30. Fia
FIA
I click off my phone a week later, sighing. “Goddammit.”
“Still no sign from Emil?” grimaces Chloe over her cup of coffee.
“He dropped me back off in the city, kissed me on the cheek and promised to spend the rest of his life loving me.”
“From afar. Loving from a distance is more common than you think.”
“Don’t,” I huff, taking a long sip of coffee in the hopes of being cured. I’m down to a single espresso shot in my latte, which means I’m basically drinking milk, but I’m giving this independence thing another shot to take my mind off the heartbreak.
“Those who love from a distance always love the most passionately.”
“I disagree,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “You should have seen how Emil moved in bed.”
Sadness pools in Chloe’s eyes, like she’s also grieving my sex life. “You have quite literally been through hell and back. Killing a man while also being five and a half months pregnant with twins has to go down in the books as one of the most passionate acts of female rage.”
“Luka also threatened you at gunpoint. A man who comes between two best friends has a raging, hormonal pregnant woman to answer to.”
Chloe sniffs a laugh, her saucer clinking as she sets down the coffee cup. “Once again, I’m terribly sorry for?—”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You were happy and I acted selfishly. I was too busy fighting to get my best friend back and became blindsided as a result.”
“Luka is conniving. I never saw it coming either.”
“He said he wanted to save you,” says Chloe, rubbing her forehead.
“I should have known better when he approached me on the street, immediately listing out all of his so-called friend’s worst traits, telling me you needed to get the hell out of that marriage,” says Chloe.
“But Emil loves you selflessly, Fia. That kind of love is rare.”
“Saved for the poets?”
She snaps her fingers. “Exactly. Appreciating someone from afar takes a lot of courage.”
“I know,” I groan, “but I’m still counting on him to text me, changing his mind about us going our separate ways. What about when the babies arrive?”
“You focus on being a mother,” says Chloe, glancing at the wedding ring on my finger.
I fold my arms across the table, hiding the ring, feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks.
“What? We agreed to keep the rings on. We’re staying married.
” I finish the coffee, pushing the cup away.
“Truthfully, there is nobody else out there who can compete with Emil. I’ll never meet another man who fights for what he believes in, going against all odds. ”
“I hate to agree,” says Chloe. “You should see the guys I date. They switch off the second I mention anything personal. All they care about is the sex, which they’re terrible at.
Them rubbing my clit like a scratch card barely counts as foreplay, and then they’re sticking it in, finishing before the chorus of Pony by Ginuwine can even start. ”
“Pony?” I snort. “You play music during sex?”
“It masks the sound of them hyping themselves up.”
Chloe’s terrible sex life is even more reason for me to feel depressed. Emil truly is a diamond in the rough.
“I hate to say it, but ninety-nine percent of the men in this city are only invested in themselves. My advice to you—keep the wedding ring on and never take it off. And if Emil you happen to cross paths with Emil again, take it as a sign from the universe.”
“Another sign from the universe is me texting him.”
“Give yourself some time first.” Chloe reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “After the past couple of years, you owe it to yourself to explore new opportunities. Perhaps you should give your boss a call. Who knows, your desk might still be waiting for you.”
“Maybe, but after Alexander hired the company to investigate Emil’s Bratva, I think I need a career change.”
“And what will you do?”
I tap my lip, deep in thought. Numbers have always been my strength. They make the world feel safer. Opening math homework at 2 a.m. when I was struggling to sleep always made everything feel okay, like there was light at the end of a never ending tunnel.
The banging downstairs, the tears falling down my mother’s face; by switching on my brain, I could tune everything out.
But tuning out was a coping mechanism, and I’m done counting numbers and facts as a way to survive. I want to live. And Emil is the only one who can help me do that.
I rise from the table, slinging my jacket over my shoulder.
Chloe looks up at me. “Where are you going?”
“To the hospital to make some birthing plan arrangements. Emil won’t be able to resist me when he finds out I’m going into labor.”