20. Lili #2
Cece: Darling, I'm dying to know—how's your heart? And don't you dare lie to me. I can detect emotional evasion from across an ocean.
I stared at the message for a long time before typing back:
Me: Still broken. Still beating. Still his, even though I hate admitting it.
Cece: Want to talk about it? I've got wine and zero judgment.
Me: Tell me the truth about something. Was Edward really just using me? Or was he as blindsided by Victoria's schemes as I was?
The response took longer this time. When it came, my heart nearly stopped:
Cece: Oh honey. You don't know, do you? He didn't know about any of it. The sped up acquisition, the photographers, the manipulation of financial figures—Victoria orchestrated everything without telling him .
I read Cece's message three times, each word hitting me like a separate blow to the chest. Edward hadn't known.
All those nights I'd lain awake replaying every conversation, looking for signs that he'd been using me, searching for clues that his touches were calculated—and he'd been just as blindsided as I was.
"Oh God," I whispered to the empty porch.
My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone. "He must think I ran because I believed he was guilty."
I typed back with trembling fingers:
Me: Cece, tell me everything. How long has he known?
Cece: Just found out last week according to James. Apparently there was a massive family confrontation. Edward's barely spoken to Victoria since.
Me: I accused him of using me .
I typed, my vision blurring with tears.
Cece: Then he thinks you left because you believed the worst of him instead of fighting for what you had together.
The truth hit me like a physical blow. I hadn't just run from Edward—I'd run from us.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was back in Edward's bedroom at the Sussex estate, watching him sleep in the early morning light. His face had been so peaceful then, so different from his usual controlled expression.
I remembered waking up in his arms that morning, how he'd traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder while I pretended to still be asleep. "You know what scares me most about you?" he'd whispered.
"What?" I'd murmured against his chest.
"How right this feels. How easy it would be to forget everything I thought I knew about what I was supposed to want." His arms had tightened around me. "Promise me something, Lili."
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll tell me if this world gets to be too much. If my family, if the pressure, if any of it makes you want to run." His voice had been so serious, so vulnerable. "Promise you won't just disappear without giving me a chance to fix whatever goes wrong."
And I'd kissed him instead of promising, thinking it was sweet but unnecessary. Thinking nothing could go wrong when we fit together so perfectly, when every touch felt like coming home to myself.
I'd broken that promise without even realizing I'd made it. And maybe it was time to keep it, even if I was three weeks and an ocean too late.
"You are so beautiful," he'd whispered against my skin that night. "So much stronger than you know. Being with you makes me want to be better than what my family raised me to be."
I'd thought he was just saying pretty words in the heat of passion. Now I wondered if he'd been telling me the truth in the only way he knew how.
My phone buzzed again:
Cece: Are you still there? You've gone quiet, which usually means you're overthinking something .
Me: I’m here. Just... processing.
Cece: Process this. Victoria might have started the war, but you're the one who chose to surrender. Edward never asked you to leave.
The next morning brought news that changed everything. I was reviewing sponsor contracts at Mama's kitchen table when my phone rang with a number I didn't recognize.
"Ms. Anderton? This is Patricia Knox from Knox Media Relations. I represent the Grosvenor family."
When Patricia Knox said Grosvenor's name, my coffee mug slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. It shattered against the kitchen floor, sending ceramic shards and hot coffee everywhere, but I barely noticed.
"Ms. Anderton? Are you there?"
"I'm here," I managed, staring at the mess spreading across Mama's clean linoleum. Seemed appropriate somehow—everything connected to the Grosvenors ended up in pieces.
"Lady Victoria has asked me to coordinate a public apology and retraction regarding recent media coverage. She's also prepared to facilitate the restoration of business partnerships that were influenced by recent events."
Victoria Grosvenor was apologizing. Victoria Grosvenor, who probably hadn't said "I'm sorry" since the Eisenhower administration, was not only apologizing but actively fixing the damage she'd caused.
"I don't understand," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why would she—"
"I'm not privy to internal family discussions, but Lady Victoria seems quite motivated to repair the situation quickly and thoroughly."
After I hung up, I sat on the kitchen floor surrounded by coffee and broken ceramic, and suddenly everything made sense.
Edward. Edward had found out the truth and confronted his Mother.
Edward had somehow convinced or coerced the most stubborn woman in England to make amends.
Edward was fighting for me.
I thought about Jackson's call, about the other sponsors who might follow suit once Victoria's retractions went public.
About the possibility of rebuilding bigger and stronger than before.
About the chance that professional success might give me the confidence to face whatever was waiting for me in London.
I walked to my laptop and pulled up flight prices to London, one-way tickets staring back at me from the screen. The numbers represented more than just money—they represented courage, hope, the possibility of heartbreak or healing.
But this time, I wouldn't be running toward Edward's world hoping to fit in. I'd be going back as myself—Lili Anderton from small-town Texas, who'd been knocked down by forces beyond her control and gotten back up stronger.
Who'd proven that authenticity could triumph over manipulation, that trust could be rebuilt, that love might be worth fighting for after all.
I clicked "purchase" before I could talk myself out of it. One-way ticket to London, departing tomorrow evening. No return date because I didn't know what I'd find when I got there.
"I'm stronger now," I said to my reflection in the laptop screen, and for the first time in three weeks, I actually believed it. Strong enough to demand the truth. Strong enough to fight for what we'd had. Strong enough to walk away again if I had to.
But first, I was going home. Both homes—Texas had healed me, but London... London was where my heart lived, even if it was broken there.
I had twenty-four hours to figure out what I was going to say to Edward Grosvenor. Twenty-four hours to decide if I was going back to forgive him, fight him, or simply prove to myself that I could face him and survive.
Maybe all three.