Chapter 20
Cora
I’m a married woman, officially.
Celeste
I’m calling a huge HEA here.
Saar
I can’t believe I’m saying it but I agree.
Get ready to pick me up when I fall and he’s not there to catch me.
Celeste
Something tells me he’s already there.
Saar
The way he’s been looking at you.
Lily
What did I miss?
I hate being five hours ahead.
Celeste
You live in the future, babe.
Can you check if I’m heartbroken in the future?
“Mrs. Stone.” Gina Cassinetti extends her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s Winslow-Stone.” I shake her hand, trying the name on my tongue for the first time. I ignore the weird indigestion it causes. Not the name, but my fake claim to it. “Call me Cora.”
I’ve been Mrs. Winslow-Stone for two weeks. Two weeks with Xander that feel just like a normal marriage.
That’s the most worrying part.
Xander got a marriage certificate to appease his father and follow through on the business with his client. No problem there. The bistro is getting saved in the process.
He added some amazing sex to the equation. No problem at all. I’m benefiting, and enjoying every moment of it.
But he’s also throwing in these little acts of what really feels like genuine care. That is the confusing part. Because how am I to protect my heart?
“Then, call me Gina. You have a great place here.” She walks around the bistro, which has been closed since Sanjay left.
“It’s my father’s pride and joy. Unfortunately he’s sick, and I…” For some reason, I feel like I’m on trial here.
“Mr. Stone said you want to preserve the original concept as closely as possible?” She taps her fingers on the counter, her eyes behind her blue-rimmed glasses inspecting the space with professional scrutiny.
I don’t know what she sees, but for some reason I want to apologize. “What is it you do, Gina?”
She faces me with a bright smile. “I’m a consultant in the hospitality industry. My expertise lies in restaurant processes, staffing, and marketing. I work either with new places or with already established places like yours. In both cases, it’s my job to help a restaurant succeed.”
She speaks with conviction and enthusiasm.
“My father left the place in a dire financial situation.”
“Mr. Stone said the budget is no issue.”
I guess that’s part of the deal. Whatever that means.
“But, of course, I will provide suggestions with pricing options, and you’re in charge of choosing what’s best,” Gina continues. “Will your father want to provide input?”
“I’m afraid he isn’t in a position to…” I peter out, because what am I going to say? In a position to care?
“Okay, let’s start. I have a gazillion questions.” She sits down and pulls out her tablet, saving me from the painful search for the right answer.
We spend almost two hours discussing the current operation while Gina makes notes.
The whole time I’m trying to get excited, but as it’s been lately, I still only feel exhaustion.
Maybe it’s burnout. Or just overall disillusionment with the way my life turned out. When Gina leaves, I look around the space and sit down for a moment, to reflect on my lack of motivation.
The space, closed and empty, sparks nothing besides an intense relief that I don’t have to open, prep, and serve at the moment.
I realize my break is sponsored by the man who will probably move on soon, but I need this to be able to breathe. Besides, I’m helping him as well.
Instead of forcing myself to dream about the next chapter of this venture, I take out my notebook. Escaping to fictional worlds has always helped.
I flip through the pages, but I can’t find the lines I remember writing a while ago. Regardless, the story awakens in me with its next lines:
The fox liked the building part best — the hammering, the fixing, the knowing she’d made something that would keep someone else warm.
But when the sun went down, and the lights glowed in all the windows, she curled up outside, under a tree, and told herself she liked the quiet.
“Foxes don’t need homes,” she said. “We make them for others.”
But she always built them with extra room. Just in case.
The story pours out of me. I don’t remember the last time I wrote in such a flow. It’s just silly verses for kids, but they fill me with a sense of purpose I haven’t felt in… quite a while.
It’s like the moment I allowed myself a bit of a break, my mind freed up for creativity.
My phone rings, and I answer mindlessly.
“…I’m calling from the Brooklyn Food Bank Network. I couldn’t reach your husband, but his assistant gave me your number. I wanted to thank you for your generous donation.” The male voice pulls me back to reality.
“Pardon me?”
“Your donation. Let me tell you, not many people decide to feed the people in need instead of their wedding guests. I just wanted to thank you personally.”
There won’t be a wedding. We will donate to a few organizations in lieu of a big party.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad we could help at least a little bit.”
He chuckles. “A little bit. We’re covered for at least a year, despite the conditions.”
“Conditions?”
He chuckles again. “Don’t take me wrong, we appreciate that you thought not only of the financial support. It’s true we can’t afford to be picky with the food we source. Well, now we can, thanks to you, and I promise we will ensure the food we provide is nutritionally balanced.”
I try to mumble something coherent, but no words leave my mouth.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.” I finally find my voice. “I hope we didn’t create more work for you.”
“With the best intentions, so we don’t mind. Frankly, it’s quite refreshing that someone cares beyond the cheque.”
“If you need anything else, just let us know,” I say, like I have the resources to assist more.
I hang up, smiling. If nothing else, my fake marriage fed many people. I’m about to send a message to Xander, but a knock on the door has me smiling even more.
“You’re still closed?” Saar asks as I unlock the entrance.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed my lattes.” Celeste navigates the stroller inside.
“You came all this way. What if I wasn’t here?”
“I had to meet a new dance teacher.” Celeste’s dance school is half a block from the bistro. “Saar was coming to join me for a stroll with Amelie, and we happened to see you sitting here.”
“Are you okay?” Saar gives me a hug.
“She should be—honeymooning.” Celeste winks.
I groan. “You would have to wait at least half an hour for your lattes. The machine hasn’t been used for two weeks.”
“Let’s go to the small coffee shop up the street,” Saar suggests, and we leave.
As we walk up the street, I realize I locked up and left without a second thought. Like it was the most natural thing to do, leaving the burdens behind me.
I’ve had coffee with my friends many times, but always at my father’s place. Never somewhere else. Somewhere where I can be a customer and fully enjoy the company without thinking about the preparations, patrons, bills, and everything else.
We take a table on a patio. The small coffee shop is lovely, the coffee is delicious, and the company is great—if not a little nosy.
The freedom is intoxicating.
“Are you going to make us pry it out of you?” Saar asks.
“We gave you two weeks, but I’m dying to hear what the hell is happening.” Celeste peeks into the stroller. “First, are you happy?”
I blink a few times, because the question takes me by surprise. How fucked-up it is that I have to pause to think about the answer? But my smile stretches because the answer is unanimous.
“I’m very happy.”
“Good sex will do that to you.” Saar smirks.
“And let’s face it, we all started in a marriage of convenience and…” Celeste shimmies her shoulders. “The rest is history.”
“Yeah, but it’s different with Xander.” I take a sip.
“How?” Saar asks.
“Even if we ended up having a genuine relationship, in a few years he will want a family, and I will be forty by then. There is no way this has a chance of surviving beyond a year or two.”
The truth silences our little table.
“The way he looked at you when we came to your apartment, I don’t know, I think the man is ready to compromise.” Saar shrugs.
“Did you talk about children?” Celeste asks.
“No, of course not. It’s a fake marriage.” I shake my head.
“With real sex,” Saar whispers, but the couple near us gives us a look.
We giggle like schoolgirls. “Yes, very, very real,” I say dreamily.
“Again, I think the way he looks at you…” Saar shrugs.
“Maybe he’s ready to settle,” Celeste says.
“If that’s the case, I’m hardly the best candidate. I’m ten years older.”
“I think you’re making too big a deal of your age gap,” Saar says.
“From what you told us, he’s taking you to introduce you to his parents.
Not to remind you of all the women he’s been with, but any of them would look like a better candidate…
on paper… young, and with a single goal of landing an eligible bachelor—”
“Stop. I don’t want to compare myself to the long-legged blondes.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“But that’s the point. You don’t need to compare yourself. He chose you.” Saar shrugs.
“For a fake marriage,” I mumble.
“Still, Cora, he had options,” Celeste says. “I don’t think the age gap is an issue for him.”
“I know it isn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that he will need more than I can offer down the road,” I argue.
“Let’s not talk about down the road, because right now, you’re honeymooning.” Saar bites her lip with mischief. “How is the interruption of your celibacy?”
The smile might split my face. “No complaints at all.”
“Then stop worrying about tomorrow and enjoy today.” Celeste raises her cappuccino to toast to that. “Besides, when a man is with a younger woman, it’s not an issue. So let’s just fuck the double standard, and enjoy fully.”
And she’s right.
Also, today is what matters. Even if this relationship is doomed to end, I will always cherish the few moments in life I had with him.
Fuck the age gap. I’m not going to spoil what we have right now.