Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PETRA
Aleksandr
WTF is with that photo?
Petra
What do you mean?
I wait for his response, but it doesn’t come. The bubble appears to show that he’s typing, then disappears again. Multiple times. I wait. And wait.
This whole day has felt juvenile beyond measure.
Leaving without saying goodbye, then ignoring my texts?
I knew he wouldn’t call to say goodnight to Stella because of the game.
But for both of his away games last week, he at least texted me midday with a video he’d filmed to say goodnight, so I was able to show it to her before bedtime.
Today, nothing. And now he’s upset that she wanted to send him a picture to make him happy?
I’m pissed off on her behalf, in addition to being mad about how he’s ignored me.
I hit the button on screen to call him, and I’m surprised when he picks up on the first ring.
“What?”
The one-word greeting further inflames my temper. “What the hell is going on, Aleksandr?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” he says. The cool, indifferent tone that carries across the phone surprises me.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, much less why you’re upset.”
“What makes you think I’m upset?” His voice couldn’t be flatter, more devoid of emotion, if he were a robot.
“Besides the fact that you left without saying goodbye, ignored my messages today, and didn’t even send Stella a goodnight message?” Not to mention his WTF response to the photo of Stella and me.
He pauses for a beat. “I forgot about the goodnight message for Stella. Today was really busy.”
“Fair enough. But why are you ignoring me?” I hate that I have to ask this question.
It feels childish, as though we’re still teenagers who haven’t figured out how to communicate with each other, instead of adults in a sexual relationship.
Part of the reason I never sleep with anyone more than once is so I don’t have to partake in these cat and mouse games.
“Why don’t you ask Charlie?”
Now it’s my turn to pause. “How do you know about Charley?”
“Accidentally overheard you on the phone with him before I left.”
Several things click into place with the use of that pronoun. “Aleksandr, Charley is a woman.”
I can hear his breath hitch and can envision his eyebrows dipping as he works through this new piece of information. “Wait, you’re in another relationship with a woman?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “A professional one, yes.”
“Please explain.” The words are flat, a demand instead of a request.
I consider that my contract prohibits me from sharing details of the show with anyone but immediate family.
I shared that information with Jackson because she’s essentially a sister to me, rationalizing that she’d be the only one that I’d tell.
But Aleksandr is actually the only person my contract would technically permit me to tell about this, because we’re legally married.
“I really wish we were having this conversation in person,” I say, shifting to set my laptop on the bed next to me so I can lean further back into the pillows, letting them engulf me when I wish I was in his arms instead.
No response, just the sound of his breathing.
“I need to emphasize that everything I’m telling you right now is completely confidential. The only reason I’m able to even tell you is because we’re married.”
“Noted,” he says.
“I need you to tell me that you will keep this information to yourself and not tell a single other person.”
“What if it’s something the lawyer we’re meeting with this week needs to know?” he asks.
“She will need to know, and we’ll tell her.”
A small grunt escapes on the other end of the phone. “So this is relevant to me adopting Stella, then. When were you going to share this with me?”
I probably should have already told him, but I’d been so wrapped up in how things were changing between us, trying to figure out what our evolving relationship meant, that I didn’t want to throw something else into the mix.
He knew I was leaving, what difference did it make if it were for this show or for the business I’d been painstakingly growing for the past few years?
“I would have told you before we met with the lawyer,” I assure him.
“Okay, so?” he prompts.
“I’m moving to LA. I’m going to be hosting a show, like a 60 Minutes-type talk show that interviews women who have overcome great obstacles to redefine success in their field.
It’s called And Yet We Rise and we start filming in two weeks.
This morning I was on the phone with my producer, Charley, finalizing some details about the start of the show. ”
There’s a pause on his end as I imagine he needs a moment to absorb this information.
“Is this why you’ve been so insistent that you can’t stay?”
“Yes.”
“So, where does that leave us?” He sounds like he’s just lost something he worked his whole life for. Totally defeated. Which is ridiculous, because we’ve been sleeping together for less than a week. And before that, we hadn’t seen each other in fourteen years.
“I don’t know. I’ve worked my whole life for an opportunity like this.
” Everything I do is about lifting up and empowering women—from the friends I keep, to the women I hire, to the types of events I plan.
“This is my chance to really promote female voices, to help show young girls that women can overcome any obstacle, achieve anything they set their mind to. I want that kind of a show to exist in this world. I want something that women can watch with their daughters. Something that doesn’t focus on all the misogyny, but instead focuses on the beauty of the female experience. ”
My phone buzzes in my hand as I speak, and Aleksandr’s name flashes across the screen with a video call.
“I needed to see you,” he says when I answer.
He’s sitting in a chair in a hotel room, beige curtains hanging behind him.
His thick, dark hair is wet and a few pieces curl down into his face.
“There was so much passion in your voice just now. I need to know what you look like when you’re talking about something you’re so committed to. ”
I glance at my video in the corner of the screen. I’m in a T-shirt, no makeup, and my hair is clipped back so it would stay out of my face when I was working. I watch a faint pink flush infiltrate my cheeks. I don’t fucking blush. What the hell is this?
“Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”
“Never apologize for your dreams, Petra,” he says. “And definitely don’t keep them a secret. Dreams are for sharing, for chasing, for achieving.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re being so supportive,” I tell him.
“Why is that?” he asks, and even through the phone I can tell his eyes are searching my face, trying to understand me.
“Because it means I can’t stay in New York and help you with Stella. This makes everything harder for you.”
“What kind of a selfish bastard would I be if I tried to crush your dreams to achieve my own ends?”
I don’t know what’s happening to me. My whole body feels like it’s melting from the inside out, like my heart has exploded and is oozing lava through my veins, disintegrating me from within.
I expect that my skin will turn to ash at any minute, but it doesn’t.
It’s just covered with a thin coat of sweat.
“You aren’t saying anything,” he murmurs.
I want to kiss his face, to hold it in my hands and run my lips over his forehead, his eyes, his nose, and his cheeks, ending with his mouth.
“I’m not sure . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words, “that I’ve ever felt so seen.”
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I say, noting how watery my eyes are. I don’t cry. Especially not over a man. But those words were the most honest, most touching thing anyone has ever said to me. “I just didn’t expect you to be so supportive.”
“I know what it’s like to have dreams you’ve worked your whole life for.”
“Did you ever believe you’d be this successful?” I ask.
“I always believed it, which is why it happened.”
I love that he doesn’t fake humility. He doesn’t say “I got lucky” or some bullshit like that. He’s worked hard for everything he’s achieved, and I’m glad he’s owning it.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I feel like my life has been me constantly reinventing myself, going from skiing, to modeling, to event planning, and now hosting this show. None of those things seem to have anything to do with the other, but I’ve let the things I’m passionate about dictate my path.
I’ve worked hard for every one of those opportunities, networked my ass off to meet the right people and to be the right person in return.
But the show did kind of fall into my lap.
” I explain how I met Charley and how she hounded me until I agreed to audition.
“Did it fall into your lap? Or did all that networking finally pay off?”
“A bit of both, I guess.” I shrug.
“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice soft. “Don’t act like you don’t deserve this opportunity.”
I’m not sure I do. “I’m having a bit of impostor syndrome is all.
I feel like this is the kind of role that should go to someone more experienced, and I’m still not entirely sure why Charley wants me.
” It feels good to voice what I’ve been keeping in my head all along.
I’d never admit to anyone else that I’m scared.
“She obviously sees something in you and knows you’re right for this role.
Trust her experience. Trust the process and don’t sell yourself short.
Yeah, you’ve never done this before. But you’d never skied competitively, or modeled, or planned a huge event—until you did. Everyone starts somewhere, Petra.”
I marvel at how his eyes have turned to a soft gray, how wrinkles appear at the corners when he looks at me like this.
It’s not the look of desire I’ve seen so often recently, or the look of fond affection he gives Stella.
If I had to describe it, I’d say it was pride.
And for some reason, it makes me deeply uncomfortable.