Chapter 23 #2
“Since I realized I had done a similar thing and given up on my life. For a rich husband.”
Did we? Did we both give up after our parents’ separation? Finding something that felt safe?
“Do you think that’s what we learned from Mom and Dad? To give up?”
“God, I hope we got more than that from them. You got talent from Mama.”
I almost spit out my tea. “What are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes. “The stories you used to write.”
Our mother is a freelance journalist, but I guess I pushed that out of my mind around the time she abandoned us. I never wanted to have that connection.
“You remember my stories?” I wrap my hands around the chilled glass, grounding myself.
“I remember you used to dream, and then you stopped. I remember I used to love the bistro, and I always thought I would take it over, and then the family split… and I guess our ambitions split, as well.”
As much as I don’t want to admit that, her words ring true. “I thought I was protecting Dad.” It sounds so silly when I say it out loud.
“You romanticize all men, especially Dad.”
“I don’t romanticize Dad; I have compassion for his suffering.”
“Suffering he caused himself.”
“Don’t—”
“You need to start seeing things from other angles than the one that suits your narrative, Cora. Dad cheated on Mom for years. Other women and the bistro were everything to him. He pushed Mom away, time after time. You were younger than me, but you couldn’t have been that blind.
And when Mom finally found a slice of happiness for herself and left, he realized what he had lost. And selfishly put that burden on you. ”
You never deserved any of this.
My father’s words hit me like a freight train of revelation.
“What are you talking about?” My mind refuses her recount of the events.
“Apparently, something you don’t want to hear.”
I put the glass down and stare, a thousand thoughts fighting for attention. I want to yell at Tessa and tell her to stop vilifying our father. I want to stand up and run away from this conversation.
But haven’t I questioned the narrative she just mentioned? Like the stories I write, where I try to show the good in us… am I only seeing the same in real life?
“I went to Ethan’s grave…” I tell her about my discovery. One I haven’t shared with anyone besides Xander, because… I’m ashamed.
Tessa sighs. “It doesn’t surprise me, but poor kid.”
“I guess I loved Ethan too much to see… I romanticized what we had.” I chuckle humorlessly at her earlier comment.
“Like all men. Case in point—your romantic notion of Paul with the fucking umbrella… that is not romantic, it’s a common decency. You tend to idealize men. And most of all, Dad.”
“Why have you never told me?”
“I guess I wanted to protect you. And then we just stopped talking at one point… when I became concerned with protecting only my own image.”
I look at her, deadpan. “What image? The cold bitch?”
She smirks. “When you marry a rich, influential man, it’s in your job description.” She takes a sip.
We both chuckle. “I’d better remember that and sharpen my teeth.”
Her eyes widen. “I knew the Lamborghini guy wasn’t just a friend. Is he the same guy who is investing?”
Shit. How did she figure it out so quickly? I guess I couldn’t hide it from her for much longer.
Especially since we’re flying to meet Xander’s family, and there are public events to attend while we’re there. The last thing I need is for Tessa to read about my marriage.
“The Lamborghini guy is Xander Stone, my husband.”
Tessa’s jaw falls. She pushes her sunglasses into her hair, and then she laughs, the staccato of it turning heads. “You should be an actress. I believed you for a moment.”
“Or maybe I’m convincing because it’s true.”
She leans back. Her eyebrows narrowed, she opens her mouth, but no words come out for a few attempts.
She stares at me for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?”
“We didn’t tell anyone. And you were going through your separation; there wasn’t a right time.”
“Of course, Miss I-Sacrifice-Myself-for-Everyone didn’t invite me to her wedding because she needs to spare my feelings. God, I hate how you always pretend to put others first.”
And here we go. But this time, I decide not to revert to our usual dynamic. “Tessa, I’m sorry about your marriage. I’m sorry you’re angry, lost, and forced to reinvent yourself. I’m sorry I’m finally happy at the same time you lost your happiness. I should have told you.”
She blinks a few times, tears brimming around her eyes. “I guess the cold-bitch behavior runs deep. I hate how empty and silent the house is.”
“Let yourself grieve. I’m sure you will bounce back. Every ending is a new beginning.”
She reaches over and gives me an awkward hug. “I’m sorry I sprang the Dad thing on you like that.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think my brain is willing to accept your words. It will take some processing.”
We sit in silence for a moment before she checks her watch. “We should head back. Gina had a few things to discuss with us.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here for a moment.”
She frowns. “Are you sure?”
I nod, and she leaves before I pull a notebook from my bag.
And a story about a bear who kept forgetting to put himself first is born.
I push the door to my apartment, forgetting it doesn’t fully open because of the boxes. The air smells of Thai food and Xander’s aftershave.
In a short time, his scent, his things, his presence have blended into my space, making it more home than it’s been for years.
Xander texted he was heading home about an hour ago, but I’m not met with his off-key humming or the financial podcast he listens to.
But the smell of takeout? He must be here.
I slip out of my shoes and peek from behind the boxes. And I see them.
Xander is sprawled on the sofa, one arm resting along the back, the other holding a book open across his lap.
My neighbor and proud cat sitter, Pavel, is tucked into his side, eyes wide and fixed on the page. Both cats are draped across the armrest and Xander’s legs like royalty.
No one sees me, and I pause, taking in the picture. Who even is this man? The question keeps popping into my head.
I grin, but a lump clogs my throat.
The domesticity of the scene does things to my heart. The way Xander reads? Like every word matters. Like he’s savoring it. His voice is soft, deep, and rich with intention.
And when Pavel laughs—one of those unchecked, childlike giggles—I watch a smile bloom on Xander’s face, unfiltered.
This man—this reckless, annoying, entirely-too-charming man—has been letting me see him in pieces. And here’s another one. Gentle. Grounded. Devoted.
I step forward, and the floor creaks beneath me. Four heads swivel toward me. Two humans, two felines.
“Hi.” I smile at them.
Pavel’s eyes light up. “Cora! Xander fixed my bike!” He leaps off the couch and races toward me. “And then he got me a new one! Wanna see?”
I glance at Xander, who sits there, a king of nonchalance. “A new bike?”
“Yeah!” Pavel beams. “Mine was super broken, and my dad said he’d fix it, but he never did, and Xander did. And then he said I should have one that doesn’t try to murder me on every turn, so he got this one. Look.” He points to a bike in the corner.
Jesus, I hope he got him a security system with that. This is a decent neighborhood, but that bike would get stolen tonight.
Pavel squirms, casting his gaze down. “Can I leave it here? My dad might try to sell it.” That is as likely as a theft.
“Of course,” I say to Pavel, brushing his hair back. “You can keep it here.”
He beams. “Dope. I’ve gotta go feed Miso before he pees on my bed again.” He bolts out the door before I can even ask what or who Miso is.
I turn to Xander, who hasn’t moved from the couch. One cat is now on his lap. The other is licking its paw with the kind of judgmental disinterest only cats can pull off.
“You fixed his bike?” I sit beside him.
“But then I bought him a new one.” He pulls me closer, kissing my crown. “The old one was a death trap.”
“When did all of that happen?”
“He brooded like a kicked puppy; what was I supposed to do?”
I glance over at the scattered mess that is our current living situation. Xander’s shoes under the coffee table. A suit jacket on the back of a chair. The new bike wheel poking out from behind a tower of boxes.
It should annoy me.
It doesn’t.
“And you read to him?”
He flips the book over in his hands. “Yeah. Kid said he can’t read so well. He picked Where the Wild Things Are. Not bad taste, really.”
My heart folds in on itself. “You didn’t know how to make a bed a few weeks ago. Now you’re fixing bikes and mentoring eight-year-olds.”
He grins. “Give it another week, and I’ll be cooking and vacuuming without cursing.” He kisses me and then lifts my legs and starts massaging the soles of my feet. “How was work?”
“The reopening is not yet scheduled, but it will be fabulous.” I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying his fingers kneading. “Oh, and I found out my father cheated on my mother several times. It was he who broke our family.”
“Fuck, Cora, that’s… What can I do?” He drops his hands and pulls me closer, holding me in his safe embrace.
He never falls for pity, but always jumps into problem-solving mode.
“Tessa said I romanticize men,” I murmur into his neck. “That I make them into better people in my head than they ever really were.”
He says nothing for a moment. “Is that why you married me?”
I chuckle. “I married you because you’re a sex god.”
He laughs. “Good. I married you because you’re good for my ego.”
“Stroking your ego is the last thing we need.” I poke his ribs, and then I lock my gaze with his. “I married you because I was desperate. But I think I’m staying married to you because… you’re not just what you project.”
“Took you long enough.” He winks.
“Why don’t you show those parts to the rest of the world?”
He tucks my head into the crook of his neck again. If he needs to talk without eye contact, I don’t mind. The fact that he’s willing to uncover another part of himself is worth it.
“It’s easier to be the party guy. The one no one expects much from. That way I can’t disappoint.”
I look up at him. “The formidable Xander Stone believes he can disappoint someone?”
His jaw works for a moment. “My siblings are brilliant. But I solved a Rubik’s cube at five and negotiated an investment deal with our dad by fourteen. My brother always felt he had to compete with me. So I cracked jokes, bought expensive shit, and crashed motorbikes to endear myself to him.”
“And it got you girls.”
He chuckles. “Exactly. I had always wanted to win. I still do.”
“And here I am just trying not to lose. I guess that’s the difference between us.”
“Is it, though? Perhaps we’re more similar than you care to admit. Only I call it winning, and you call it not losing.”
“I just don’t feel there is anything I want to win lately.”
“You won me over.” With two fingers he lifts my chin, mirth flickering in his eyes. “There isn’t much left to strive for.”
I laugh. “I guess I did win.”
He looks at me, really looks at me, and his entire face softens. “And you turn this sprinter into a marathon runner.”
Is he really in this for the long run? Maybe I have a tendency to romanticize men, but I know with this one, he is really who he showed me he is. Not the business leader. Not the carefree playboy. Not the reckless billionaire.
Just a caring, funny, smart man who puts me first, while I struggle to do so myself.
“A marathon… Hmmm… I’m not worried about you. I’ve seen you go three rounds without breaking a sweat.” I pivot to straddle him, cupping his neck.
His grin widens. “Is that an invitation?”
“Nope.” I lick my lips. “It’s a challenge.”
“Careful what you wish for, Mrs. Winslow-Stone.” He yanks me to him, his hand immediately under my skirt.
I yelp and laugh and surrender to his playfulness, because it makes me forget about the rest of the world, and that’s what I need.
“I need you,” I whisper.
“I know.” He kisses me. “I need you too.”
And just like that, the energy between us shifts yet again, pulling us deeper. Better. More.
But as the next few days confirm, not forever.