around. He thinks he’s unaccomplished, but not by my definition of the word. He thinks he’s not smart enough—”
“Well, he is being a stupid dummy right now.”
I chuckled, but the sound was sad. “I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it. I love him. I didn’t realize the life I wanted wasn’t the life I’d been working for, not until him. And now he’s all I want. That life is all I want. But if I can’t have him, at least I walked away from the rest of it. I can start over. Work toward a new life, the one grown-up me has figured out she wants instead of the one teenage me imagined she wanted.”
“Have you figured out your next move?”
“Open my own firm. I just have to come up with a good name and I can get started on the rest.”
“Well, once the Femme’s show airs, you shouldn’t be lacking for clients.”
I humphed. “I’m not sure if I want the clientele that will attract. But that’ll be the best part—I can cherry-pick who I want to work with. I have enough in savings to float me, and when I flip the apartment—”
“You can’t flip the apartment,” she said with such authority, I frowned.
“I can’t afford to keep it. I’ll have to rent something smaller, tighten the belt. Don’t look at me like that. Dreaming might be free, but getting there is most certainly not.” I paused. Sighed. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to give up that apartment. It’s the first piece of my new dream, and I won’t even get to keep it.”
“Well, let’s just see. Who knows? Maybe things will turn around faster than you think.” She rose and moved for the door. “Now, come on, sad sack. Let’s get you out of the house before you wither up like a raisin, which is the most offensive member of the fruit family. Nobody wants to be a raisin.”
“They’re so wrinkly.”
“And gummy.” A shudder rolled through her.
“Wouldn’t want to be gummy. I’d best get up.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said cheerily, bouncing into the living room to plop down next to Dean.
I gathered my things and shuffled to the bathroom, smiling at them on my way. The baby was tiny and fair in his dark arms, his face soft as he smiled down at her. Ivy peered over his massive bicep, resting her cheek on the curve. The two of them were colored in hopes and dreams, realized in their child, their love.
I could only hope that someday, I’d find that too.
Kash’s face flashed in my mind, a streak of pain on its wake. That dream I’d had of the apartment and the dog and the long, lazy days hadn’t died. It hadn’t even quieted. If anything, it had flared, a bright and shining beacon in my heart, the most tangible form of my dream. Because it wasn’t about my job or where I lived or what I did on Sundays.
It was him.
The shower was hot enough to burn, the sting siphoning my other hurts, drawing them away to distraction. I prided myself in not crying as I dried myself off and pulled on my clothes. I’d done enough of that over the last few days. On average, I cried once per quarter, usually instigated by something stupid like my lipliner breaking, endured in solitude where no one could see.
Over the last few days, I’d cried enough to fill my quota for three years—and a few times in front of Ivy, to boot.
I didn’t know what Kash had done to me, but I didn’t think I could ever reverse it. He had changed me elementally. There was no going back.
Only forward, I supposed.
When I’d left Archer yesterday, it was with a year’s severance and a glowing recommendation from Caroline in exchange for not suing Archer for damages, of which there were many. I walked out feeling like I’d won. And then I walked into Longbourne and lost it all again.
He hadn’t believed me. He didn’t trust me, that mistrust so deep, he assumed I would get in bed with the devil just to save my own skin.
That was perhaps the worst part of all. He’d thought so little of me that he believed me capable of so much selfishness.
Part of me wanted to wallow still, starting with the refusal to blow dry my hair. I could braid it, tie it back, something fast and easy and utterly unlike me. But I had a forty-eight-hour wallowing ban to comply to. So I rallied. I blew out my hair. Used a silly, expensive, probably useless oil on my face, leaving it dewy and fresh. Dashed on mascara, dusted a touch of color on my eyebrows. With a little lip gloss, I was presentable. And better—I didn’t feel like a bridge troll anymore.
There was something to be said for a few minutes of self-care and a little mascara.
When I exited the bathroom, it was with more cheer than I’d had since before that cursed wedding, and for that, I was grateful. It gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be miserable forever.
Ivy was ready and waiting for me, and together, we ventured out. The closer we got to the apartment, the more excited I got, thinking about renovations. I had thoughts and plans and a notebook in my bag, teeming with lists that I hoped wouldn’t drive Luke crazy. Ivy distracted me by brainstorming names for my new event company, but the best we came up with was Parker Planners, which was not only boring, but sounded like I made organizational tools. Granted, helping people organize their lives wouldn’t be a terrible second career, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel on events. Not yet.
When we reached the foot of the brownstone, my smile was broad and genuine. My mind skipped with possibilities as we climbed the stairs, and I slipped my key into the door of my home that would never be mine and turned the knob.
I stepped inside thinking I’d find what I’d found before—an echoing, empty, slightly dirty, completely perfect space. But it was more perfect than I could have imagined.
Because it wasn’t empty at all.
Standing in the bay window was Kash Bennet.