The question stops me cold. “I’m not going to lose Freya.”
“Aren’t you? When’s the last time you two had a normal conversation? When’s the last time she called you just to talk, or you hung out without some agenda or appearance to manage?”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Anthony’s right. Somewhere in all the planning and performing and careful image management, I’ve lost the easy friendship that was the foundation of everything else.
“She hasn’t contacted me at all today,” I admit.
“Can you blame her? You’re asking her to fake the most important relationship of her life for the sake of your business deal.”
“She agreed to it. She’s being compensated.”
“Ben.” Anthony’s voice is gentle but firm. “Do you really think Freya cares about the money?”
“Then why did she agree to this?”
“You’d have to ask her that. But I suspect it has more to do with caring about you than caring about financial compensation.”
The possibility that Freya agreed to this charade because she cares about me—not because of what she’ll get out of it, but because she wants to help me succeed—makes my chest tighten with an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely.
“What are you suggesting I do?”
“I’m suggesting you think about what you really want here. Not what’s best for business, not what will improve your public image, but what will actually make you happy.”
“What makes me happy doesn’t matter. I have responsibilities.”
“To whom? Your shareholders? Your board of directors? What about your responsibility to yourself? To Freya?”
I stand up and walk to the window, looking out at the Chicago skyline. From up here, everything looks manageable, controllable. But I know that’s an illusion. Some things—like feelings, like friendship, like love—can’t be managed or controlled no matter how hard you try.
“I can’t back out now,” I say finally. “Too many people are counting on this.”
“Including Freya?”
I turn back to face Anthony. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you asked her what she wants? Really wants, not what she’s willing to do for you?”
I think about my silent phone, about the fact that for the first time in weeks, Freya hasn’t reached out to me at all today. Usually, we’re in constant contact about wedding details, logistics, and appearances. Today, nothing.
“She’s not talking to me,” I admit.
Anthony reads something in my expression. “It’s not too late, Ben. It’s never too late to choose happiness over obligation.”
But as I look at my phone—silent, accusatory—I realize that maybe it is too late. Maybe I’ve already lost the most important thing, and Saturday will just be the formal conclusion of something that ended the moment I pulled away from her last night.
Maybe some mistakes can’t be undone, no matter how much you want to try.
“I need to get back to work,” I say, though we both know I won’t be able to concentrate.
“Think about what I said,” Anthony replies, heading for the door. “And maybe next time, hit the actual gym instead of doing push-ups on your office floor.”
After he leaves, I sit alone with the emails I can’t read and the phone that won’t ring, wondering how I managed to turn the best thing in my life into the most complicated.
CHAPTER 20
FREYA
My feet pound against the gravel path that winds around Lincoln Park’s lagoon, each step jarring my bones and sending shockwaves up my shins. I’ve been running for forty-five minutes, longer than I usually do, but I can’t bring myself to stop. If I stop, I’ll have to think. If I think, I’ll remember last night. If I remember last night, I’ll have to confront the fact that I’m four days away from the biggest mistake of my life.
