Chapter 19 #3
“After eight years, I’m glad you finally know that.
” Simone laughed. “I was terrified by how much I already cared about you at the end of that first week. I thought that there was no way someone as smooth as you could be in this for the long haul—but you are. Even when it’s hard.
Even when we can’t understand each other’s choices, even when we have to make what feel like impossible sacrifices in our own careers to keep this relationship going.
Baby, I’m so glad we’re taking these wedding vows today, but in some ways, I don’t even need to hear them.
You’ve already shown me everything I need to know. ”
Every word of Simone’s vows felt like an indictment of Anya and Gabe, a confirmation that it was never going to work.
They didn’t sacrifice their careers for each other—they did the exact opposite.
Even now, Anya wasn’t sorry, and she was pretty sure Gabe wasn’t either.
They both still thought they were right, even though it had more or less killed their relationship.
And after the last ten years, who could blame them?
They’d hurt each other so often, mistrusted each other so deeply—why would they sacrifice their careers for each other?
There was so much good between them; she loved him more than she’d ever loved a boyfriend, but maybe that wasn’t enough.
And maybe that was okay. It was devastating, and it was horrible.
But it felt good to reach what now seemed like an obvious conclusion.
Simone and Kira finished their vows and exchanged rings, and by the power vested in Jo by the United States Senate and the people of Nevada, she pronounced them legally married.
The Tabard staff brought food and a lot of champagne, and the mood was heartfelt and celebratory as they ate and laughed.
Jo excused herself after an hour—she wanted to get home to see her own husband before she and Anya headed up to New York the next morning.
Anya was worried it would be agony to sit next to Gabe all through dinner, knowing what she’d decided to do, but Kira and Simone were so happy, and she and Gabe were both so happy for them, that it was almost easy.
It felt like a gift, one last time for the four friends to be together before things got messy and complicated and awkward. It felt like a proper goodbye.
After the cake plates were cleared, Kira gave them all a knowing look.
“So, Simone and I have a room upstairs.” She grinned.
“And you’d like to get to it?” Gabe cracked. “I don’t blame you. Your wife is hot.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Simone yawned elaborately, wiggling her fingers to flash her ring.
They said their mazel tovs and goodbyes, and a minute later Gabe and Anya were alone at the table. And suddenly, nothing felt easy anymore.
“So.” Her heart was hammering. “Do you need to get back to Maryland?”
“Anya, no.” He looked at her with concern. “I mean, if you want me to go, I’ll go. But I don’t want to. You’re my priority.”
“Now that you’ve won,” she added. She hated how bitter she sounded, but she didn’t think she was wrong.
“No.” Gabe stared at her. “Always. I offered to quit the campaign for you.”
“Because you knew I’d never ask you to do that,” Anya said quietly. She wiped a tear a little too harshly—her hand was rough against her cheekbone.
“Do you wish you had?” Gabe asked.
Anya shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Things were so good with us, An.” Gabe bowed his head. “Please tell me I didn’t ruin that.”
“Were they, though? Like, actually?”
“What does that mean?” Gabe frowned. “Anya, we’re in love.”
“But you didn’t ask me.” Her voice cracked. “We were together for all of a month before you decided to work for Wheeler, knowing full well how I felt about him.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t ask me either.” Gabe looked angry now, but she couldn’t see why.
“Ask you what? About working for Jo? You love Jo!”
“About going on the road!” Gabe said. “We had just agreed we wanted to move together, you knew how hard it was for me to do long distance with Tallulah, and you unilaterally decided to take a job where there was no possible way for us to be in the same place.”
“You did the same thing!” Anya snapped. “Did you think I’d move with you to Frederick? Take a job for Wheeler? Or better yet, sit at home while you worked sixteen-hour days for someone I hate? Tell me, what did you think would happen to us when you took that job?”
“I don’t know!” Gabe smacked the table. “It fucked me up so badly when they didn’t ask me to run the campaign the first time, and then to have them come back on their knees, so desperate for me to do the only job I’ve ever dreamed of doing—I had to take it. I had to.”
“But don’t you think that’s exactly the problem?” Anya leaned toward him. “That we aren’t like Kira and Simone? That we consider ourselves before each other?”
“Wait.” Gabe looked at her in complete shock. “Are you saying you don’t think we should be together?”
“I don’t know.” Anya felt terrified. “Maybe?”
“Anya, how can you say that? This was just a campaign, it was just work—”
“Not to me!” Anya protested. “It was the culmination of everything I’ve ever wanted to do with my life, of what my mom wanted for me. I can’t believe that you don’t get that.”
“I do, I do get that.” Gabe slid his chair toward hers. “I had no idea how hard it was going to be, working on opposing campaigns—”
“Hard for you?” Anya asked skeptically. “Really?”
“Are you kidding? You guys had each other. I had no one to talk to, I was completely alone. My job was this miserable, endless slog, and you were off having the time of your life with Hugo—”
“Hugo?” Anya almost laughed. “Why are you bringing up Hugo?”
“I don’t know.” Gabe’s nostrils flared. “Is he relevant to this conversation?”
“Not unless you know something I don’t. And what do you mean, you had no one to talk to? We talked all the time!”
“Not about work,” Gabe countered. “I could never tell you how awful it was for me, because we had more money, and we were winning. And then, even when you had more money and you were winning, I still had to be the bigger person and swallow however I was feeling about it because you were always standing on the moral high ground.”
“You run ads like that and then talk to me about the moral high ground? You were the one slinging mud!”
“Do you have any idea how hard I tried to keep those ads off the air?” Gabe raised his voice.
“I fought for months, I pulled every move I could think of, I put the campaign and my job on the line—but none of that matters to you, because you have these impossible standards that no one can ever live up to. Those ads only went live because the senator himself overruled me.”
“That’s worse! Don’t you see how that’s worse?” Anya was so upset she was shaking. “That you would put us through all this for a man who would do that?”
“That man is the only candidate who has a shot at winning!” Gabe said. “God, Anya. You gave me shit for all these years that I just want to be liked, that I do whatever anyone else wants me to do. I guess what you really meant is I should do whatever you want.”
“And what you want is to work for a man like Wheeler? Really?” Anya shook her head. “I’m not asking you to have my values, Gabe. I’m asking you to live up to yours.”
The look on Gabe’s face when she said that was so awful, so hurt, Anya didn’t know whether to wish she could take it back or feel relieved she’d finally said it out loud.
“You think we have different values?” he asked. “You don’t think I want the same things as you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have a hard time justifying how you could take that job if we did.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “So you’re going to throw this away because I worked for one campaign? I don’t mean more to you than that?”
His voice faltered a little at the end. She thought of him sitting in the ambulance with his mother, looking broken, like a lost boy.
“You mean everything to me.” Anya closed her eyes and let the tears spill down her face. “I just don’t know how many more times I can let you hurt me.”
“So that’s what this is.”
Anya opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “You’re afraid. You went through hell after your mom passed, and you’re going through hell now, and instead of letting me be there for you, you’re blaming me and running away because you’re too afraid of the hell you might one day go through if you don’t leave me first. Right?”
“That’s not true,” Anya whispered, but Gabe wasn’t buying it.
“Anya, I know you,” he pled. “I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.
When I promised I would never leave you, I meant it.
So you don’t have to do this, okay? You can just— You can stay with me, and we can figure it out. Please, Anya. Please, just stay.”
He was crying too now, and it was horrible—it was so much worse than when he yelled.
“I can’t.” She stood, and he did too. “I don’t trust you, Gabe. I love you, but I don’t trust you.”
“No.” He wiped his eyes. “No, I don’t believe you.”
“I’m so sorry,” she cried, and then he was pulling her into his arms, and he was kissing her, and she kissed him back, and she didn’t want this to be the last time, but she knew that it had to be, because this hurt too much, and how could she be with him when this hurt so fucking much?
He held her close, hugging her tightly.
“You’re my great love,” he told her. “Don’t you remember? You’re my great love.”
She pushed away from him. She had to get out of here.
“Come on, Gabe.” Her voice was ragged. “You had a girlfriend when you said that to me.”
His shoulders slumped. It felt like he finally understood what she was saying.
“So it’s over?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s over.”