Chapter 18
Leaning back on the chair at the rooftop deck, I glanced at the starry night sky, smiling to myself. The snacks I'd prepared sat neatly on the table beside me. I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and opened my messaging app. Scrolling to Sloane's account, I started typing.
Hey, can I invite you to some stargazing?
My thumb hovered over the send button, but I pressed my lips into a thin line and deleted it.
I tried again. Want to have some stargazing? I prepared snacks, like the old days... And again, I erased it.
Shutting my eyes, I took a deep breath before typing once more. Sol, can we talk? I'll wait for you at the rooftop deck, I prepared something for you. This time, I hit send.
The night breeze greeted me, and I tucked my hands into my hoodie pocket, legs bouncing as I waited. She usually came home around eight, and it was already a quarter to. I glanced at the stars again, counting them as though I could really keep track of them all.
Checking my phone, I pressed my lips into a thin line—still no reply. With a sigh, I uncorked the champagne and poured myself a glass. "She'll be home soon," I whispered.
Minutes turned into an hour. Still nothing.
I tried calling, but the call wouldn't go through.
I laughed softly, spearing a slice of cheese and popping it into my mouth.
"Maybe she's finishing something," I muttered, but the cold was already seeping into my bones.
Pulling my hood up, I shook my legs against the chill.
Another hour passed. The champagne bottle was nearly empty, the snacks half-eaten. The bouquet of white orchids I'd bought for her lay untouched on the table, the ice cream melted into a puddle.
"Are you coming?" I whispered to myself, checking my phone again—no response, no missed calls. I stayed a few more minutes, just staring at the sky as the stars blurred behind gathering clouds. Smacking my forehead, I laughed bitterly.
"Well, maybe she doesn't want to," I muttered with a shrug. I paused when I felt the first drops of rain slide against my skin. "Oh, shit!" I hissed, gathering everything onto the stainless tray and rushing down the stairs.
I went straight to the kitchen, dumping the ruined food into the trash and setting the used utensils in the sink.
Pulling on washing gloves, I scrubbed them quickly, the sound of water splashing against steel filling the silence.
When I finished, I set them neatly on the drying rack and peeled off the gloves.
"Maybe next time," I whispered, stepping out of the kitchen. I was about to head toward the foyer when a flicker of movement in the living room caught my eye.
I blinked. Sloane was curled on the couch, laptop balanced on her legs, silk robe draped loosely over her frame. "Sol?" I called softly, walking toward her.
She paused, looked at me, then popped a chocolate truffle into her mouth. Without much interest, her gaze shifted back to the laptop. "What is it?" she asked, her voice muffled.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
Her head tilted slightly, eyes flicking from the screen to me. "Since eight-thirty. I came home late. Why?"
Didn't she get my message? I fished out my phone, checking—the text had gone through. "Well..." I scoffed under my breath. "I sent you a message. Quarter to eight, I think. But maybe you didn't receive it."
"You did?" She reached for her phone on the coffee table, tapped the screen a few times, then let out a small laugh. "Oh, right. Forgot to charge it—it's dead." She shook it lightly, showing it to me.
"Ah." I forced a faint smile, sighing. "Is that so?"
She tilted her head at me. "Something I missed? Did you need me to buy something?" she asked while plugging her phone into the charger.
I chuckled weakly. "No, nothing like that." My throat tightened as I swallowed. "Just..." I gave a short, hollow laugh. "It's nothing."
She didn't reply, already absorbed in coaxing her phone back to life.
"Anyway, Sol," I said quietly. "I'm going to sleep. Rest once you're done." I started toward the hallway.
"Ro."
I turned at the sound of her voice. She was standing now, phone in hand, eyes flicking between the screen and me before settling uneasily on my face. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't know you texted. What did you want to talk about?"
"It's nothing important," I said with a dismissive wave, already turning away.
"Ro, wait."
I glanced over my shoulder. She was walking toward me.
"Something you need?" I asked, forcing my tone to stay neutral.
She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You've been added to the Oxford alumni tennis club group chat. Did you see it? They're planning a reunion this weekend."
"If you want to join, you can," I said with a shrug.
Her brows drew together. "Wouldn't you like to come with me? You were the top player back then—they're all asking about you."
"I can go with you, if you'd like," I offered. "We can take the jet, bring our own cars."
She gave a faint smile. "Alright. I'll let them know."
I nodded. "So... I'll head to bed." I gestured toward the bedroom hallway.
She just watched me as I turned and walked away.
Inside my room, I locked the door and slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor. A bitter laugh slipped from me. "Why isn't anything going as planned?"
It wasn't the wounds. It wasn't fatigue. It was the sharp, hollow ache of disappointment—like all my effort had evaporated into nothing. And none of it was even her fault.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I buried my face against my knees. My voice cracked as I whispered, "I just wanted to make it up to her. To show her I truly love her... Why does everything keep falling apart?"
?·???°???°???·?
As my private helicopter touched down at Nice C?te d'Azur Airport, our personnel stood waiting. I stepped out first, then turned to Sloane, offering her my hand. She hesitated only a moment before slipping hers into mine. We walked hand in hand toward the waiting staff.
"Ms. Aurora, Ms. Sloane." One of them bowed. "The cars are loaded into the cargo. Your belongings are already aboard the plane."
"Good job," I said, my gaze flicking to the private jet parked nearby. "Go on ahead. And take the helicopter back to Monaco once you're done. We'll be back—"
"We'll be back by Monday," Sloane cut in smoothly, making my brow arch. She smiled at the man, thanked him, then looped her arm around mine as we headed toward the plane.
Inside, she let go and moved ahead. I settled into one of the leather seats, tilting my head at her. "Since when are we staying until Monday? I thought we were returning tomorrow."
"I figured we could take some time. It's been forever since I last visited Oxford." She shrugged as she sat beside me.
Perching my elbow on the armrest, I stared out the window, humming faintly. "Okay," I murmured as the pilot announced takeoff. A thought tugged at me, and I glanced at her. "Oh, right—you can go to the venue first."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "Why's that?"
I leaned back, shutting my eyes against the hum of the engines. "Maybe you don't want them to see us together. After all, they all know we broke up twelve years ago. A reunion... I don't know."
She hummed but didn't answer. The silence stretched before she asked quietly, "You removed your wedding ring?"
I opened my eyes, glancing at the bandages on my left arm. "Ah." Rubbing the back of my neck, I tugged at the chain around my throat, revealing the ring looped through the locket. "I had to take it off in the ER. So I kept it here."
Sloane tilted her head, studying me. "Oh. I booked us two separate rooms. I wasn't sure if you'd even want to share one with me. You don't even sleep in the master bedroom at home."
My throat tightened. I sighed and reached for her hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. She didn't pull away. The silence of the cabin settled over us as the jet cut through the sky. Two hours to London. Two more by car to Oxford.
I glanced at her as she shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, our joined hands resting on the armrest. Her focus was on the book propped on her knee. She flipped a page. I tilted my head, curious.
She caught me peeking and scoffed, tilting the cover so I could see.
"What's it about?" I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"It's a romance. Girl's love," she said, showing me the title: Moonlight Melancholy. "Written by Tonnie Collins—the famous former astrobiologist. Millie recommended it. She said it's basically Collins's own story with her wife, Anne Montgomery."
"Is that so?" I murmured. She was so intent on the pages, I couldn't help but smile, leaning back and letting her read. Our hands still entwined.
The quiet stretched. I closed my eyes, intending to nap, until I heard the softest sniffle. My eyes opened. She had turned her face away, but her nose was pink, her eyes rimmed in red.
"Were you crying?" I whispered.
"No," she said quickly, glancing at me.
I smiled faintly, brushing the tears from the corner of her eye with my free hand. "Uh-huh. You're not."
She sniffled but didn't fire back like she usually would. Instead, her gaze dropped to the book again. "Maybe I should write a novel about how you left me."
The words stung, though her tone was light. I chuckled softly, tightening my hold on her hand. "Then maybe I should write one about how you took revenge after twelve years."
"How petty," she murmured.
I swallowed hard, my breath catching. Her question back at the house—about dating someone else—lingered like a thorn. Was she serious?
"Sol," I called out softly as I sat straighter, shifting toward her, still holding her hand.
She paused, slipped a bookmark between the pages, and closed her book. Only then did she turn to face me. "What is it?"
"About you... dating someone else." My throat was dry, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out the engines. I met her gaze. "Can you... reconsider it?"
Her brow arched. A soft chuckle escaped her as she slipped her hand from mine. "Why?"
"Can't we just try again? Give us another shot?" My voice dropped, fragile, though I forced myself not to look away. "If it doesn't work, then fine—you're free to date someone else. But right now... can you reconsider and let's give us a chance? Please?"
Sloane rubbed her temple, a low laugh spilling out before she sighed, as if my plea weighed on her. "I don't even know how to answer that."
"I'll give you time," I whispered, forcing a faint smile. "If you agree—or not—just let me know. I'll wait."
She tilted her head, eyes sharp, lips curved in a humorless chuckle. "How is it revenge if you're asking me to start over with you? That doesn't make sense. And what would you even do if I don't agree and just decide to date someone else?"
"Then I'll step back." My voice steadied, though my chest burned. "If you want, I'll sign the divorce. You can have the company. I'll step out of your life completely."
Her brows knitted. "But what if I don't want the divorce?"
I frowned. "Why wouldn't you? That would only make your new one... the sidepiece."
She hummed, then laughed—a sound sharp as glass.
"Are you sure they'd be the sidepiece? Because if I date someone else, I'll make time for them.
Focus on them. I could even live with them, leave you behind, while you're still bound to a marriage that's nothing but a paper. Who's really the sidepiece then?"
The words cut, but I forced a smile. "You're right. Maybe I'd be the sidepiece after all."
Leaning back into the leather seat, I turned to the window. The clouds blurred past, and my chest tightened with a mix of longing and dread. Maybe seeing her with someone else will be easier. At least I'd see her happy—one last time—even if it isn't with me.