Page 163 of My Real Love Affair

Eventually, I forced myself up off the floor. My legs felt shaky, like I had just run a marathon. I left my bag by the doorand made my way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

My bedroom looked exactly as I’d left it yesterday—back when I’d been excited and hopeful, packing an overnight bag like some lovesick teenager. The bed was still unmade from where Cleo had sprawled across it.

I’d been so happy. So sure that surprising him with dinner would be romantic and perfect and everything we needed after being apart for two days. Instead, I had gotten the truth. And the truth sucked.

I grabbed clean clothes from my dresser, soft leggings and an oversized hoodie, and headed into the bathroom. I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it and peeled off yesterday’s clothes. The dress that was supposed to be sexy but casual. The lingerie I’d bought specifically for last night that never got seen.

I stepped under the spray and let the water pour over me, washing away the remnants of my makeup and the dried tears on my cheeks. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the heat soak into my skin. Then the tears started again.

They mixed with the shower water. I pressed my palms against the tile wall and let myself cry. Really cry. All the disappointment and heartbreak and frustration I’d been holding back came pouring out. Because I loved him. I was in love with Austin Bancroft.

And it didn’t matter.

Love wasn’t enough when you wanted fundamentally different futures. I wanted a husband. A family. Kids running around my house, filling it with noise and chaos and joy. I wanted Sunday dinners like my mom used to make, with a full table and sticky fingers and laughter.

Austin wanted freedom. No ties, no commitments, no obligations. He’d said it himself. He wanted the bachelor life until he was in the ground. He wanted to wake up and decide tofly to Tahiti for a week. Having a family would throw a wrench into those plans.

He offered to try. He said he could change his mind about kids. But that wasn’t fair to him or to any potential children. You didn’t have kids because your girlfriend wanted them. You had them because you wanted them, too. Because you were ready and willing to give your whole heart to another human being.

I couldn’t ask him to do that. Couldn’t ask him to fundamentally reshape his entire life plan for me.

The water started to run cold, shocking me back to the moment. I finished up and got out, then got dressed and headed back downstairs to make the world’s strongest coffee. I had barely slept the night before. My mind kept replaying our conversation. I went back and forth between accepting that it was over to considering changing what I wanted. Did I really need kids? Could I be okay with just living footloose and fancy free like him?

No. I couldn’t. I wanted more. I needed more to feel fulfilled. Even if having children didn’t work out, I would still want roots. A home. A loving husband.

So, it was over. I knew it. I loved Austin, but I wasn’t going to sit around and hope he changed his mind. I sipped my coffee and let the caffeine do its thing. And then it was time to work. I had to focus my mind elsewhere. Anything to stop myself from thinking about him and what we could or couldn’t have.

I tried to work. Really tried. Set up my lighting, picked out some pieces from recent PR packages and attempted to get into my usual rhythm. But everything felt flat. Empty. Like I was going through the motions of being myself rather thanactuallybeing myself.

After an hour of taking photos I knew I would just delete later, I gave up. My phone sat on the counter, taunting me. Austin had texted twice this morning. I still felt terrible aboutleaving without a goodbye, but if I woke him up there would have been another awkward conversation.

Austin:Good morning. How are you?

Austin:I know you need space. But I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

I hadn’t responded. Didn’t know what to say.

I’m heartbroken? I’m confused? I’m terrified we want different futures and there’s no way to bridge that gap?

A knock on my door made me jump.Austin?

I self-consciously ran a hand over my hair that was in a bun. I looked a mess. I knew it, but I couldn’t just hide. When I opened the door, it was Cleo.

Of course. Why would it be Austin? He was giving me space.

“Hey, babe,” she said, breezing in with her usual energy. She took one look at my face and stopped. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You are a terrible liar.” She set down her massive tote bag and crossed her arms. “Spill.”

“Can we just work? We need to shoot those ads.”

“Mel. Spill. Now.”

So I did. I told her about the dinner. About the questions. About Austin’s answers. About how everything had fallen apart in the span of ten minutes. Cleo listened without interrupting, which was unusual for her. When I finished, she was quiet for several long seconds.

“Don’t tell me you have more billionaire problems,” she finally said.