Chapter 44
Andi
“He told me he loved me,” I confess to Amanda. I called her on my way home from work and bribed her with Chinese food to come save me from fermenting on my couch alone for another night since returning from Mexico three days ago.
Amanda nearly dumps the entire container of General Tso’s chicken as she flails on my couch like an eel.
She even punches the cushion for dramatic effect.
“Shut up. I told you he has feelings for you! Do you feel the same way?” She leans forward, studying my reaction with the intensity of an FBI detective.
The moment I hesitate, Amanda pounces. “I’m taking your silence as a yes,” she giddily decides, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth.
“I do love him,” I admit from my spot on the floor in front of the couch.
I sigh into my lo mein, swirling the noodles around with my chopsticks.
I’ve known it for a while, probably since that night at the ravine.
But I think I only let myself truly feel the weight of it when he carried me on his back to the villa in Mexico.
My mind drifts back to that moment, the warmth of his arms, and the way I never wanted to let go of him. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
She blows the air out of her cheeks like a deflated balloon. “How? If he loves you and you love him, what’s complicated about that?” she asks simply. I’ve always appreciated this about her. She’s all about emotions. Feelings. No logic.
“Well, he said it directly after finding out he got a job in Denmark. A two-year posting he’s been waiting to hear about all summer. And now he’s second-guessing. Said he wants to stay in Ottawa, even though he told me when we first met that he never intended on settling anywhere.”
“If he wants to settle here—in Frostawa, of all places—for you, why not let him? People are allowed to change their minds,” she notes.
I explain that this whole decision is also on the heels of him dealing with the reality of Lorna’s health, all while arranging to move her into a facility for her Alzheimer’s.
It would be unfair of me to let him make such a massive decision, such a huge divergence from everything he stood for, without thinking it through entirely.
What happens when he realizes life with me is boring?
The same predictable routine compared to the spontaneity and adventure he’s accustomed to?
“Poor guy. That’s a lot to deal with,” she says thoughtfully. “Though it doesn’t mean his feelings for you aren’t real. Maybe you’re the one thing he’s sure about.”
“Or maybe I’m his escape from reality.” My heart lodges in my throat at the possibility.
“Anyone in his shoes might make an emotional, impulsive decision. That’s why I’m giving him some space.
We’re supposed to go to Gretchen’s gala together on Friday, but I haven’t heard from him.
I don’t know if it’s a good idea to pressure him to go. He might need more time to process.”
“Give him an out, if you’re worried. Just say no worries about the gala and leave it at that. He has a lot going on, to be fair.”
I nod, glancing down at my phone. Still no word from him. In three days. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”
Amanda leans back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Or,” she says, drawing out the word, “you could throw caution to the wind and offer to go to Denmark with him. I hear they have the best pastries. Did you know they eat open-face sandwiches and bike everywhere? Maybe that’s how they stay so fit.”
I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few days. His career is everything to him, and I know how difficult it’s been for him to put it on pause. The last thing I’d want is for him to feel secretly resentful about staying. But that would also mean giving up my career with Gretchen. “I could.”
Amanda freezes mid-bite, nearly choking on a piece of fried broccoli. “Wait. What?”
I lift a shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant, though my heart is racing. “It’s a possibility.”
She sets her food down and straightens her spine. “Are you saying you’d actually leave Gretchen and follow him to Denmark?”
“I would consider it.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, dropping her chopsticks in the container.
“You must be seriously gone for him. I never thought I’d ever hear you say you’d be willing to quit your job.
Like, I would have bet my life savings—which is only in the three digits but let’s pretend it’s more—that you would be working for her until she dies. Or until you die.”
She’s probably right. Just a few months ago, leaving Gretchen wasn’t even on my mind. But a lot has happened in the last few days with The Prime Minister & Me.
I signed with Cher before we left Mexico, and she immediately set up calls with editors at all the large publishing houses. Less than twenty-four hours after we got back to Ottawa, I received offers from nearly every house.
Surprisingly, Cher didn’t push me to just take the highest offer.
Her main focus is ensuring the publisher does right by the book and that the editor truly loves my writing.
A couple editors stood out right away, understanding my creative vision.
There’s also a laundry list of legalities and contractual things to consider.
Cher also connected me with a film agent, who’s already gotten a ton of interest from Hollywood.
I have calls scheduled with three different producers and studios.
Cher goes hard on negotiations, asking the tough questions, ensuring we get the best deal. And we do eventually accept the terms of one of the offers.
After researching the industry extensively, I know none of this is normal.
Most talented authors aren’t able to get representation, let alone massive book deals, or film deals.
There’s also a lot of privilege at play.
And while I feel undeserving on most levels, I’m trying to take Nolan’s advice and let myself soak it in.
And of course, none of this is a guarantee of long-term success. But it gives me hope that, temporarily, I can sustain myself with my writing. It also gives me some flexibility to write the other books in my head that have been begging to be written.
“But what would you do? I can’t imagine it would be easy to find work, especially since you don’t speak Danish,” Amanda points out.
I bite my lip. I didn’t expect to tell Amanda the truth about my writing. But it feels wrong to keep it from her, especially considering everything that’s going on. “If I tell you, you need to promise you’ll keep it between us. Like, full-on blood oath.”
She blinks. “Why? Are you starting an OnlyFans account or something? Oh my god. I’ve never been so proud. I knew you were a freak—”
I hold my hand up in protest. “I’m not—”
“Let me help you with your username! What about CapitolCrush? CaucusQueen? VotingVixen?”
I stand and wave my arms—the only way to get her attention. “Amanda, I’m not going on OnlyFans. I’m a romance author.”
Her jaw drops. “Wait, what? A romance author?”
“I’m A. A. Zed. The author of The Prime Minister & Me,” I confess, my voice steady, with more confidence than I thought I had.
“What! I saw that book everywhere on the internet.” She quite literally screeches. “I can’t believe you’re a smut writer!”
“Romance writer,” I correct her. “And why does that shock you more than the prospect of me being on OnlyFans?”
“I have no idea. I always thought you were so…repressed, with your prim-and-proper librarian vibe.”
“Well, thanks,” I mutter into my chicken fried rice.
Amanda collapses into laughter. “Meanwhile, you’re writing piping hot sex. This is my new favorite thing. When did you start writing? I mean, I knew you read romance novels, but I had no idea you even wanted to write.”
She listens with bated breath as I explain the whole story. How I started, how I self-published, how, after the pictures of Eric and me leaked, the book skyrocketed on . Then I tell her all about Cher and going on submission to publishing houses.
“I can’t believe it was you this whole time,” she says, still coming down from the initial shock. I wait for her to chew me out for keeping it from her, but she doesn’t. “This is freakin’ awesome, Andi. I’m telling everyone. I’m going to the store to buy four thousand copies to give to friends—”
“Amanda!” I hiss, shooting her a stern look. “I just said this has to stay between us. My job is on the line,” I remind her.
She slaps a hand over her mouth like a child being scolded by her teacher. “Right. Shit. Right. Sorry. I promise I won’t say anything, unless you end up quitting? Then can I tell people?”
“No. It’s still a secret. That includes Mom. Especially Mom.”
“Are you kidding me?” She snorts. “Mom is the last person I’d tell. Though I’d honestly pay good money to see her reaction. She would go nuclear if she knew her daughter wrote smut.”
She would probably pass out.
Amanda squeezes her eyes shut. “This is like the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. When you become famous like Stephen King, can I be your assistant?”
I smile, my heart warmed by her enthusiasm. Amanda’s completely serious, and the best part? There’s not an ounce of judgment in her voice. She’s genuinely excited for me, which makes me feel terrible for keeping it from her for so long. Maybe I should have told her sooner.
After Amanda leaves, Cher emails to tell me the deal announcement is up and that I can post it on my author account. Admittedly, celebrating is a million times less enjoyable when you’re all alone, with no one to share it with. Just me and my green tea. Like it always has been.