Total blank. Bugger.
Emma sighs. “This would never have worked anyway. I don't think I could go my entire life without cooking with sun-dried tomatoes.”
I laugh, wanting very much to kiss her hard on the mouth and forget this whole ‘going back to my real life’ thing. “How is it that you really exist?” I ask, drinking in the sight of her beautiful eyes one last time. “You spent the last several weeks helping me day and night, not to mention all the very meaningful fucking, and now you’re trying to make this easier for me.”
“Why would I make this hard for you? We knew what we were doing the whole time, and we knew where it would take us.”
“I suppose we did,” I say, searching her eyes for some sign that she wants me to stay, because at this moment, I’m pretty sure if she wanted me to, I would.
Emma glances at the plane, then says, “You should go. They’re waiting for you.”
When I look up at the jet, I see Yvonne, the flight crew leader, standing at the top of the stairs, waiting to greet me.
“I'm going to be horribly cliché and ask you to promise me one thing…”
“Don't worry, I won't speak a word of any of it to anyone, I promise,” Emma says firmly. “Well, that’s not entirely true because my best friend, Priya, knows you were here. I mentioned your name before I knew you were famous, and she sort of guessed what was going on, but I wouldnevergive her any details other than general girl talk like ‘it was a-MAZ-ing.’”
God, she’s cute. How the fuck am I going to force myself to get on that plane? “Actually, I wanted you to promise you won’t give up on your dreams, no matter what. You have a rare and quasi-magical talent and it would kill me if you wasted it making boring meals for middle-aged idiots and their infantile third wives.”
She reaches up and touches my cheek with her hand. “I promise. Nothing is going to get in the way of my world cuisine domination.”
“That’s my girl.”
The look on her face says she won't let anyone get in her way, not even me.
And for that, I’m glad.
* * *
Email from Gwen Sullivan, President, Sullivan and Stone Publishing, Inc.
Dear Pierce,
I understand you're on your way home victorious. Zach has shared some of the pages with me, and I could not be more thrilled. See you as soon as you get in. I cannot wait to sip some wine and read the finished product.
Warmest regards,
Gwen
* * *
Text from Zach:Just finished. Brilliant way to close the series! Seriously. It's so much better than I could've expected. Madly working on edits. Call me as soon as you land.
* * *
Text from Leo:Not sure when you'll be home, but I just wanted to let you know I'm using your flat. A bit of a problem at the house in Bath has left me without a place to stay and I knew you wouldn't mind putting your little brother up for a while. I'm afraid Mum and Father are rather pissed at me at the moment so I'm persona non grata over at their place. See you when you get back.
* * *
Voicemail from Kent Cromwell:Pierce, Kent here. I knew you’d get the job done if I applied some pressure. The talk over at S & S is that it's one of the most brilliant works they'll ever put out so well done, both of us. I need you to authorize pages to be sent over here immediately for adaptation. Call me as soon as you get this.
* * *
I should be on top of the world right now. I finally broke theClash of Crownscurse. Every ounce of pressure has been lifted off my shoulders after two years of suffocating under the weight of it. I won. I beat Kent Cromwell and the rest of the clones at NBO.
So, why don’t I feel elated? Thrilled? Utterly satisfied? Instead, I feel shell-shocked. Empty. Numb.
It’s because I’m exhausted. That’s the reason.
