Unfinished Business (True North #2)

Chapter 1 Margot

Margot

Sapori is the type of place Jeremy and I never go. It’s too fancy, too expensive. The sort of place with dim yellow lighting and crisp white tablecloths that scream “spaghetti slurpers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Which leads me to one conclusion: Jeremy either brought me here to propose, or to break up.

Neither would be a total surprise, I guess. Marriage has always been part of our plan. We’ve talked about it in abstracts and eventualities, with just enough certainty to assure me that’s where we are headed.

On the other hand, our relationship has been running on autopilot for a while now.

We’ve both prioritized our careers, spending late nights at the office rather than cuddled up together on the couch.

But this is what we agreed to when we finished our MBAs and moved to Denver two years ago.

We would get established in our careers first, then worry about everything else.

Across the table, Jeremy is scrolling his phone, face illuminated by the glow of a client’s email or a quarterly report.

He’s changed since college. He’s swapped his glasses for contacts, his ironic t-shirts for button downs, and his overgrown hair for a sharp, professional cut.

I love him either way, but sometimes I miss the old version of Jeremy.

“How was work?” I ask.

He nods once, twice, a third time before glancing up at me. “It was good.”

Then his eyes bounce back to his phone, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

I get it—really, I do. It takes every ounce of self-control not to fish my phone out of my bag just to see if my boss needs anything.

I left the office earlier than usual, and I can’t help but feel guilty that Ethan will have to finish up on his own.

But tonight is supposed to be about us. It’s supposed to be a chance for Jeremy and me to reconnect as a couple.

Which is going… poorly.

My stomach growls at the smell of food making its way from the kitchen to a nearby table.

When I catch a glimpse of one of the plates, my stomach sinks with disappointment instead.

There’s a single ravioli drizzled in nuclear orange sauce and garnished with a translucent spike that sticks up like one of the royal family’s hats.

As excited as I am to spend time with Jeremy, I’m also starving. I’d rather not go on an archaeological excavation just to find a single bite of edible food on my plate.

Finally, Jeremy sets his phone face down on the table and sighs. “Sorry, work.”

“No problem,” I say.

He reaches out to grab my hand, gently stroking my knuckles with his thumb.

I beam a smile across the table. The one I get in return is tight and fades quickly.

He seems nervous. Maybe he really is planning to propose tonight.

Sure, it would be a little unexpected, but far from sudden.

We’ve been together four years. We share an apartment. I want to marry him… one day.

It’s just strange how the fluttering in my chest feels more like a panic attack than excitement. But it’s probably just nerves. After all these years, there’s a lot of pressure on this moment to be perfect.

Jeremy straightens up a bit, like he’s summoning all his courage. He glances down at our joined hands then looks up at me, clearing his throat.

“Listen, Margot, I know things have been a little off between us lately.”

Okay, not the strongest start to a proposal.

Maybe my second guess was right. Maybe he’s breaking up with me. My pulse quickens, and I shift in my seat. There’s no way. Jeremy and I are solid—a little busy, but totally solid.

“I know,” I start to agree but he speaks at the same time.

“And I’ve been thinking…” Jeremy pauses, glancing away again. Even when his gaze returns, it doesn’t quite meet mine. “… that maybe we should open up our relationship.”

Whatever words were on the tip of my tongue vanish into thin air, along with the breath that’s just been knocked out of my lungs. I pull back, yanking my hand away.

Okay, deep breaths, Margot. Don’t jump to any conclusions. Maybe it doesn’t mean what you think it means.

Slowly, hesitantly, I ask, “Open it up to what exactly?”

Jeremy gives me a long, meaningful look that tells me I’m not going to like his answer.

“To other experiences,” he settles on eventually.

My mind runs wild with all the possible meanings of his words, searching for one that doesn’t make me want to drive my stiletto heel into his foot.

“And I’m guessing you’re not talking about bungee jumping?”

He has the nerve to chuckle at this. When I stare angrily back at him, he squirms in his chair but doesn’t answer my question.

“So, you mean experiences like having sex with other women?” I press.

The nod that follows is miniscule.

“It doesn’t have to be sex,” he says after a few long seconds. “At least, not right away. It could just be dates, or you know, other stuff…”

Other stuff? I wasn’t aware Jeremy knew how to do other stuff. Our sex life has always been okay, but Jeremy is far from the master of foreplay.

“No, Jeremy, I really don’t know,” I respond sharply. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Please explain to me how spending what little free time we have sleeping with other people is going to help our relationship.”

Irritation flashes over his face. The absolute audacity of this man to be irritated with me right now. I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to stab him in the foot with this stupid pair of stilettos that I admittedly wore more for his benefit than my own.

Lesson learned: wear comfy shoes on every date because you never know when you might need to walk out.

“It might take some of the pressure off,” he finally says with an exasperated sigh.

Pressure—there’s that word again. He’s been using it a lot lately.

When we met in college, I made it clear that I wasn’t interested in casual hookups or temporary flings.

No judgment to anyone who is, but I’m an all-in sort of girl.

I’ve always been quiet and reserved around new people.

If I’m putting in the time and effort to really open up to someone, I need to know that there’s a future, or at least the possibility of a future with them.

In a nutshell, I’m the relationship type and marriage is my endgame.

I like the idea of finding my person and building a life with them.

Jeremy always said we were on the same page, and that was enough for me.

I’ve never—not even once—given him any sort of ultimatum or some arbitrary timeline.

I knew it would happen eventually. He told me it would happen eventually.

Knowing all of this, I can’t even begin to fathom why he would think that I am interested in sleeping with other people, or in giving him my blessing to do so.

Jeremy’s phone buzzes on the table, and we both look over. He picks it up, fiddles with something quickly, then sets it face down on the table again.

A thought pops into my head. An awful, gut-wrenching thought that bubbles past my lips before I can think twice about whether I really want to know the answer.

“And where would we meet these other people?”

When Jeremy hesitates, my stomach twists sharply.

“There’s this app…”

Of course there is. Jeremy has an app for everything on this phone.

“Have you already downloaded it?” I interrupt, my voice rigid with anger.

Another miniscule nod.

I hesitate for a second then ask, “Have you used it?”

We stare at each other across the table for several excruciatingly long seconds. Guilt is etched all over his face.

Then he nods again.

My mouth goes dry. I try to swallow but my throat just bobs painfully. I can’t tell if I’m about to cry or about to be sick all over the fancy white tablecloth. All I know is that I have to get out of here and far, far away from him.

My chair scrapes against the wood floor as I abruptly stand to leave.

“Wait, Margot, I’m sorry,” Jeremy says in a panic. He stands up and grabs my wrist as I try to make my way past him. “It was just one woman… just a couple of times. It didn’t mean anything. We don’t have to change anything. We can just go back to the way things were,” he pleads.

“No, Jeremy—we can’t. We’re done,” I say, pulling my wrist out of his grasp and walking away.