My book is the only thing that is just mine. The breeze of a new beginning I’m so desperately hoping for. Even though it was Xander who truly believed inmy stories more than I ever had, this baby is mine, and I cling to it with all my might.
The hollow remains. The light is dimmed. The static is loud.
But at least I have this.
The ginger fox stares at me from the illustration, almost daring me. But how am I to build a home for myself if the most important part of me is missing?
The loving and the loved one. The one that belongs with Xander.
I guess, sometimes, we meet our soul mates, but it doesn’t mean they are to stay with us. They come into our lives to shake it up, to uproot what we know and challenge what we believe. They touch us to change us.
Love can’t replace trust, and sometimes the habits are too ingrained. Xander negotiates huge deals, and is extremely good at that.
Unfortunately, that admirable drive to close a deal, to win, is something that comes as second nature to him.
I will always be at the end of his schemes. Or I wonder if I am.
“I’m glad you like them, Cora. I’ll set up a meeting with the artist, so you can discuss your creative vision. I want to make sure I pitch this to the publishers as a deal, so you can retain creative control.”
“Wouldn’t they want to make those choices?”
“Let’s try to do it my way first.”
“Okay. Thank you, Andrew.”
“May I ask you something, Cora?”
“Of course.”
“Are you not happy with my work?” He polishes his glasses with the tip of his tie.
“On the contrary.” I smile. Fuck, have I been such a downer that he doesn’t feel appreciated? “Why do you ask?”
“Your husband keeps checking up if everything is progressing as it should.” He looks at me, studying my reaction, probably assessing if I’m behind Xander’s interference.
“I didn’t know.” I fiddle with my purse.
I’m here for you for the rest of our lives.
Part of me is upset with his meddling. The other part is… I don’t know, relieved, grateful, confused. Is he really planning to wait for me? Forever?
I was sure he’d forget soon enough.Yeah, how is that going for you?
“Maybe you can tell him to back off?” Andrew shrugs.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. We’re actually… We split up.” The words scratch my throat, a lump growing. Instead of time healing things, the wound festers.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He must really care about you.”
He does. And that’s the worst part. We both care about each other.
I rush out of Andrew’s office, my head spinning. I need space. I need air. I need to get away.
Maybe Tuscany.
Maybe laughter and wine and the girls.
Maybe it’s time to rebuild myself. Maybe the distance would help us both.
