TWENTY-SEVEN
Levi
There’s more of her to love, I keep telling myself.
All while my brain is constantly building and dismantling the pieces of Cece I’ve come to understand these past weeks.
It took me a while to uncover the pattern. I’m guessing it took her a while, too. But I’m almost certain I don’t know half of it.
There’s a harrowing rhythm to her, but it keeps changing. Unfortunately, it seems to surprise her the same it does me. And I’ve come to realize that this is also new to Cece. Not just me.
I’ve made sure to read up further on the withdrawal of Seroquel. Her last, desolate words from when she stormed out of dinner last week at her parents’ are a haunting clang in my brain.
And with the way she has completely given up resuming her medication—even after her PA brought that tiny green bottle to my place from her office—I’ve been trying to understand what it would mean for her. Especially since she was borderline religious about the meds, according to Vi.
Her alarm still goes off at noon. The words, ‘Take meds’, glare at me every single time. Possibly because she’s never around her phone when it happens. Like she’s deliberately ignoring it.
She’s either on the balcony, testing the limits of my sanity. Or simply wandering in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in her hand.
Yes, she has somehow managed to start day drinking. Which is probably why she hasn’t been to work for over two weeks now.
The one time I brought up her family physician, she aggressively rolled her eyes and resumed whatever she was looking at on her phone. Which was so unlike Cece that I almost stumbled back a step.
So I haven’t brought it up again. Not the doctor’s appointment. Not Seroquel. Not even my rapidly depleting bar stock.
And now, I’m helplessly staring at her, unable to find her a way out of this mechanical, near-robotic nightmare she’s trapped in—unable to compute her words.
“Maybe you’ll like the company? Some of your Harvard alumni might make an appearance,” I plead with her.
So as not to repeat her mother’s mistakes, I had given her a full week’s worth of notice about this gala. It was a funding event on the last day of the Global Healthtech Summit that was held annually.
This was something she would’ve jumped at before. She absolutely loved engaging with emerging startup owners. I had lost count of how many boards she was an advisor on.
And now, I can’t seem to find the words powerful enough to entice her.
She shakes her head, sliding further down the bed that her back no longer touches the headboard. “I know the lineup,” she mumbles, exhausted. “It’s mostly series B startups. No one at seed stage.”
I know she likes to get involved at earlier phases of a startup. So she was certainly making logical sense. But this wasn’t just a networking event.
Our PR representatives had strongly advised us to make a public appearance. Together.
We need to openly present a strong case to ensure the mass perception shifts long enough not to affect the Astor board. Given that our entire reputation has been sinking since my parents’ arrests, we need this.
But who am I kidding—it’s been sinking since the moment I made the mistake of underestimating my family. The second Cece’s name was plastered across social media. Leaving her open and vulnerable to a scrutiny I should’ve anticipated.
The fucking clause.
That picture with Iris.
Jesus Christ.
“There will be walk-ins, too, baby. Not just the exhibitors,” I insist, forcing a small smile onto my face.
It disappears almost immediately when Cece squeezes her eyes shut like she’s physically hurting.
Then she groans. Angrily. “It won’t work, Levi,” she snaps. “Whatever you’re hoping we’ll achieve by playing the loving couple—holding hands, hugging, kissing—it won’t fucking work.” She pushes herself upright on the bed, every movement stiff with frustration.
I go still.
Her voice rises before I can respond. “Hell, we could leak a sex tape of ours tomorrow, and I’d still be the placeholder.” Her laugh is hollow. “Drop it.”
I flinch, my entire body sinking under the weight of it—slumping at the harshness I never thought Cece possessed. And the painful silence that takes over only makes her drown in guilt that I don’t want her to feel.
What do I even do?
How do I even help her? Help us?
I know her well enough to see the guilt arrive almost immediately after the words leave her mouth.
The tiny flicker in her eyes.
The tension in her shoulders.
The way she turns her face away from me.
She’s hurting herself every time she lashes out. And somehow that makes it hurt more.
“There’s no… playing, Cece,” I say quietly. My voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “I’m not pretending when I hold your hand. I’m not pretending when I kiss you. I’m not pretending when I hug you.” I swallow. “I just need people to see we’re okay.”
She scoffs. The sound is completely devoid of humor. “Except we haven’t kissed in weeks—”
“Days,” I correct automatically.
Her gaze snaps toward me, and I instantly regret it.
Not because I’m wrong. Because it sounds pathetic.
Because I remember every single one. The kiss after her parents’ disaster of a dinner. The ones I leave against her forehead. The soft brush of my lips against hers every morning before I leave for work, when she pretends to be asleep.
Little things.
Desperate little things.
But she keeps going as if I never spoke. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.” Her voice cracks, as does my chest. “What’s the point?” She shakes her head. “There’s no point anymore.”
And then her lower lip trembles, the sight nearly gutting me. “I don’t…” Her voice grows small. “I don’t see it.”
The room falls silent. I stare at her while my heart pounds itself bloody against my ribs.
Because I know what she means. She doesn’t see us anymore.
Not the future.
Not the marriage.
Not the love I keep trying to show her.
All because I buried it under my neglect. My obligations. My misguided priorities. My lies of omission. And I have no argument left.
“I love you,” I whisper brokenly, words leave me embarrassingly desperate. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Cece closes her eyes.
For a moment, I think she might cry. Her chest rises and falls rapidly.
But then she exhales sharply, looking at me with her bone-deep, exhausted eyes. “I know.”
My throat tightens. “You do?”
She shakes her head, frowning. “I mean, I hear it.”
“You just don’t know if it’s enough anymore,” I mumble, completing her hollowing thought even as it destroys me.
I lower my head. And for several seconds, neither of us speaks.
Finally, I force myself to look at her. “Will you please come? Just this once?”
“Fine,” she croaks, helplessly running her hand through her longer hair.
She never did go to the salon appointment I scheduled—then rescheduled. Twice.
“I promise I won’t force you agai—”
“I said I’ll go,” she cuts me off on a dry sob. A cracked moan that’s somewhere between a wail and a scream.
Relief should have hit me then. I should have felt that pitiful loosening of my chest that she just agreed.
Instead, dread settles deeper into my chest.
Because I’m sitting right next to her, with the silence where I love you too should have been. If only I’d said it back when it counted.