Chapter 4
Cornelia
Coming home wasn’t as easy as I had hoped, but thankfully, it didn’t have much to do with TJ. I haven’t seen him since the brunch, which wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
In the last four months, I had really gotten used to my only responsibility being feeding myself.
It was nice. Now I know why TJ does it. Sometimes, it doesn’t sound bad to live off your trust fund, but I like to have a sense of purpose, even if most of the time it is dreadfully boring.
One week back and I’m already up to my ears in work.
Arriving two weeks late to classes didn’t help, but I needed some time to build up the courage to come back.
At least Anthony hasn’t pestered me about going back to the office or attending business meetings yet.
Eventually, he will. It will be when he stops treating me like I’m made of glass.
Since the night TJ cheated on me, he talks to me as if one wrong word might shatter me.
But I’m not as frail as he thinks. He hasn’t even brought up my mother or let anyone do so in my presence.
All I know about her is that she’s in rehab in America, probably hooking up with a B-lister celebrity like most of my childhood.
As I used to do every Tuesday—sometimes after class, sometimes before class, depending on the schedule—I head to Daysleysford Organic on Sloane Avenue, which has a coffee shop upstairs, for breakfast and to get ahead on the week’s assignments.
I sit down, order a drink, and shrug off my Max Mara brown coat. I like my outfit better without it, but I’d freeze outside if I didn’t wear it. I’m wearing a white T-shirt from The Row, washed-out jeans from Saint Laurent, and Prada leopard mules.
As for accessories: a brown Birkin 35 with gold hardware for carrying my laptop and my school supplies, a custom-made 5.
00-carat cushion-cut diamond pendant necklace, 3.
00-carat heart-shaped diamond earrings, a bangle with a 0.
40-carat diamond and a 0.30-carat diamond ring on my index finger—all from Jade Trau—along with my Jessica McCormack ring.
In case you haven’t noticed, I love jewellery, especially if it comes with diamonds.
I pull my laptop out of my bag and start working on my homework, but I pause a few minutes later when the matcha I ordered arrives.
I drink it while people-watching the few people here. There’s an elderly couple, a girl absorbed in the book she’s reading, and a group of five thirty-something women chatting. I like to imagine how the people I watch live.
Do they have normal jobs?
Are they in love?
Do they have good relationships with their parents? Is their life less complicated than mine?
What is it like to live without being born into a billion-dollar family, free from the commitments and expectations that come with that kind of privilege?
Sometimes I think money is the problem with the people in my circle, since we never had to worry about it. The time normal people spend stressing about it, we have it free. So we use it to mess things up.
I’m mid-sip when I see him—TJ—coming up the stairs.
My heart skips a beat, and I almost choke.
I never in a million years expected to see him here.
I actually thought this place would be a TJ-free zone.
But it seems the universe has a cruel sense of humour…
or maybe I’m not on its good side right now.
For a split second, I consider shrinking in my seat or hiding somewhere, but that would be admitting I’m afraid of him.
And I refuse to let him have that power over me.
I won’t let him make me feel uncomfortable in the places where I used to feel most at home.
So instead of making myself unnoticeable, I make myself more striking by calling the waiter and ordering a cup of water.
TJ sees me then and starts walking towards my table. A knot forms in my stomach. I look away immediately, but not before noticing he’s carrying what looks like a textbook.
“Hey,” he says, stopping at my table.
I lift my gaze to him, pretending I’ve just noticed him. “Hi.”
“May I sit?” He gestures to the empty chair across from me.
“Last time I checked, it’s a free country,” I counter coolly.
“It is,” he replies, resting his hands on the back of the white wooden chair, “but this is your table.”
Part of me wants him to go away, but another part really craves his company and wants him to sit. And the last part seems to be winning the battle of wills. I’m beginning to think I’m a masochist, at least when it comes to him.
“You can sit if you want,” I say, as though it is of no consequence to me.
TJ hesitates for a second, then sets the book on the table. Peeling off his black leather jacket—he’s dressed head to toe in black—he drapes it over the back of the chair. He lowers himself into the seat and, without warning, reaches across to touch my necklace.
“I like it,” he murmurs, cradling it between his fingers.
Unconsciously, my hand rises to touch it too, colliding with his for the very first time in four months. The contact is electric. It feels natural, like we were always meant to be doing this, even if we shouldn’t.
Our eyes locked. For a breathless second, time stops. The world where we broke up dissolves, replaced by one where we still belong to each other.
But it all comes crashing back when the waiter arrives with the water, setting it down on the table with a soft clink. We both drop our hands, the electricity vanishing as suddenly as it appeared.
“Cushion cut?” TJ asks, still eyeing the pendant. “Six carats?”
Most men wouldn’t know much about diamonds.
They’d probably confuse a cushion cut with an emerald cut or just call it a square one, if they even know anything at all.
But if you hang out with me long enough, you’re bound to pick up some knowledge.
TJ, having been my boyfriend for five years, might as well have a master’s degree in them by now.
“Five, but the setting makes it look bigger.”
“Natural?” TJ presses, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
What? I like natural diamonds, sue me. I know their practices are a little questionable, but what family has made as much money as ours without using some questionable practices?
For God’s sake, my family is in the pharmaceutical industry—it’s not like we are saints.
In my defence, I do have some lab-grown diamonds, but I prefer natural ones.
We stay silent for a few seconds, neither of us really knowing what to say, before I ask, “So, what brings you to this side of town?” knowing he spends most of his time in Mayfair and Marylebone.
He rarely came anywhere near Imperial College unless to spend time with me, and even then, it was a struggle.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he is allergic to higher education.
Nonetheless, I know the real reason is to avoid photos of him at Imperial reaching his father, who might see them and get inspired to pressure him into enrolling.
“Laurie left this,” he taps the book with his fingers, “at my flat. I’m bringing it over to him, but I decided to make a coffee run first.”
That explains the book.
“Well, are you planning to order your coffee, or do you want to keep talking about diamonds? I can give you a long lecture about the pieces on my current wishlist,” I say teasingly.
He laughs, and it sounds like my favourite song—one I no longer get to enjoy because he tainted it. But it’s a nice change from how things have been between us lately. “Maybe both.” He grins.
TJ calls the waiter and orders his usual drink, a macchiato. Too much caffeine for my taste. I much prefer sweeter drinks.
“What were you working on?” He glances at my laptop lying open in the corner of the table.
“Nothing,” I respond, reaching to close it. But he’s faster. He pulls the laptop towards him, sets it in front of himself, and scans the homework I was working on earlier.
I don’t like talking to him about my school or work. I know his opinion on both very well, and it was always best to steer clear of those topics as much as possible to avoid fighting.
“The Balancing Strengths and Weaknesses: A SWOT Analysis of IBM,” he reads aloud from the title of my essay. “Sounds like a fascinating to—,” he adds, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“TJ, drop it,” I cut him off.
“What? I was just going to say you should lend me your paper—it’ll come in handy when I can’t sleep.”
“I’ll think about it when I finish,” I reply sharply, taking back my laptop, snapping it shut, and setting it beside me.
“I don’t even know why you bother.”
I lift my nose in the air, outraged by his comment. “Perhaps for the same reason Laurie does.” I tried to come up with a better response, but obviously I failed.
He points at my computer. “Bullshit. Laurie actually loves that shit. You don’t.”
I take a sip of my matcha to avoid looking him in the eye because, as much as I hate it, he’s right. He knows me by heart, and I hate that he knows me by heart.
I get defensive, so I take a jab at him. “So what do you suggest? That I spend my life doing nothing like you?”
He clenches his jaw, looking hurt, but it lasts only a second before he shakes it off. “Maybe. It might be better than doing something that makes you miserable.” And there it is.
This is the first time he’s ever said what I’ve always known he was thinking during our arguments about this, and what a part of me also thought. But back then, he was gentler about it, using the indirect approach.
“Weren’t you the one who, a few weeks ago, threw it in my face that I wasn’t doing anything?” I remind him, my voice tight.
He bites his inner cheek and looks away from me.
I saw him on Christmas Eve, and we had a fight a little like this, only ten times worse.
At least right now, no one is yelling. I’ll never admit it aloud, but because of that fight, I decided to come back.
Before, I was hoping I could milk the tragic end of our relationship enough that Anthony would let me take another term off.
But after saying to him I was coming back in the spur of the moment, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me backing down.
I decided I’ve had enough of this. I’m tapped out of yelling and fighting, and I don’t need to sit here while he criticises my life choices.
Especially not in a public setting where anyone can snap a photo or record a video.
The last thing I need is to wake up tomorrow and see us plastered across the front page of some tabloid.
I get up, slip my coat back on, and start shoving my laptop and all the scattered school supplies on the table into my bag.
He frowns. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here,” I tell him, pulling some money from my wallet. I toss it onto the table and walk away.