“Good,” he echoes.
What the hell. We’re back to the start.
74
Ashford’s Version
What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t look happy! Then why did you talk as if this idea of bringing forward our divorce were a blessing?
I don’t get anything.
The story of the Russian artist really took me by surprise; it was something I had never even taken into consideration.
I always knew this day would come, but I thought we wouldn’t have to face this issue for a long time, and I was relying on that time to strengthen the relationship with Jemma, so that we could make a considered decision; yet, Derek dropped this card and turned the game upside down.
I’m not happy, because I have to reconsider a lot of things; first of all, I’m not ready to let Jemma go, I don’t want to.
There’s one thing I am relieved about, though: I can repay Jemma and have my dignity back in a blink.
But what about Jemma?
Falling in love with her was not part of the original plan.
Falling in love? Did I seriously say that?
No, I meant that I like her, I’m attracted to her, I find her sexy and witty; moreover, she’s able to bear the role of duchess way better that I expected, which makes everything more tolerable. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like her. If I had to define her, I would use two words: Big Bang. A perfect and delightful chaos. A devastating explosion that puts everything in the right place. With Jemma by my side, everything makes sense.
Yet, she’s so enigmatic and distant, that I would give up my title and all my possessions to know where she is. Because she isn’t next to me now, in that passenger seat. Or rather, her body is, but not her mind.
We spend the rest of the day apart: she’s out riding with her mother while I wander aimlessly around the manor, looking for something to focus on, with no success.
At dinner, we don’t say a word to each other, and I notice that she barely eats. We’re having fried chicken wings, so that’s not a good sign.
When we withdraw to our separate rooms, which hasn’t happened for a while, my level of unhappiness goes beyond what I can bear, so much so that I could punch anything close to me.
I hear muffled sobs coming from the other side of the door. It’s Jemma, who’s trying to conceal that she’s crying, but ineffectively.
She can say whatever she likes, even that she’s more than glad we’re going to divorce, but her crying clearly means that, just like me, she isn’t happy about it at all.
I pluck up the courage to end this silly situation. I open the connecting doors between our rooms and I take her in my arms. She’s curled up on her bed, with her face buried by a pyramid of pillows.
“We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to,” I tell her. “I don’t want a divorce, and if you feel the same, you have to tell me loud and clear.”
In response, her sobbing becomes louder. “Jemma, Derek updated us on the news, but divorcing remains our choice. If we don’t want to, we won’t do it. I don’t want to, Jemma. Do you?”
“No,” she whispers while crying. “I don’t. Not now that I’m happy.”
“This is the only thing that matters.”
75
Jemma’s Version
We’re not going to divorce. We spent the whole night talking about it. We may not be the perfect couple, our foundations may not be as solid as those of others, there’s no guarantee that our story will last forever, but is there anyone who does have such certainties? However, we’re here and now, we’re real and happy, and there would be no point in changing the state of things.
I don’t know if I should loosen up, but now that we’ve talked, I see everything in a more mature way.
Earlier, I deliberately ignored the fact that our marriage had an end date; now I know that we’ll both try to make it work, even though we have our own limitations.
