Chapter 50
LINCOLN
Mrs. Lannister’s words live in my mind all day. Why are you trying to fix Julissa’s relationship with me, when you haven’t fixed your relationship with her? But I still don’t act on them.
Instead, I hide behind the excuse of needing to mentally switch gears and focus on my business.
My new associates are still in town after yesterday’s disaster of a party, and they’ve asked me to join them for lunch.
Long story short, the goddamned deal is off.
After all that work. After all that ass-kissing. After marrying a woman I didn’t even know and falling head-over-heels in love with her. The assholes still called off the fucking deal.
“We just can’t move forward with this,” Paul is saying. “We witnessed the blow-up first hand.”
Bob nods. “And while we’re impressed by the lengths to which you and Jules went to cheat the system, we refuse to do business with someone who’s not legitimately married.”
“And we won’t be tied to a man who’s got ‘public scandal’ stamped on his forehead,” Eric says. “We’d be putting our own reputations at risk.”
Dale leans across the table with a slimy grin, “We prefer private scandals only.”
I laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. The level of hypocrisy from these buffoons is truly mind-blowing. Not to mention that my feelings for Jules are clearly more genuine than anything they have with their own wives.
You know what? I think the thing that scares these men most is the influence Jules has had on their lonely, miserable wives. So if nothing else comes from this whole business mess, at least she’s made a mark on those women.
Hell, maybe one will even be brave enough to file for divorce. Then the associates will have to try to backpedal themselves out of their ridiculous ‘married men only’ rule.
After the business lunch, I get stuck at the train crossing for a good fifteen minutes.
I pass the time, trying to comfort myself with the fact that, at least I got one last free meal out of this mess.
Then I take my time driving home. Cameron is still in school for the next few hours, so I’m not in a rush, already dreading the quiet emptiness of my house.
As I approach my cul-de-sac, there’s a small part of me that feels a wave of relief at not having to pretend to respect those chauvinistic pigs for the next ten years. I value my sanity, after all. So I might have dodged a pretty big bullet there.
But my more calculating side is worried about the financial consequences of this deal falling through. This was my last ditch effort at saving the sports agency I worked my ass off to build. My last chance at bailing myself out. My last chance to stay out of the unemployment line.
And what about Jules? What about her T-shirt business? Maybe I can come up with some way to help her get the funding she needs, even if I can’t save myself. Maybe I can figure something out for her. I have to.
Even more importantly, maybe I can convince her to give me a shot. A real shot. Maybe I can convince her to let me love her.
A tiny flicker of hope crawls into my chest.
When I get home, I’m surprised to find Jules in the living room. My instant thrill at seeing her here fizzles quickly when I realize that she’s packing her stuff.
This day can’t get any worse. It just can’t.
“You’re leaving?” I say dumbly, watching her fold the last of her clothes and drop them into a black garbage bag.
She doesn’t look up. “Yes. Our contract is moot and everyone knows the truth.” She wipes her red, puffy nose on the back of her hand. “I tidied up the kitchen. I placed the ring back in your office. Cameron’s lunches for the week are prepped and labeled in the fridge. Everything is complete.”
Her cold tone sends icicles down my spine. It all comes across like she’s checking out of a rental property.
Before falling for her, I would have been that way, too. Serious. Cold. Business-like. Mr. Button-Up? That was me.
But now…? Now, I want to fall to my knees—both knees—and beg my wife to stay.
The tension builds in the room, as she continues to pack. I’m standing here, bleeding. Yet she seems to have some hidden talent for being able to ignore me with such efficiency. Being able to pretend she doesn’t care. Being able to hide her feelings.
She cares about me, right? She has to. There’s no way I’m in this alone.
I look around, feeling like I’m losing all sense of control.
None of her shoes are lying by the front door.
Her hair brush isn’t tossed on the kitchen island.
Her sketchbook and loose drawings aren’t strewn around the living room like they usually are.
It’s like she’s trying to erase all traces of her existence from my organized life.
The easygoing, fun-chasing chaos I’ve become accustomed to over the past few months is about to walk right out that front door. Taking my heart along with her.
Losing that business deal is nothing compared to the pain of…this.
“Jules, please.” My voice cracks. “Don’t do this. You know this isn’t about the contract anymore. It hasn’t been since the day we exchanged vows. Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.”
I’m not above begging. It’s all I have left.
Still, Jules doesn’t reply. She simply ties a knot on the end of her garbage bag, the loud rustling of plastic slicing through the silence.
She walks toward the door with her garbage bag in hand and her beat-up leather bag slung across her chest and a small box of her belongings tucked under her arm.
My eyes prickle. I hold the damn tears in. But on the inside, I fall apart.
“Jules…” I whisper.
Out of ideas.
Out of time.
Out of luck.
But when she reaches the door, she pauses, her hand on the doorknob. “Pink.”
“What?” I blink stupidly.
Jules turns slightly, finally looking at me for the first time today. Her eyes are red and her tears have dried in salty tracks down her cheeks.
“My favorite color,” she says quietly. “I lied when I said I didn’t have one. My favorite color is pink. I love every fucking shade of it. From soft pastel to that glowing neon shade and that salmon color, too. I love pink.”
I take urgent strides to close the gap in between us.
Jules takes a step back, one hand flying up like a stop sign to keep me at bay.
“But girls like me aren’t allowed to have pink.
Pink is for other girls. Those girls get the fairytales.
I’m not one of those girls,” she says in a hoarse voice.
“I’m a walking mistake, Lincoln. My very existence is a mistake. I don’t deserve pink.”
It takes a minute for the metaphor to land. But when it does, it almost knocks me on my ass.
She’s talking about love.
I stare at my wife in disbelief. How can she think she doesn’t deserve love? The most confident woman I know is standing in front of me, and yet she’s afraid to be herself because she doesn’t think she’s worthy. This is absolutely crazy.
I take a desperate step toward her. “I’ll give you pink. I'll paint every room in this house Pepto Bismol pink for you. I’ll go into town and I’ll buy you every pink dress I can get my hands on. Then I’ll come home and paint your fingers and your toes to match.”
Through her tears, she giggles and the sound lights my heart up like a Christmas tree.
I cup her cheeks in my hands. “You deserve any fucking thing you want.
You deserve a life that isn't built on broken families or contracted marriages. You deserve something real. Something unconditional. You deserve pink. You deserve love.” I suck in a harsh breath.
“I love you, Jules. Love me back. Please. Let me give you all the love you deserve.”
She drops her bags and her boxes with a thud, and her control breaks. As she holds my stare, tears stream down her face again.
“I do. I love you, Lincoln…” she chokes.
“I've been in love with you since the night you held my hand after family dinner. Ever since that night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how much I want ‘pink’ with you.” She swallows.
“I guess that's why I’ve been trying to run.
Because I knew I couldn't survive having to watch you walk away.”
I close any remaining distance between us. I don’t say anything as I pull her into a tight embrace. It feels symbolic that her packed baggage is laying on the floor at our feet. I might as well drop my own imaginary burdens right alongside hers.
“After everything we’ve been through, Jules, I couldn’t walk away from you if I tried,” I say, leaning back to wipe her tears and rain kisses down on her face.
“You promise?” she asks in a voice so small and vulnerable that it almost breaks me.
“I promise.” Lifting her hand to my mouth, I kiss her knuckles. “In fact, I’m writing a new contract for our marriage. Rule number one will be a ‘no running away’ clause.”
She laughs between her sniffles. “That’s fair.”
I kiss her lips. “I can’t lose you, Troublemaker. I wouldn’t survive it. Please tell me you’ll stay with me.”
“I’ll stay with you,” she cries. “I’ll stay.”
She hugs me, and I hug her so tight. I hug her with everything I’ve got, ready to stand here with her in my arms for all of eternity.
But her phone starts going off eventually. “That’s my alarm to go get Cameron from school.”
“We’ll go together,” I tell her.
I’m not letting either one of my favorite humans out of my sight today.
Jules tightens her hold on me and she sighs contentedly. “So, love is real, huh? Even for big-mouthed, stubborn tough girls like me?”
“Yup. For witty…gorgeous… funny…perfect tough girls like you.” I kiss the tip of her nose, stroking my hands down her sides. “And for grumpy, uptight assholes like me.”