Chapter 23
Cora
Saar
Proof of life, Cora!
Celeste
Let her honeymoon (wink emoji).
Sorry, I’ve been busy.
Saar
Doing what?
Lily
Mr. Stone.
Celeste
Xander
How did you know? (evil emoji)
Saar
TMI. We haven’t seen you in a week. Can’t he spare you for a moment?
Celeste
Let her make up for her celibacy years.
Saar
Okay, but let’s have coffee soon.
The bistro is still closed, but let’s try somewhere else next week.
“Are you going to the bistro today?” Xander kisses me, droplets from his shower cooling my skin.
I stretch in my bed, the morning sun streaming through the window. “Yes, I’ll go soon. I just need a bit of alone time first.”
I don’t tell him I’ve been writing every morning, my creativity bursting at the seams. I’m not sure why I bother with the stories, but my creative escape brings me joy.
He frowns. “Do you want me to stay elsewhere for a night or two?”
I sit up. “Don’t you dare. I missed you when you were in San Francisco earlier.”
“So the alone time is…?”
He retrieves his clothes from the living room, where we still have an obstacle course built from his possessions. Laying his suit on the bed, he starts dressing.
“I’ve been scribing a bit.” I shrug, swinging my legs over the edge. “Just some silly stories.”
Why am I downplaying it in front of him? It’s a hobby only, but I don’t need to hide it. When I told him about it the first time, he didn’t mock me.
“Will you ever let me read them?”
I stop on my way to get my coffee. “You want to read a children’s story?”
He shrugs, putting on his shirt. “Or all of them.”
I lean in the doorway and watch him getting dressed. It’s become a little ritual for me every morning.
One would think that undressing him is more interesting, but somehow, seeing his purposeful preparation for a day ahead is inspiring.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he looks like a sex god, dressed or not, but I love his morning energy when he’s getting ready to take on the world.
“Maybe one day.”
He smiles at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Xander starts tying his tie, and I can’t help it and step into his space, brushing my hands over his as I take the fabric between my fingers. The corner of his lips quirks up, and he drops his hands.
I realize this is just me helping him with his tie. But he doesn’t need my help. My helping him slows down his morning preparation. But somehow, this feels like he’s letting me in, trusting me, surrendering to this thing between us that is blooming beyond our intentions.
I take my time—sliding the fabric through, looping it slow, forming the knot. There’s something sacred about the quiet hush between us, the closeness. The way he lets me do this.
I reach to adjust his collar, my fingers grazing the warm skin just above the fabric. His gaze on me is steady, waiting, a little dark with something unspoken.
“I like our mornings,” I say, pushing to my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his.
Xander wraps his arms around me and takes over the kiss as he usually does. It’s slow and sensual, like he has nowhere else to be but here.
“I like our mornings too. And all other hours of the day.” He keeps his forehead on mine, and we just stand there for a moment.
Time is on our side in instances like this. No long hours at his office. No burden of the bistro. No financial gap. No age gap, ailing father, cheating exes, or estranged families with blackmailing dads.
And most of all, no contracts and arranged marriages.
It’s us. Plain. Simple. Happy.
“You’re going to be late.” I step back reluctantly.
“I can still have coffee with you.” He slaps my ass gently, beckoning me toward the kitchen.
He prepares two coffees for us in a super-complicated, ridiculously expensive coffee machine he had delivered the day after he moved in.
“How is the bistro coming along?” He passes me my cup.
I let out a long breath. “Are you asking as the investor or as my husband?”
“I’m well-informed as an investor. I’m asking my wife.” He takes a sip.
“The transformation is substantial, and I’m not sure…” I trail off, not clear what it is I’m feeling.
“If it’s too much… You’re in charge, Cora.”
I chuckle. “You haven’t met Tessa yet. The changes are the right ones. I’m just… I guess I’m not an easily adaptable person.”
He kisses my hair. “You adapted well enough to my cock.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grateful he turned this conversation into a jest. It’s like he always senses when I need more time, and just gives it to me.
“I’m pretty sure your cock’s adaptability is honed by experience.”
He squeezes my chin, forcing me to look at him, his eyes darkening. “Not anymore, Coraline. My cock fits your pussy only.”
My heart somersaults. The words may be crass, but the deep sentiment of commitment behind them… He can’t fake the adoring, worshiping gaze.
“I accept the burden, and the responsibility,” I tease.
“I’ll show you burden tonight.” He kisses me.
I watch the empty space long after he leaves, grinning while I sip my coffee.
Then I sit down and pen a story about a leopard, who was always so playful that no one saw him for the bright, capable, and caring friend he truly was.
A story about not judging, and giving a chance beyond first impressions.
The drill shrills in the back room as I enter the bistro. I stop at the threshold. Gina and Tessa are huddled over the counter, studying large blueprints.
Their chatter is animated, filling the air with excitement.
I feel like an intruder.
I feel like I’m watching a part of my life redesigned, and I don’t know how to fit into it anymore.
A new beginning permeates all the corners of my father’s business, and somehow it doesn’t reach me.
Before, I tried to preserve everything the way Dad had started it. Now I see the changes for what they are: improvements, the next stage, the road to success.
While I accept them now, they don’t excite me. That’s the problem.
With Tessa and Gina involved, the burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m grateful. Relieved. Unchained. But also somehow misplaced.
When I watch Xander getting ready for work, the purpose, the underlying drive, the mission of it is evident.
Coming here certainly doesn’t feel the same. It hasn’t felt that way for a long time. I wonder if it ever has.
You never deserved any of this.
Have I spent years here just out of a sense of duty? That is a hard thing to admit to myself, but deep down, I worry it may be true.
I always thought my life was influenced by my circumstances. But perhaps it was my choice.
And perhaps I’m on the verge of making new choices. For me.
What does that even mean? What else would I do if not this?
“Look who showed up,” Tessa teases, with her typical accusatory undertone.
“It doesn’t look like you missed me,” I quip.
Gina looks between the two of us and scurries toward the back room. “I’m going to check on the progress.”
We stay in a silent duel, and I’m not even sure what we are fighting about.
“I feel like you don’t want me here.” Tessa puts her hands on her hips.
“That’s not true.”
She cocks her head, challenging my statement.
I sigh. “I asked you to be a part of this business time and time again after Dad got sick. You refused, so sorry if I’m wary of your sudden enthusiasm.”
While I appreciate—need—her here, I don’t trust that she’ll stay. Knowing my sister’s tendency to switch to a new cause every few weeks, I feel she may bail soon.
If I’m honest, it terrifies me. That I’ll be left here alone again, carrying the burden. No purpose, no mission, no drive… just burden.
“Fair enough, but I’m not going anywhere, and we need to learn to work together.”
“Working together doesn’t mean you lead and I follow.”
“No, but when you don’t show up, I need to take over. I want this project to succeed.”
“That’s the point, Tessa, you think of this as a project. It’s not. It’s hard work, long hours, never-ending responsibility, bone-deep exhaustion. Rinse and repeat.”
She blinks, taken aback by my words. “Why have you been doing it for so long then?”
“Because someone had to!”
I think I shocked us both with the statement. The unbidden, surprising confession is so loud in my mind that the deafening drill in the back sounds like a whispered lullaby.
“Let’s go get tea down the road.” Tessa snatches her bag and pivots me toward the door.
We walk in silence and take a seat on a patio, ordering iced teas. Everything around me seems to buzz with intent. I buzz with the realization.
Tessa swirls the straw in her drink. “I understand you think me getting involved is just some kind of a rebound activity post-separation. But I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be.
My promise might not weigh much in your eyes, but I’m not going to bail.
For the first time in my life, I wake up with something to do. Something that makes me… feel alive.”
I believe her, and I also appreciate that instead of dissecting my earlier admission, she’s trying to reassure me about her motivation. It helps. Her words seem to free me a bit from the self-inflicted shackles.
“If you can trust me with the bistro, maybe you can allow yourself some time off,” she continues. “To think about what it is you really want.”
The way out she’s offering feels good, for exactly five seconds. Immediately after, my inner cynic offers many objections. “But Dad—”
“Dad gave up on this business a long time ago. He gave up on his marriage, and then couldn’t live with himself. You can’t fix that for him. You shouldn’t want to, Cora. He’s an adult who made his choices. You can’t change the outcome of his choices. But you certainly can make your own.
“After Ethan died, you left your corporate job and started helping Dad. I thought it was a phase of grief. And then Dad had his stroke, and you just gave up on your own life.”
When she sums it up like that… The younger sister persona awakens in me, and I sulk for a moment, slurping my drink like a petulant child.
“Since when have you been so perceptive?” I murmur around my straw.