Charles set his portfolio on a small table and extracted a document bound with a blue ribbon. “My publisher has drawn up a new contract,” he said, his voice dropping an octave like it always did when he was being particularly persuasive. “For the re-release ofLes Ombres de Provence.”
“I've already told you—” Eveline began.
“With you as co-author,” Charles interrupted, pushing the document toward her. “Full credit. Equal royalties. A formal acknowledgment that the stories were drawn from your experiences.”
Eveline stared at the contract, her fingertips brushing the edge of the paper. “Why now?” she asked, hating the slight tremor in her voice.
He shrugged, a practiced gesture of casual remorse. “Perhaps I've grown. Perhaps I finally understand what I took from you.” He tapped the contract. “This is my attempt to make it right.”
“Nothing to do with your publisher insisting that they get full rights and that there’s no whiff of scandal attached to the book?” Maya asked pointedly.
Charles shot her an irritated glance. “This is about reconciliation.”
“Reconciliation,” Eveline repeated, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.
It had been too long. The gesture was hollow, years too late. And yet, as she looked at the contract with her name printed beside his, something tugged at her. Not love, never love again, but a certain vindication. After all this time, a formal admission that he had taken what wasn't his to take.
She reached for her glasses, her hand shaking slightly as she put them on and began to skim the document.
“You don't have to decide right now,” Charles said, his tone softening. “Take the contract home. Read it properly. But I think you'll find the terms more than fair.”
Eveline continued reading, the legal language swimming before her eyes. Co-author credit. Her name on the cover. A public statement that would clear her of the whispers that had followed her from academia in Paris, that she was difficult, unreasonable, unable to understand the creative process.
She was so tired of fighting.
“Or there's a pen in the portfolio,” Charles said, his voice low and encouraging. “You could end this today. Put the past behind us once and for all.”
Eveline looked up at him. It would be so easy to sign, to finally close this chapter of her life. To have something, even if it wasn't what she truly wanted.
“Don't you dare,” Maya said, her hand closing over Eveline's wrist. “Not like this.”
“Maya, please,” Eveline said, not pulling away but not meeting her friend's eyes either.
“Look at me,” Maya insisted. When Eveline finally did, Maya's expression was fierce with protectiveness. “You're about to sign a contract with a man who betrayed you because you're in pain over Emery. Those are two completely different situations.”
“They both lied to me,” Eveline said flatly.
“You're not thinking clearly,” Maya said. “This isn't about Charles or his book. This is about you trying to make sense of what happened with Emery by lumping her in with him.” She gestured dismissively at Charles. “It's not the same thing, and you know it.”
Charles cleared his throat. “I hardly think this is any of your business—”
“Oh, it is very much my business when you swoop in while my friend is emotionally vulnerable,” Maya shot back. “Could your timing possibly be any more opportunistic?”
“I'll thank you not to psychoanalyze my motives,” Charles said stiffly. “This is between Eveline and me.”
“No, it's not,” Maya said. “Because Eveline doesn't exist in a vacuum. She has people who care about her, who can see when she's about to make a decision for all the wrong reasons.”
Eveline stared at the contract, Maya's words penetrating the fog that had surrounded her for weeks. Was that what she was doing? Using Charles's offer as some twisted way of processing what had happened with Emery?
“I think,” she said finally, her voice steadier than it had been in days, “that I need more time.”
Charles's expression hardened almost imperceptibly before smoothing back into practiced charm. “Of course,” he said, reaching for the contract. “Take all the time you need. But the offer won't stand indefinitely. My publisher is eager to move forward.”
“I'm sure they are,” Maya muttered.
With a tight smile, Charles gathered his things and departed, the shop bell signaling his exit with a cheerful jingle that seemed entirely out of place.
When he was gone, Eveline sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. “I nearly signed it,” she said. “I hadn’t even read it. What's wrong with me?”
