Chapter 60
“However far away I will always love youHowever long I stay I will always love you” Adele
I stood at the back of the main hall, a shadow in the gallery, watching her command the room. Megan had them all in the palm of her hand. The extremists were still barking, but they weren't her focus; she was aiming for history, and she was hitting the mark.
She looked breathtaking. Her hair, that deep shade of red that leaned toward blonde at the shoulders, framed a face that radiated sharp, unrelenting intelligence.
For four days, I had lived in a state of perpetual tension, my chest tight with a pride that bordered on agony.
And for four days, I had been counting the seconds until this political theater ended, so I could finally take her to dinner and reclaim every inch of her.
When our eyes met across the crowded hall, the world narrowed. I felt that familiar shiver, a cold, hollow ache in the pit of my stomach that only she could trigger.
I remembered the early months of our separation, when I actually convinced myself that staying away was possible.
That delusion shattered the night I went drinking with Charlie.
Four glasses of wine in, her cheeks flushed, Charlie let the truth slip: Megan had been back to the club. More times than I could count.
The sequence of grief my therapist mentioned hit me all at once: the hatred, the white-hot anger, and finally, the denial.
I couldn't wrap my head around her involving herself with anyone else in our world, in the rituals that belonged only to us.
But today, that anger has been replaced by a singular, focused goal.
I know how much she wants this. I know what this seat on the bench means for her legacy. And I know how long I’ve waited for this exact moment to win her back.
As a tribute, I commissioned a sculpture specifically for her: a small heart shaped by over two thousand individual threads. It was a mirror of her own life, fragile in appearance, but held together by a strength that was impossible to tear apart.
"Tangled, twisted, pumping.
This is the fundamental principle for maintaining homeostasis.
That’s how the heart works.
That’s how I feel about you.
With no chance of untangling myself, with no desire to see myself out of your life. I miss you, Kitty."
After nearly ten hours of relentless questioning, the room erupted. A standing ovation for Megan Woods. I couldn't contain the surge of joy watching her stand there, finally claiming the destiny the world had laid out for her and the one she had fought so fiercely to secure.
I met Donald at the exit, our handshake firm, our smiles mirrored. We were the architects of this moment, each in our own way.
"Are you going to try and talk to her?" Don asked, his eyes scanning the main hallway for his wife.
"No. Not today. I sent a gift... an opening move."
Before we could continue, a lawyer I vaguely recognized began weaving through the crowd toward me. Her neckline was a direct violation of every court decorum I’d ever known, and for the life of me, I couldn't recall her name. "Help me out of this," I hissed to Donald.
"Excuse me?" he started, confused, but it was too late.
"Kelsey Calama!" A firm pat on the shoulder followed. "How are you?"
"I'm... well," I replied, pleading with my eyes for Donald to fake a medical emergency and drag me away.
"I’m based in L.A. now. Just here with a client. What are your plans for tonight?"
Before the words could leave my mouth, Megan appeared, sliding her arm through Donald’s. She moved with a grace that suggested she hadn't just spent ten hours under a political microscope.
"I’m busy," I said, my gaze locking onto Megan’s. Her eyes were, without question, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. "I’m having dinner with them. I'm not available."
"Right. Well, you have my number..." The lawyer leaned in for a kiss on the cheek, but I dodged the contact with practiced ease. I watched her walk away, the silence between us three feeling suddenly very loud.
"Do you have her number?" Megan asked, an eyebrow arched in a sharp, unmistakable flash of jealousy.
"I don't even know her name," I countered. Donald let out a genuine laugh.
The crowd began to swarm her again, echoing the obvious, that she had been perfect, that she was a force of nature. I leaned in, bending down to press a soft kiss against her cheek, the only public intimacy I could allow myself.
"Megan, you were incredible today. Congratulations."
I hugged Donald, a silent thank-you for the role he’d played, and headed for the exit. I walked out into the cool D.C. air, carrying nothing but the scent of French lavender that had already begun to cling to my skin.
???
I had been at the club, huddled in a voyeur booth, staring through the glass without seeing a thing. My mind was a loop of missed opportunities and silent phone calls.
Two weeks of silence from her since the confirmation, and I was losing my grip.
I knew I was lightheaded, the wine blurring the edges of my frustration. I remember grumbling at my driver, but I certainly didn't expect to regain full consciousness standing in the lobby of her building. I asked the doorman to announce me, and minutes later, the door opened.
There she was. Perfect. Wrapped in a marsala robe that made her skin look like porcelain. It felt like a dream; I’d spent too many nights dreaming of this exact moment to trust my own eyes.
"Can we talk?" I managed to rasp. Megan opened the door wider without a word, a silent invitation. I stepped inside, the click of the lock echoing in the foyer, and moved toward the sofa.
"Upstairs, please," she said, gesturing toward the staircase.
I followed her, my mind racing with the hope that she was taking me to her bedroom. Instead, we emerged into the private lounge of the triplex.
I noticed the split layout Donald had mentioned, two worlds under one roof. She sat on the large black sofa, the screen of the massive television glowing with the high-octane chaos of Fast she didn't retreat. I gripped her waist, maintaining a single, agonizing inch of distance between our bodies.
"Kelsey, I never stopped wanting you," she whispered, her gaze searching mine. "It’s no wonder we feel like we’re going to ignite every time our paths cross. But your timing... your timing for breaking us apart was catastrophic."
"I know," I admitted, the truth heavy on my tongue. "I didn't give you space to grieve. I tried to play the martyr to protect you, and I never once asked what you wanted."
"Exactly. That's what you've been telling yourself all along." Her fingers found their way into my hair, tracing the nape of my neck as she finally closed the gap between us. "I just wish the choice had been mine to make."
"But you wouldn't have made it, Kitty," I countered, brushing the tip of my nose against her cheek, inhaling the scent of lavender and longing. "We were too intoxicated by each other to see the cliff we were standing on."
"And what changes now?" Her voice faltered as my hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against me.
"What changes is that you are untouchable now. No one can take that seat away from you. No one can blackmail you using the thing you worked your entire life to achieve. The shield is finally up, Megan. We can stop hiding in the shadows."
Her eyes were red, brimming with fresh tears. She broke free from my hold and turned to walk away. But before she could disappear into the hallway, I caught her by the elbow and pulled her back into a crushing, desperate embrace.
She buried her face in my shoulder, her body finally relaxing against mine.
"Can I think about it?" she asked, her voice muffled against my skin.
No, of course no.
"You can, Kitty. Take all the time you need." I ran my hand over the soft curve of her cheek, finally letting go of her arm to pull her into an embrace I never wanted to break. "I’ll give you my new number. The private one."
"Are you staying in D.C.?" she asked, her voice small.
"Just for two more days." I saw the sadness flicker in her eyes again. "But I’ll be back. I’m living here now, Megs. Permanently." I intertwined our fingers, kissing the back of her hand while holding her gaze. "I just need to know that you’re okay."