Charles's smile widened. “Excellent. I brought a pen.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “I think you'll find this is the beginning of a mutually beneficial reconciliation—”
“No,” Eveline interrupted, taking the pen. “This isn't reconciliation, Charles. This is closure.”
His smile faltered. “I don't understand.”
Eveline flipped to the signature page. “The stories you published no longer belong to me. You stole them, and now they're yours.” She signed her name with a quick, decisive stroke. “I don't want co-author credit. I don't want royalties. I want my ties to you to finally be over. I want to never have to see you again.”
Charles stared at her, confusion giving way to indignation. “You're being ridiculous. This contract is worth thousands.”
“Some things are worth more,” Eveline said, standing. “Like peace of mind. Like freedom from the past.” She pushed the signed contract toward him. “Goodbye, Charles.”
She walked out without looking back, not touching the champagne, not waiting for his response. Outside, the evening air was cool against her flushed cheeks, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than anger or sorrow.
Relief.
As she walked along the Thames, watching the city lights reflect on the dark water, Eveline realized she wanted to give things with Emery another chance. The thought was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Their history was complicated, messy, imperfect, but wasn't that true of all relationships worth having?
The question now was how to go about it. Emery had respected her wishes, hadn't tried to contact her. The solicitor's letter had been excessive, Eveline could admit that now. A door slammed shut and locked from the inside.
Would Emery even want to try again? Or had Eveline's reaction burned that bridge beyond repair?
She didn't know. But as she continued walking, Eveline realized that, for the first time in a long time, not knowing didn'tfrighten her quite so much. Because some things were worth the risk of uncertainty. Some people were worth the courage it took to be vulnerable again.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Emery was one of them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emery rummaged through her closet, discarding one outfit after another onto the growing pile on her bed. Nothing felt right. Not the blue dress that brought out her eyes, not the sleek black pants that made her look more put-together than she usually felt, not even the lucky sweater she'd worn to her first book signing.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling out a floral blouse only to toss it immediately onto the rejection heap. “It's just dinner with Jax and Domi.”
But it wasn't just dinner. It was her first time venturing out socially since The Incident, as she'd come to think of it. Capital letters and all. The night her life had imploded in spectacular fashion at the Romance Book Club.
Since making her decision to fight for Eveline, Emery had felt a shift inside herself. The paralysis of grief was giving way to determination, though she still had no idea what exactly she was going to do. Every plan she'd come up with seemed woefully inadequate.
A heartfelt letter? Too easy to ignore.
Flowers? Too cliché.
Standing outside the bookshop with a boombox? Too 1980s, and possibly grounds for a restraining order given the solicitor's letter.
She needed something that acknowledged the magnitude of her deception while also conveying the depth of her feelings. Something that showed Eveline she was worth a second chance.
Emery was considering and discarding the idea of skywriting when her phone rang. She lunged for it, heart leaping with irrational hope that it might be Eveline, before seeing Mrs. Hampton's name on the screen.
“Hello?” she said, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued to rifle through her closet.
“Emery! Or should I say Emerald?” Mrs. Hampton's voice boomed through the speaker. “How are you, my dear?”
“I'm fine,” Emery lied smoothly, grimacing at a polka-dotted disaster she'd forgotten she owned. “How are you?”
“Splendid, simply splendid. Though we do miss you at the book club. It's not the same without our resident expert.”
Emery winced. “Listen, Mrs. Hampton, about all that—”
“Water under the bridge,” Mrs. Hampton interrupted cheerfully. “These things happen. Creative types and their secrets! Which is actually why I'm calling.”
Emery finally pulled out a simple green dress that she'd worn once to a dinner with an agent before she’d met Domi. She held it up and nodded, it would do.
