CHAPTER TWELVE
CORA
The ringing of my phone in the other room sent another wave of nausea through me.
I dragged myself off the couch and stumbled toward the downstairs bathroom.
Anxiety puke number five for the week: Check.
As I wiped off my face and braced myself to pick up my phone, another wave of dread washed through me. It had been one of few constants these days, along with utter confusion and profound loss.
Not to mention deep, penetrating sadness.
The decision I’d made to follow the path Chris—and my father—wanted for me came at a steep cost. Not only forsaking the man I loved, but uprooting my entire life as I knew it and starting anew.
DAD: The movers will be arriving within ten minutes. Be ready.
I drew a shaky breath. Packers had been in and out of my condo for the past week, prepping everything to be moved. I had barely paid attention except to instruct them to leave the personal things under my bed alone. I’d collected every vestige of Axel there, evidence of the love that my father could never touch, would never erase.
That love would continue for the rest of my life, whether or not I was with Axel.
Because I wasn’t just accepting what Chris wanted for me. I was also doing what was best for Axel. How could honoring two men I loved so much feel so absolutely wretched?
I had no hope that this feeling would go away either. My hands were tied. I couldn’t tell Axel the whole truth. If I did, he’d fly off the handle. He’d jeopardize his own future. He’d ruin everything he and his brothers had fought for.
Axel would demolish his own existence to rail against my father. And that wouldn’t help anyone.
If nothing else, I wanted Axel and his brothers to achieve their dreams. That much, I could give him.
I tried to improve my appearance in the bathroom mirror, but it was mostly pointless. There was no real way to hide the puffiness from crying daily for the past three weeks. Makeup helped my skin look less pallid, but nourishing myself had taken a backseat while I grieved the loss of Axel and struggled to rationalize how I could do this to him. Even my personal chef was getting concerned at how little I ate. I knew they were all reporting back to my parents, but so far, my mother and father hadn’t said a word to me about my concerning behavior.
They probably didn’t care. Their only concern was that Axel disappear from my life.
And technically, I hadn’t quite achieved that. I’d managed to ask for a break two nights ago on the phone, tucked into the closet of a classmate’s apartment. Extreme measures were all I had left in my toolbox. My father monitored my phone usage like a hawk, all the way down to who I sent emails to and how long any call with a New York number lasted, lest I be communicating with Axel on the sly.
After my housekeeper had ratted on me using her phone to call Axel, my options had dwindled to social media and telepathy. Two weeks ago, my father had told me that no further communication was permitted. I’d assured him things were over.
Except they weren’t. And now Axel was coming to LA.
Highlighting his entire plan via text messages that my father was probably lapping up like honey.
DAD: The driver isn’t far behind.
I stumbled into the white-tiled entrance hall of my condo, looking around at the stripped-bare surroundings. All the splashes of color I’d added—from the exciting gold sprays of decorative branches to the black swirl pedestals I’d chosen for my favorite candles—were absent. Packed up. Awaiting a new home, in a new neighborhood. I’d loved this place and had no desire to move.
My father had insisted on new surroundings for me. A home that better fits the future CEO, he’d said. But really, it better fit the current CEO. My condo had been on the smaller side, with only two spare bedrooms, neither of which were to my father’s standards for visiting overnight. Not that he ever needed to use the condo to stay in, though I think this aspect figured into the decision to upgrade my living space.
This new house cost a cool three million and had double master suites. I suspected my parents planned to claim one for their own – probably so they could keep a better eye on me during their random and frequent visits to the west coast. Located a couple of miles outside of town, the house was tucked into its own private Stanford oasis. Stunning views of the mountains from afar coupled with an in-ground infinity pool that begged me to have a housewarming party.
Except my favorite guest couldn’t attend. And by my father’s design, that same guest didn’t even know where this new home was.
Another wave of sadness gripped me, but I swallowed it when a knock sounded. The movers had arrived. I forced a smile the only way I knew how and shoved aside the emotions that had been holding me hostage for weeks now.
”Ms. Margulis,” the man at the door said after consulting his work order. “We’re ready when you are.”
I would never be ready. Not in my heart. My entire world had brought me to this point, but everything inside me wanted to bolt the other direction.
The only thing keeping me on the path was the fact that I felt like it was the right thing to do. Giving Axel and his brothers the chance to flourish. Choosing the family business. Becoming the CEO my father and my late brother wanted me to be. Following this carefully laid path that had been built, painstakingly, over the years specifically for me. Even if I didn’t love it, it was right.
Sometimes the hardest choices are the right choices. I had an ever-growing list of mantras that dotted my waking hours. You have a legacy to uphold. Nobody said it would be easy.
I directed the movers as best I could, keeping a close watch on the box of personal items. Knowing my father, I couldn’t rule out that he somehow knew the last of Axel’s things were tucked away there, including the drawstring baggie of beach glass in the same blue thunderstorm of his eyes.
Once the movers were packing up the last of the truck, I tucked the box under my arm, grabbed my purse, and let Randall, our West Coast driver, whisk me away to my new home.
I’d been there only once before, back when my parents had sent me a long list of potential properties to visit. I’d offered my preferences, but this one hadn’t even been in the top three. I could only assume we’d been too slow or bid too low to secure the home I truly wanted.
And really, what did it matter? This was a gift. I could say nothing. Even though I desperately wanted to select a home for myself, even if my choice was drastically smaller and in a different part of town, that wasn’t how this transaction worked.
My father made the decisions.
Everything happened according to his liking. To his tastes. To his desires.
And everyone around him just watched as the vice clamped tighter.
“Darling. Welcome to your new home!” My mother was there in the slate-paved cul-de-sac of the two-story stucco home that had once, according to the realtor, been an early residence of Jennifer Aniston. I’d seen Jennifer Aniston in that show Friends that Axel had me binge with him on Netflix once, so it was a talking point, if nothing else, for future guests.
“Thanks, Mother.” I tried the forced smile again, but it failed to light. My cheeks twitched and gave up.
I hauled myself out of the car, limbs sluggish and heavy.
“Quit slouching,” she snapped quietly. “I thought you’d grown out of that after you turned thirteen.”
“Must be regressing,” I muttered, straightening my back. My body clearly wanted to curl into the fetal position and remain there for a year until I metamorphosed into a different, rested, emotionless version of myself. But until then, slouching was the only thing that made sense.
“Did everything go okay at the old place?”
“Sure. Yeah. Great. It’s empty and ready for the next person.” I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my box of Axel memorabilia.
“What’s in there?”
“Just my personal stuff I don’t want the movers touching,” I told her. “My earrings and bracelets and whatnot.”
My mother sniffed and nodded, already not listening. “I came to help get you settled. This is a big day! Aren’t you thrilled?”
Thrilled was not even in the top hundred words I’d use to describe how I felt, so I just said, “Mmm. Yes.”
My phone buzzed intermittently from inside my purse, which signaled incoming messages. I followed my mother up the marble steps as I fished my phone out.
Axel had written on Instagram: Are you getting my texts anymore? I just tried calling you and it goes straight to voicemail. Did you fucking block my number?
AXEL: How the fuck do you go from engaged to taking a break to blocking my number?
AXEL: Cora, answer me!
Nausea churned through me, making the hairs on my arm stand on end. I hadn’t blocked him. I didn’t need to guess who had.
“Cora, are you okay?” my mother asked, but her voice sounded a million miles away. I brushed past her, heading for the half bath just inside the main foyer.
I burst through the door and bolted for the pristine toilet, yanking open the lid so I could ingloriously expel another round of bile.
I collapsed in front of the toilet and gagged a couple more times.
My mother’s heels clicked across the smooth gray tiles. The bathroom door swung shut a moment later, my mother on the wrong side of it.
“Are you pregnant?”
I pinched my eyes shut. “No.” I’m just life-shatteringly distraught.
“If you are, you have options,” she went on in a low, calculated voice. “And if it’s his, I suggest we take care of this immediately.”
“I…I’m not…”
“Don’t be ashamed,” my mother counseled. “We’ve all been there. But you should know that there will be limits to our support if it is his and you choose to have it.”
There it was again. The illusion of choice. I pushed back from the toilet, drawing a deep breath.
“I’m not pregnant. I’m just fucking sad.”
Her lips pursed together. I rose unsteadily and she gave me a quick squeeze on the shoulder.
“You will get past this,” she said, searing me with a meaningful look. And right there, I could tell she was trying. “It hurts for a while. But it goes away eventually.” Her throat bobbed, and then she repeated, “We’ve all been there.”
I wasn’t sure whether to thank her or push her away. So I shuffled to the sink to splash water on my face.
“I guess the house is mine now,” I croaked. “Once you puke in it, it’s yours.”
My mother tutted. “Don’t be crass, dear. I’ll meet you outside.”
I ground my teeth as I stared at my reflection. I’d spent hours refining my appearance today, to look healthy, alive, put-together. But beneath the veneer of foundation and setting spray and long-lasting mascara, I was a little girl who just wanted to be held.
Axel would have laughed at my joke and held me until the next morning.
Here in my perfect new stucco paradise, the cold winds of loneliness threatened to freeze me on the spot.
My phone buzzed from the marble countertop. I knew it was Axel, because I’d be connected to him until the day I died.
AXEL: I’m leaving for LA tonight. We’re going to solve this, Cora.
AXEL: You’ve got to let me fix this.
But there was no solution. Not for him.
Everything had already been arranged, and he couldn’t be part of the picture.