Chapter 25
I don’t know how I do it, but I hold back my tears all the way to my car. But when I enter it and see the duffel bag patiently waiting for me to come get it, all my efforts are ruined. My misery becomes impossible to contain, and endless streams of tears flow down my cheeks as uncontrollable sobs shake my shoulders. Desperately alone in my small car, I cry what feels like an ocean of pain.
Everything was so impossibly perfect, and now, nothing is. My entire body hurts, and nothing makes sense. What the fuck was all that?
Some people pass by the car, and one of them notices me but keeps walking. I must look so pathetic in my stupid dress, with my makeup running down my face. I need to be alone. But the car doesn’t start when I try. Neither does it when I try three more times.
“Fuck!” I scream, slamming my hands on the wheel with rage and frustration. The tears intensify, and my sobs turn so forceful that my chest hurts.
I don’t want to be here anymore. I need all of this to stop.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down and turn the key. The engine roars, and relief floods me. But the door unexpectedly opens, startling me. I know who the intruder is before I even look.
Lex …
He stands right there in his dark shirt and rolled-up sleeves, not wearing any protection against the freezing night.
“I let you go last time, and I’ve regretted it since,” he explains. “I’m not doing that again.”
“Lex,” I protest, interrupted by a sob.
“I know, freckles.”
He bends inside the car and takes the key out, stopping the engine. His familiar scent fills my nostrils, making me want to shove my face in the crook of his neck and never let go. When he notices the duffel bag as he pulls away, infinite sadness fills his eyes.
“Come with me, Andrea,” he encourages.
I can’t get home without my keys, so I don’t have a choice. He’ll give them back if I insist, but I no longer have the strength to argue. So I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car, assisted by Lex’s firm hands.
“Do you want me to take your bag?” he offers. I shake my head. We clearly aren’t ready for such a huge step. Not for as long as he hides that kind of secret from me.
There hasn’t been a single word between us by the time we enter his apartment. Lex guides me to his room, where he helps me out of my coat and scarf, setting them on an armchair. Only wearing my dress, I let him guide me to the bathroom with gentle but commanding hands. In there, I see the plug I removed and washed by the sink, and next to it, the white hand towel I used to clean myself up. The reddish streaks on it are an awful reminder that we never had sex so roughly before. Lex removes my velvety dress, and I let him, blue velvet pooling at my feet. I wait, naked, as he undresses as well. Despite trying not to, I accidentally glance at my reflection in the mirror. I look as devastated as I feel.
I don’t protest when he leads me to the shower, too apathetic to say or do anything. I step into the stream when he makes me, and close my eyes as he wipes the makeup off my face with a tender hand. With a soaped loofah, he washes me, cleaning away the spiteful sex we had. I keep my eyes on the dark tiles to my left the whole time, allowing him to execute whatever penance ritual he has in mind.
When he reaches between my legs, gently running the sponge on my sore folds, I wince with a hiss. He immediately stops, and the look he gives me is full of apology and remorse.
“I’m so sorry, Andrea. I never should have taken you like that. It wasn’t right.”
I don’t answer or reassure him, even though I know I’m just as much to blame. I wanted it like that. I wanted the thought-numbing pain, the rough, impersonal sex. Knowing him, he would have carried me to his bed and made love to me tenderly if I’d asked for it. But I acted like a fury, hurting him so he would unknowingly hurt me.
I wait in a corner of the stall as Lex washes himself, then I let him wrap me in a fluffy towel. He prepares me a toothbrush, wetting it before and after the toothpaste—something he teased me about in the past. Once that’s done, he dresses me up with one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers that’s embarrassingly too tight at the hips .
The luxurious bed doesn’t bring the comfort it usually does, not even when he joins me there. Again, I let him when he pulls me into him in a spooning position. His arm across my belly, his warm breath on the back of my neck, his powerful body against me… they all feel like a lie. He was married. He held her like this, cherished her like he cherishes me, shared a bond greater than ours. Marriage never sounded so terribly important.
A silent tear rolls to the pillow under my temple as I ask, “Did you love her?”
Several seconds pass before he answers, “Not in the way you have in mind.” His voice is soft, appeasing, as if it’ll make it easier to swallow.
“How did you love her, then?”
“I’ve known her since I was thirteen, and she was eight. Our parents and Kev’s ran in the same circles, and we occupied the boring evenings and afternoons together. She was like a younger sister to us.”
“How did it evolve?”
“A couple of years into my Avoss days, she began her undergrad at Stanford. We rekindled our old friendship, even though it had been a few years since we’d last seen each other properly. One evening, she confessed she’d always had a crush on me and kissed me. We were both a little drunk, and it led to more. From there, it grew into something more mature than the relationship we used to have.”
“Is she pretty?”
“She’s very beautiful,” he admits. That stings so much, but his blunt honesty is reassuring, in a way. He doesn’t feel the need to lie or sugarcoat it because, in his mind, I genuinely have nothing to worry about.
“Did you ever move in together?” I ask next.
“It wasn’t what you have in mind, freckles. Between Avoss and Nammota, I was too busy to entertain any sort of relationship. We saw each other a couple times a week for brief and meaningless sex.”
Knowing Lex, I doubt it was brief. “How could it be meaningless? She was still your friend,” I counter, unsure why I’m doing this to myself. The pillow under my cheek is wet with quiet tears, but I want to hear the story.
“I’m remarkably good at compartmentalizing. She was a friend outside of bed, and in it, she was an easy way to satisfy my needs.”
“It sounds awful …”
“It was an arrangement that worked for both of us.”
“For how long?”
“We did that for four years. ”
Shit… That is so fucking long. How can someone casually fuck their friend for four years and not catch feelings? I sniff, trying to ignore the way my heart bleeds out a little more with every tear.
“How did you end up engaged?”
“Her father wanted to pull her out of Stanford so she could work with him. Our families suspected we were seeing each other, so we officialized it with an engagement announcement. That allowed her to stay in San Jose with me. But nothing changed. We still had our arrangement and barely saw each other.”
“And the wedding?”
“When Kev and I started Kelex, she was very involved. We almost named it Kevax. Kev had completely burned through his trust fund, and I refused to touch mine. Her father was investing in companies such as ours. He made me understand he’d lend us the money if I made an honest woman out of his daughter.”
“Oh, my God …”
“She was there for the entire conversation, and again, it benefitted her. Her father wasn’t as overbearing as long as we kept pretending. So, we got married to get the money, and she got her peace.”
Lex’s tone is deprived of emotions, like it’s a weather forecast, a baseball match, something utterly unimportant… Either he’s a fantastic actor, or she genuinely meant nothing to him.
“Why didn’t it last?”
“Hours after we married, she suddenly saw the limits of what I had to offer. She wanted more than I would ever give her, so we agreed to wait for the deal to go through with her father and get an annulment.”
“Would you still be married to her if she hadn’t changed her mind?” I wonder.
“I would have been perfectly fine keeping our arrangement, I think. It was practical and unproblematic. But meeting you would have changed that.”
“Why?”
“I was fine with a woman I never loved or barely saw and fine with not getting involved. But from the moment I met you, I realized I wanted so much more. The better I knew you, the more I craved. I want everything with you, Andrea.”
Wiping away my tears, I writhe around, seeking his eyes in the darkness. I can barely distinguish him, but he still finds my cheekbone to caress it with his thumb.
“I want a lifetime with you, Andrea. I want the anniversaries, the date nights, the cuddles in the morning, the movies on the couch, the comfortable silences… There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than to grow old by your side and discover each wrinkle that will settle on your gorgeous face over the years. Decades of making you laugh, of holding you in my arms, of making love to you, of being there for you… It would be my greatest honor, my biggest accomplishment.”
I struggle to contain my sobs as he leans in to kiss me, his lips gentle on my forehead. “Legally or emotionally, Evora was never my wife. Not in the way I hope you’ll become mine one day.”
“You should have told me, then,” I ask.
“I know, and I wish I did. It holds no legal grounds and doesn’t matter to me, so I didn’t realize it would be so important to you.”
“We promised to tell each other the truth,” I remind him. “You should have told me before I had to find out in front of your whole family.”
“I realize that now.”
“It’s too late.”
“I know.”
Dismissing his hand on my cheek, I turn around to face away from him again. I feel a little better, but barely. At least when his arm comes to circle me this time, it doesn’t feel as wrong as it did earlier.
Minutes pass as I stare into the dark, trying to process everything I’ve learned. Four years… That number doesn’t feel right, and it makes it so hard to accept. He had sex with her a couple of times a week for four years. If they only did it once per hookup, that’s over four hundred times. How the hell did it never turn into more? I can’t imagine sleeping with someone four hundred times without catching feelings.
I’m still trying to figure that out when I notice Lex’s breathing has become regular and deep. Despite the mental exhaustion, I can’t seem to fall asleep, too. Carefully maneuvering out of his arms, I slither out of bed. I haven’t checked my phone in hours.
I dig it out of my coat on the armchair and walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Once the light is on, I sit on the closed toilet lid and check my notifications. Tami sent me a bunch of random Reels, and Kate’s wishing me an amazing evening with my hot boss. Shit, Kate promised to wreck Lex if he ever hurt me again. I can’t tell her about any of this, or she’ll come in person to whoop his ass into oblivion.
It probably isn’t a good idea to open Google and type “Evora,” but I’m not in the right state of mind, so I can’t help myself. With a unique name like that, there aren’t many results that come through. It’s either a city in Portugal or… Evora Campbell, daughter of hotel mogul Kenneth Campbell and Brazilian model Alma Maldonado.
The profile could fit, so I add her name to the search, and… The woman in the pictures that appear on top takes my breath away. She’s tall, lean, and elegant, with the most perfect hourglass figure, beautiful curves, and a jawline that could cut granite. It hits me that Lex might have a thing for Latinas because she looks the part with her silky and wavy dark hair, matching eyes, and glowing olive skin. I click on a picture where she’s on a red carpet, wearing a gorgeous rose gold sequin dress that is absolutely perfect for her complexion and silhouette.
As I scroll through more pictures, my heart sinks lower and lower, panic making my throat swell and ache. Her smile is dreamy, and the delicate features of her face are as perfect as the rest of her. Fuck, she’s Lex’s ex-wife? She’s the woman he casually dated for four years?
Refusing to believe it, I head to the Wikipedia page about her. Because, yes, she has a fucking page there. When I see that she grew up in Seattle, the taste of bile gathers in the back of my tongue. It’s her. It’s really her.
I keep reading because I can’t stop myself, no matter how much it hurts. She isn’t only beautiful, she’s also a fucking saint. There’s a whole section about her charity work, and I’m baffled by how utterly selfless and giving she is. She’s helped millions of people all over the world—from Brazilian favelas to right here in the US. She’s raised hundreds of millions of dollars for the causes she supports, which is insane.
A voice tells me I should stop but I can’t, so I seek out recent news about her and stumble upon an article about a Christmas gala she’s hosting right here in Seattle to raise money and awareness for special needs kids. She is fucking perfection, flawless in every way. Evora Campbell is a mix of Paris Hilton, Adriana Lima, and Mother Teresa, with all the good and none of the bad.
How am I supposed to compete with her? How can I ever be enough for Lex when a woman like her wasn’t?
For an entire hour, I stay in the bathroom, fueling my anxiousness and panic attack with more pictures, more articles, more information… Her ninety-four million followers on Instagram blow me away, and I scroll through every single post, reading their captions. How wasn’t she enough? And why would a woman like her accept that awful sexfriend deal? For four fucking years. It doesn’t make any sense.
I want to hate her, I try to, but the more I read, the more I want to be her. She’s led the perfect life, traveled the world, met the Obamas, Lady Gaga, the Dalai Lama… She also has an immense heart and he lped open schools in Africa, fought for women’s rights in Iran, raised money for cancer research… There isn’t a single scandal, not one bad thing about her. She’s as flawless inside as she is outside.
I’m in the middle of a Chanel commercial she starred in when my battery dies. But I stay seated there, unable to move. Lex dated and married such a woman. And now I’m the one he wants? How long will I be enough if she wasn’t enough? How long will he want me if he didn’t even want her ?
Breathing is getting harder and harder, and I can’t go back to bed with him. I need to be alone, away from him. I have to go home, where I can have my panic attack in peace, where I can hate myself in the silence of my room.
I can’t stay here.
I have to go.
Now .
E ven though I’m barely conscious, the gnawing feeling in my gut immediately reminds me that something is wrong. Fuck, I messed up again, and Andrea is pissed at me. But at least she isn’t leaving, sleeping off all that pain and rancor right next to me in my bed.
I reach out for her, craving to bring her closer, but my hand meets nothing but cold sheets. Confused, I open my eyes and see it’s still the middle of the night. Where is she?
Groggy and half asleep, I force myself out of bed and walk through the dark to the bathroom, eager to find her. But the lights are off when I come in, and she isn’t anywhere to be seen when I flick them on. More and more perplexed, I turn back to my room and switch the lights on there as well. Is she sleeping on the couch or in one of the guest bedrooms? Is she that mad at me?
I’m about to go find her when my eyes land on the armchair where I put her things earlier. It’s empty. Twisting around, I see that her dress is also gone, and the clothes I gave her hang on the hook instead of it.
She left. In the middle of the night. The thought of staying here with me was so unbearable that she dressed in silence, picked up her things, and left.
The painful sensation in my chest intensifies at the realization.
Fuck, I’m really losing her. That mistake from my past, which I’ve always regretted, will ruin the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m a fucking idiot because I genuinely never considered it a lie or an omission. It was only another weird event at a complicated time of my life, not something I ever deemed worth sharing.
Andrea is fine with the rest of my past, with me being a criminal, with the illegal things I did that could get me imprisoned for the rest of my life. But an annulled marriage with someone who never held any romantic appeal to me is a deal-breaker.
And as much as I try to understand, it doesn’t make any fucking sense. Maybe if she realized how little I cared about Evora outside of our long-standing friendship, she’d see why I didn’t mention her.
But will Andrea even let me close enough to explain myself? Can she bring her walls down enough for my words to reach her?
I believed she would as I fell asleep with her in my arms, but now… Now that she fled in the middle of the night, I’m not so sure anymore.
This can’t be it. It can’t be the way everything ends.
I won’t let it.