Bryn
I’ve been getting everything ready for the launch of House of Sass; most of the details I need to handle in person, at the warehouse. I’m sore all over, but I’m putting my everything into the project. It’s not only that I want to succeed, that I want the Kelly name to be attached to good things—not bad—but that I also want to prove to Christos that he was right in believing in me. Despite my busy week, thoughts of him keep coming. Not even music—my foolproof feel-good thing—can cheer me up; I seem to have developed the ability to find something mournful in every song I hear. Muscles sore and exhausted in every sense, I ask Becka for a little something to read before bed that night.
“No.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m in the middle of my book and they’re apart now.”
“Ugh. Give them an HEA.”
“I don’t know; I mean, realistically speaking, maybe they don’t get together…”
“Realistically speaking, my ass. People get together all the time.”
“But not always for the right reasons,” she counters. “Sometimes people stay apart for the right reasons, and that’s love. Doing it for each other, not wanting the other to compromise their integrity just to be together.”
“You’re going to fail miserably writing love stories if you don’t get these two back together, Becka. Do you hear me?!” I demand.
I head to my first date and it goes rather well. When my date walks me home, it’s past midnight and my phone rings. I don’t answer, even though my stomach dips in response to the sound. I spot the tall, familiar image of Christos leaning against my building entrance when I arrive.
He sees me and pushes off the wall, then plunges his hands into his pockets, and waits.
I swallow, then realize I have nothing to hide. He is not dating me anymore. I don’t need to feel unfaithful because we’re not together. I relax and head to the building.
“I had a great time tonight, Bryn, I hope we can do it again sometime.”
“Me too.”
“I really, truly enjoyed it.”
I say goodbye quickly, feeling awkward knowing the man I love and need to forget is watching me.
My date leaves, and I approach the door to my building.
Christos watches me through lowered eyebrows.
God, he looks delicious.
“It was one a.m. You didn’t answer.”
“So?”
“So I needed to see you were all right.”
“I’m all right.”
He stares at my clothes.
“We really need to consider that dress for the line.”
“Are you criticizing my design?”
“No, I fucking like it, it’s just…”
“What?”
He clenches his jaw, then leans forward. “Don’t wear it out again.”
“You have no right to ask that of me.”
“I can’t stand the thought of you going out.”
“I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping with Miranda.”
“I’m not,” he bites back.
I inhale sharply, then motion to the door. “Are you going to let me pass? I’m tired and I need to go to sleep.”
“Get some sleep. You’ll need it. I need you at 7 a.m. at the office tomorrow with a detailed list of every expense made so far.”
Christos
4 weeks ago…
“I cried when you left,” she admits as we walk along Chelsea the morning after our Peasant dinner.
I brought her coffee to help with her possible hangover, and now I’m trying not to laugh at her embarrassment as we remember our goodbye from years ago. “You got my only good shirt wet,” I say.
“Ohmigod. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I didn’t want it to dry.” My chest feels heavier as I brush her cheek, remembering.
She reacts with a blush, accusing me, “You’re a player.”
I give her a look of surprise. Hell, as if I’ve never been called that, or worse. “I’m not. I swear I’m not.”
“You totally play the game well.”
God, she’s adorable. I can’t stop chuckling, but I sober up when I tell her, “It’s never been a game with you.”
“What are you doing now?” She seems genuinely confused.
I evade.
“What am I doing now?” I glance straight ahead. “Walking down memory lane, in the middle of…” I search for the street sign, “20th Street.”
She smiles.
I stare at her mouth for the millionth time in what feels like the same second. I’m distracted lately, can’t stop thinking of her after last night. I wanted to see her. I want to kiss her senseless. Slip my hands under her top, feel her warmth, feel her against me, force her to feel me and what she does to me.
For days, I’ve listened to her passionately tell me about her project, trying to keep my distance, trying to keep my head straight.
Telling myself I should say no, and instead I see her again. Asking her to do better. Wanting her to keep impressing me.
I’m impressed with her business. With her.
I want to see her, and I want to bring this vision to life.
I walk next to her now, aware of the way she drinks in the city like a new thing, like a novelty, with excitement and hope.
I don’t want that hope for a future here dashed. But she’s a complication in my life.
I’m giving up the plans I set for myself in the past few years, to go for the ones I had when I was young.
It takes some adjusting.
But it’s like we never even said goodbye, that’s how I feel when I look at her.
The night before I left Austin, she teased me, but I remember the sadness in her eyes. She cried in my arms, and it didn’t feel good to hear her cry, but it felt good to hold her in my arms. I felt greedy; I wanted more. She got my only good shirt wet, and it didn’t fucking matter; I never wanted it to dry. I nuzzled the top of her head and breathed three words into her hair, not because I wanted her to hear them—I actually didn’t want her to—but because I needed to say them. Somewhere in her subconscious I wanted her to know she meant something.
Being with her now, vetting her more ruthlessly than I’ve ever vetted anyone (because I’m selfish—I want to know it all) is reminding me exactly what they meant.
This is the girl I loved and could never love.
This is my chance to do it.
Bryn
The next morning, I march into the office, sleepless, angry, sad, and with the list of expenses that King Christos demanded of me.
“He’s waiting for you,” Robertha says when she spots me.
I swallow back my anger and frustration and walk inside, staring at anything but him as I walk forward.
I can’t seem to bear it when he’s near—it hurts like a bitch and nothing I do can get rid of the ache in my chest.
“Here’s the list you requested. Call me if you have any questions. I need to be across the street organizing the arrival of the clothes and don’t have a lot of time.”
“Bryn.”
I inhale and turn, meeting his penetrating gold gaze.
It’s darker than usual today as he drags his hand down his face. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m not sleeping well and I suppose the launch is so close that the stress is making me moody.”