When the Heart Falls

"I don't know.” This surprises me. “A few months ago, I would have taken a traditional deal in a heartbeat, but now I’m not so sure. Part of me wants the accolades that go with being traditionally published. When you have the stamp of approval from one of the big publishers, people seem to respect your work more, you get entered into more awards and there are more reviewers willing to review your book. There’s still a stigma to self-published books, and while that's changing, it seems the more authors become successful on their own, the more articles pop up bashing self-publishing."

I sit up, closing my computer to face Cade, hands now in his. "But, there are a lot of downfalls to the traditional deal that I’ve been reading about," I say. "Shitty contracts, less money, minimal marketing, and no control. It scares me to think that the book I worked so hard on for so long could end up ruined, and I’ll be powerless to do anything about it. But it also scares me to think about putting my book out there all by myself, no net, no backup, no stamp of approval. Nothing but my name. Like being naked in front of the world, standing there as they judge me.”

"Whichever you choose, I know you’ll do great.” He says this with such confidence, such absolute assurance, that my heart flip-flops in my chest. No one has ever shown that kind of faith in me before, not when it comes to my writing.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me." We lay back on the grass together, and I'm content to watch the clouds with him, grateful that I’ve found someone I can share my dreams with. He wasn’t just being polite; he really cares about my career and my ambitions, just like I enjoy hearing about his architecture and knowledge. We complement each other, filling in the spaces left by the other.

Filling in the spaces left by the world.

This moment is perfect, our time here pristine, a mini-paradise that I wish we could stay in forever. I wonder what it would be like to live here with Cade, never leaving this island as we enjoy good food, go on long walks, talk, make love and daydream with clouds. He doesn’t know he’s my first. My body wouldn’t have shown that, but my heart does. Rodney can never claim to have taken my heart, taken my love, taken the innocence that I gave willingly to Cade.

"Last night, what does it mean for us?" I ask.

Cade is silent for so long that my heart beats erratically and my hand trembles in his from fear. Still he is silent. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to me? I’m sure he’s had other women, enjoyed casual sex. Lots of my friends have, too. It’s normal, I guess. Especially at our age. Given the situation, the setting, I can’t blame him if this is just a fling, and part of me thinks I should pretend that’s all it is for me too, but last night was too profound, too real for me to lie to him like that. And so, I bare my soul and open myself up to him. "I don't want this to end.”

He squeezes my hand. "This isn't just a summer fling.” He sounds sad, resigned. "But we know it won't last."

"What if it does?" I’m clinging to hope. I have to, or my heart will break.

He looks into my eyes, holding them with his gaze. "I won't ask you to leave Paris.”

"And I won't ask you to stay." We both know what it feels like to have others ask us to give up our dreams. It’s the one thing we can never ask of each other.

"Then what's left?" he asks.

"We can try long distance.”

"For how long?"

"A year, maybe. I don't intend to stay in Paris forever."

He props up on his elbow to look down at me. "What if you change your mind?"

I hadn’t thought of that, but it's entirely possible. My program could be extended. I could fall in love with France and never want to leave. "I might not. There's no way to know for sure unless—"

"Unless we try."

I nod, my eyes pleading with him. "Will you try with me?"

He stays silent, and I'm afraid he won't answer, or worse, that he will and his answer is to leave me. Then I'll be alone. Frozen in solitude. The Ice Queen. My fear shakes me, and a chill creeps up my skin. But then Cade takes me in his arms and holds me close. He whispers in my ear, "I will try. And we will find a way."

And I melt against him, feeling as if I can do anything with him by my side. Publish my book any way I want and succeed, travel the world or come back to New York, anything, because this man, so strong and sure and confident, believes in me. It's all I need.

With my lips pressed against his neck, I whisper, "She opened herself to him, and, in that moment, she opened herself to the world."





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 22





"WE CAN VISIT each other once a month," Winter says, looking up from her computer. "We can chat online while we're in class, and we can talk on the phone every day. We can even see each other on Skype."

"Sure." But we can’t touch. We can’t get coffee and sit in the sun together talking about life. We can’t visit museums or dance or break presumed to be irreplaceable ancient artifacts. We can’t get up on a stage and sing.

She moves her chair to face me. "We can take turns. You'll come up to Paris one month. I'll go down to New York the next. Then you can meet my parents."

"Sure." I hope I get to. I hope our relationship lasts longer than a month once we're apart.