Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“About them being together?”
“Actually, no. That would have been unforgivable. But he didn’t care that they were lesbians, just that they weren’t … rich. And the crazy part is, they are. Tara’s parents are surgeons. Zoey’s dad is an investment banker in Boston.”
“But it wasn’t good enough for him.”
“No, not like the money he’s used to. He was a dick at the wedding, and then when I called him out on it, he ended it. Said we’d just been having fun anyway.” I sighed. “I always got the impression that I was more serious about it than he was … like I didn’t quite fit. But it was so easy for him to leave me and go back to his Upper East Side friends and not care.”
Ash inhaled sharply. “Yeah, they make it look so easy, don’t they?”
I hesitated before responding, “Did Lila make it seem easy?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. “She did. She slept with someone else. Her ex.”
I winced. “Jesus, Ash.”
“You know … I was willing to forgive her. I thought we’d be able to move past it.”
“Why?” I gasped. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I love her.”
“You don’t deserve that.”
“Well, she left anyway. And I’m not even mad at her, you know? Like, I just wonder if she went back to him. Back to Cole.” He spoke that name as if it were acid.
“So what if she did?” I said, reaching across the bed and taking his hand. “She hurt you. She broke your trust. That isn’t love, Ash.”
He closed his eyes against those words. “Maybe you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “We should … we should get some sleep.”
He slid his hand out of mine and rolled over with his back to me. I wanted to reach for him, to comfort him in some way. I’d said what I believed, but it had clearly been the wrong thing. Too soon to tell him the truth and not just console him. Even if he deserved to hear it.
Also too soon for him to hear the truth that I’d kept to myself all these years. At least that one stayed locked behind my lips.
8
New York City
October 20, 2014
Derek left Sunday afternoon to be back at work on Monday morning. Ash’s flight wasn’t until Tuesday morning. He hadn’t said another word about Lila since Friday night, when he’d confessed to what had happened with her. But we both knew that he was staying longer so that he didn’t have to return to reality. After what he’d told me, I hardly blamed him.
Before Derek had left, he’d hugged me and whispered, “Take care of him.”
I’d promised that I would.
Not that I knew how to take care of Ash. He’d been drunk day and night since he had gotten here. Maybe he didn’t even remember telling me about Lila.
“You have work today?” Ash asked the first morning we were alone in my apartment.
“No, I took today off too.”
“Really? Why?”
“You’re here,” I said like it was obvious.
“I would have been fine. I could have found a bar,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.
“No day-drinking today,” I told him. “We’re going out.”
He shot me an exasperated look. “I can day-drink if I want.”
“Not today though. Get dressed. I’m showing you around the city.”
I didn’t wait for his response. But when I looked through my closet full of black work attire, I decided against it. I pushed to the back of the closet and pulled on jeans and a pink sweater with fashion sneakers. It was still fashionable, but not on the caliber that I’d been wearing the last couple of years. Camden certainly would have wrinkled his nose at it. But I looked cute and, most importantly, comfortable and in color.
When I came back out, my hair left to curl at the edges with only light makeup, Ash brightened considerably. “There’s the Amelia Ballentine I know.”
I laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”
He’d changed into khakis and a blue polo that matched his bright blue eyes. He looked gorgeous, and it took everything in me not to show that on my face.
“So … where are we going?” he asked.
“I told you, I’m showing you my city.”
He just smiled and followed me out of the apartment. We walked to Washington Square Park, grabbing bagels for breakfast from a local food truck. We strolled through the Strand’s eighteen miles of books before heading north toward Union Square. We backtracked through the few blocks that housed The New School, and I showed him the fashion on display outside of Parsons. Then, we took the subway north to Madison Avenue, where we walked the immaculate line of fashion boutiques, which had been my dream for as long as I could remember.
“This is you?” he asked as we stopped in front of the Elizabeth Cunningham entrance.
“This is me.”