Chapter 33
Cora
Saar
I don’t understand why you don’t want to come.
Celeste
The house is beautiful. We would have so much fun.
I have revisions to work on.
Saar
House in Tuscany is the perfect place for that.
Tessa might need me at the bistro
Celeste
I call bullshit.
Lily
I could join you.
Saar
If Lily can work remotely, so can you.
I’ll think about it.
Celeste
That’s what you’ve been saying for two weeks now.
Pitt dances around my legs as I make my way to the kitchen, his tail brushing against my calves.
The cat hasn’t left my side since I moved back home. It’s like he senses something irreplaceable is missing from my life, and he’s determined to fill the void with fur and neediness.
“If you don’t stop this, I will end up stepping on you, silly cat,” I mutter, scooping him up before the guilt of accidentally injuring him is added to my emotional load.
He purrs, loud and steady—an instant balm for the storm inside me. Placing him gently on the counter, I reach for a mug and turn on the coffee machine.
They say we should collect memories, not things.
But things hold memories. They haunt you with them.
Like this espresso machine with all its fancy, over-engineered functions. The one that Xander bought when he lived here. He didn’t keep it. He sent it back to me with the rest of my stuff.
As if brewing coffee could cure heartbreak.
I left it in its box for a while, but two days ago I unpacked it—because apparently I’m a masochist, with a taste for caffe crema and regret.
The hiss and hum fill the silence of the apartment. The rich aroma curls through the air like a ghost. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, willing it to settle the ache inside me.
Too many memories in such a short time.
Even the empty corners feel full—like the imprint of his presence lingers in the air.
The way he used to toss his jacket over the back of the chair. The way he grumbled about the size of my shower. The way he read for Pavel, right there on that goddamn couch, like he belonged here.
Like we belonged.
The machine beeps. I reach for my cup, cradling it in both hands like the warmth could make me whole again.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Tessa. I hesitate, then swipe to answer.
“Morning,” she says, cheerful in a way only someone who’s not walking around in emotional quicksand can be.
“Hey.”
“Just wanted to update you—we met with Gina this morning and finalized the new menu layout. She’s sending the print proofs later this week.”
I blink. “Menu layout?”
“You know… the new menu we discussed? Oh, and the new supplier started delivering yesterday.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “That’s great. I’m glad.” It’s more like I’m completely indifferent, but I shouldn’t be, so I fake it.
There’s a pause. A knowing silence. “You okay?”
“Sure.” More faking. “I’ll be there later this afternoon. I have a meeting with my agent.”
“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come every day. I have things under control.”
When I hang up, the silence returns with a vengeance.
The bistro is moving on. Just fine. Without me.
It’s a relief.
But also unwelcome. It’s like after Xander, the other constant in my life—the bistro—is gone as well. I’m not there anymore.
Not at the bistro.
Not in Xander’s life.
I stare down at Pitt, now curled on the counter, his eyes blinking up at me like he knows what I’m thinking.
“I made a home for everyone but myself,” I whisper, remembering the Fox story. “Even you, you little brat.”
“These are…” I stare at the illustrations, spread out on the boardroom table in Andrew’s office. “They are exactly what I had in mind. Perfect.”
Working on my book has been the only joy in my life in these painful months. On the surface, life is happening as before, unaffected by the aching crater in my chest.
Tessa is still Tessa. My friends support me more than ever. Pitt and Clooney provide cuddles and give attitude.
I still visit the cemetery, not Ethan’s but Dad’s grave. I still scribble stories. Bills come, bills are paid. Pavel visits me or the cats regularly.
Life seems to flow, but I’m only drifting.
How long can I live like this?
C.O.R.A. grows and spreads goodness in more schools. The work there brings me joy as well, and it has become my refuge, but it reminds me of Xander too much.
My book is the only thing that is just mine. The breeze of a new beginning I’m so desperately hoping for. Even though it was Xander who truly believed in my stories more than I ever had, this baby is mine, and I cling to it with all my might.
The hollow remains. The light is dimmed. The static is loud.
But at least I have this.
The ginger fox stares at me from the illustration, almost daring me. But how am I to build a home for myself if the most important part of me is missing?
The loving and the loved one. The one that belongs with Xander.
I guess, sometimes, we meet our soul mates, but it doesn’t mean they are to stay with us. They come into our lives to shake it up, to uproot what we know and challenge what we believe. They touch us to change us.
Love can’t replace trust, and sometimes the habits are too ingrained. Xander negotiates huge deals, and is extremely good at that.
Unfortunately, that admirable drive to close a deal, to win, is something that comes as second nature to him.
I will always be at the end of his schemes. Or I wonder if I am.
“I’m glad you like them, Cora. I’ll set up a meeting with the artist, so you can discuss your creative vision. I want to make sure I pitch this to the publishers as a deal, so you can retain creative control.”
“Wouldn’t they want to make those choices?”
“Let’s try to do it my way first.”
“Okay. Thank you, Andrew.”
“May I ask you something, Cora?”
“Of course.”
“Are you not happy with my work?” He polishes his glasses with the tip of his tie.
“On the contrary.” I smile. Fuck, have I been such a downer that he doesn’t feel appreciated? “Why do you ask?”
“Your husband keeps checking up if everything is progressing as it should.” He looks at me, studying my reaction, probably assessing if I’m behind Xander’s interference.
“I didn’t know.” I fiddle with my purse.
I’m here for you for the rest of our lives.
Part of me is upset with his meddling. The other part is… I don’t know, relieved, grateful, confused. Is he really planning to wait for me? Forever?
I was sure he’d forget soon enough. Yeah, how is that going for you?
“Maybe you can tell him to back off?” Andrew shrugs.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. We’re actually… We split up.” The words scratch my throat, a lump growing. Instead of time healing things, the wound festers.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He must really care about you.”
He does. And that’s the worst part. We both care about each other.
I rush out of Andrew’s office, my head spinning. I need space. I need air. I need to get away.
Maybe Tuscany.
Maybe laughter and wine and the girls.
Maybe it’s time to rebuild myself. Maybe the distance would help us both.
“I miss Declan and the kids, but I don’t want to leave tomorrow.” Lily sighs, taking a bite of bruschetta, the toppings falling to her plate.
The country restaurant we’ve been frequenting this week is small and honest. I love it here. Winter is not really the time to visit Tuscany, but in many ways, it’s better.
No crowds. It’s like the estate and its surroundings belong to us only. I’ve found some peace here.
“I think I’m going to stay here longer.”
Am I? I didn’t plan on it, but as soon as the words are out, they feel right. More right than anything else in my life lately.
Perhaps the lingering hurt, the humming void, the silent regret will fade faster if I stay here. Maybe I can find a way to stay here for part of the year. The idea, while unbidden, grows so quickly that a flicker of excitement ignites for the first time in months.
Saar, Celeste, and Lily all stop eating and stare at me.
“I’ll check with my producer. I’m sure I don’t have to return for a few more days.” Saar speaks first.
“No. You all have been wonderful staying here with me. It’s been the best distraction. But I think I can stay alone. I should stay alone. Would you mind putting me in touch with the estate owner, so I can extend my stay?”
“You’re serious?” Celeste asks, stroking Amelie’s back as the baby sleeps in her arms.
“Yes, I’ll look for something more affordable, of course. The place is enormous, but I need to extend for at least a few nights.”
The girls exchange a look.
“Come on, I’m an adult,” I argue. “I can stay by myself in a foreign country. I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Lily looks away. Saar grimaces, and Celeste kisses her baby’s head, avoiding eye contact.
“What is going on?” I frown.
“The estate… it’s Xander’s.” Saar scrunches her face like the words hurt her.
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t get upset, but coming here was his idea.”
“His idea?” I throw the napkin on the table. “Of course he knows better what I need.” The shitty part is, he was right. “I can’t believe you. Whose side are you on?”
“Always on yours, Cora,” Celeste says.
“He hurt you; the least he could do is to pay for your rebound getaway.” Saar reaches over the table, squeezing my hand.
“Rebound?”
“Okay, wrong choice of words.”
“We’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room, but you’re hurt; he’s hurt. Are you sure there is no way the two of you can get past the betrayal?” Lily asks.
The answer should be unequivocal and automatic, but the denial gets stuck in my throat and doesn’t come out.
“None of our relationships started with love,” Celeste says.
“He betrayed you,” Saar adds. “He tricked you, but can you honestly say that what followed was a lie?”
“So you’re on his side!”
“He made a mistake, and he’s paying for it. You forgave your father. Ethan and your father are prime examples of multiple shades to every story. You’re focusing only on the dark side of yours and Xander’s.” Saar gives me a sad smile.
“You think I should give him a chance?”