38. Chapter 38
thirty-eight
T hey fell into a pattern—not something they planned—just something that happened, like the natural rhythm of a tide returning to shore.
Mornings came with alarms and coffee, workdays passed in meetings and spreadsheets for Monroe, and editorial calls and quiet decision-making for Chloé.
Evenings were for catching up with friends, errands, and the little rituals of everyday life.
And then, without fail, came the call.
Nine o’clock Monroe time. Ten for Chloé.
Always while in bed, hair down, faces clean, the glow of their phones softening everything. Monroe would be propped against pillows, often still in a hoodie or her dressing gown; Chloé, backlit by a small lamp, usually with a glass of water or a book nearby.
They talked about everything and nothing: how the day had gone, a funny thing a client had said, a new pastry shop opening around the corner.
Sometimes they talked about seeing each other again—when, how long, what they’d do. And sometimes, they just looked at each other—really looked—letting distance fall away for a few stolen minutes before sleep took them both.
It wasn’t perfect. But it felt steady. And real.
Monroe hit the video call and sat up a little straighter in bed, the light blue negligée hugging her in a way that made her feel quietly confident—sexy, even. She smiled as she waited for the screen to flicker to life—for Chloé’s face to appear, as eager to see her as she was to be seen.
And there it was. That familiar face, the one that made her heart lift, except something was off. The smile was there, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hey, baby,” Chloé said. Her voice sounded tired; the kind of tired that wasn’t just about sleep.
“Hey,” Monroe replied gently. “What’s up?”
Chloé hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “That obvious, huh?” Her smile faltered. “I’ve got some good news, and some bad news.”
Monroe’s stomach tightened. “Okay… I never know which way around is best. I guess…bad news first?”
Chloé sighed, rubbing at her temple before meeting Monroe’s gaze again.
“I can’t come over this weekend. Not like we planned.
There’s been a shift with the takeover—new conditions, more pressure.
I need to be here. I have to oversee things personally.
If I could get out of it, I would. But I need to stand for my team. ”
It hit like a punch. The disappointment was sharp, sudden. Monroe swallowed hard. She wanted to say something light, something understanding. She also wanted to cry.
“Of course,” she said after a beat. “I’m not going to pretend I like it…” Her attempt at a smile wavered as she caught her own reflection in the screen. She looked exactly how she felt—let down. “But I get it. I do.”
“I’m so sorry. I feel like I let you down at the first hurdle.”
Now Monroe did smile—genuinely, this time. “Strangely, it makes you even more attractive to me. You’re putting your own needs to one side to do what’s right for your staff. That’s admirable. It’s the decent thing to do.”
“Thank you.” Chloé’s eyes softened. “I’m glad you feel that way, because…well, the good news is—”
She hesitated, the moment stretching.
“I’ve accepted a position with Shutler Fitch,” she said finally. “And as part of that, I negotiated a flexible setup. I’m not attached to any one office. Which means I can work from France…or London.”
Monroe sat up straighter. “So…you’ll be moving to England?”
Chloé laughed at the excitement in her voice. “Not exactly moving. But I’ll be able to come and go as much as we want. No more waiting for perfect weekends.”
Her smile turned more thoughtful. “Actually, I was thinking…if things keep going the way they’re going, we might both enjoy the back and forth...together. You work from home most of the time—you could come here for the summer.”
“I like that idea,” Monroe said softly.
They held each other’s gaze through the screen, the silence charged with everything they weren’t saying, and everything they felt.
Chloé’s voice was quiet, sincere, “By the way…I didn’t mention it earlier, but you look beautiful.”
Monroe blushed, her smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.
“Really,” Chloé added, “I wish I was right there beside you. Holding you. Kissing you.”
“I wish you were here doing all of that too,” Monroe said, her voice low. “It’s not the same without you.”
Chloé shifted on her screen, propping her head in her hand. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quickly this became…necessary. You. This.”
Monroe nodded. “It is. And I don’t want to question it. I’ve spent so much of my life second-guessing things that felt good, and I’m tired of doing that.”
Chloé smiled, a softness in her eyes that made Monroe’s chest tighten. “Then let’s not question it.”
They both fell quiet again—not awkwardly, just present; connected despite the miles.
Monroe reached for her pillow, adjusting it behind her back as she leant in a little closer to the screen. “Tell me something small. Something about your day.”
Chloé laughed gently. “Hmm… I spilled coffee on my blouse right before a meeting and had to pretend it was part of the pattern. No one questioned it.”
Monroe grinned. “That’s impressive. And very stylish of you.”
“I try,” Chloé said. “What about you?”
“I got into a minor argument with Poppy’s youngest because I wouldn’t let her eat three chocolate biscuits before dinner. She told me I was cruel, and then five minutes later she fell asleep on my lap.”
“Sounds like love.”
Monroe smiled, her expression blooming. “Yeah, it does.”
They stayed like that, sharing little nothings, letting the conversation drift wherever it wanted to go, until eyes grew heavier, voices slowed, and goodbyes were whispered like a promise.
“Sleep well, baby,” Chloé murmured.
“You too. Call you tomorrow?”
“Always.”
The screen went dark, but Monroe sat there for a moment longer, letting the warmth of connection linger in the quiet of her room.