Chapter 42
If you thought this could end in any good way, you were foolish. Like me.
And sure, hate on me all you want, but I'm trying, really trying. But there are things I can't do anything about. Especially when Lisa constantly changes her plans, and therefore Ben's plans, and therefore our plans.
A well-timed phone call or one text, and Ben's gone, coat half on, heart somewhere I can't reach.
I say nothing, the forever understanding girlfriend.
What would I say? Don't be a father? Don't answer her when she dangles the baby like a leash?
The photo of us on his socials? It disappeared. Why? The baby didn't like it. He agreed it was inappropriate given the moment.
I just nod at everything—play the part, pour the tea, wait in the empty bed that's now forty minutes away from him, since I moved.
You know what's worse than going to sleep without the love of your life? Waking up without him when he was there the night before. When you're still drowsy and expect him to be folded into you, comforting you before the cruelty of our world kicks in.
So sometimes, when he's unexpectedly gone again, when my phone screen is black for hours while I wait for him to at least text me, I scream into my pillow, full blast, tearing the patience right out of me.
Because I don't want to be the good woman. I want to be the only one.
That's what happens when silly girls like me think they can soar close to the sun and grasp it. My life has literally become a paper burning from all sides, and I'm waiting for it to get to the middle so I can maybe rise from the ashes. I snort at the thought.
By the way, I did get my dream apartment—it's close to Lu, close to the harbor, and I can see the water from my office window, just past the pink neon sign humming against my brick wall, spelling out It's Time To Write.
It's small. Like, smaller than my old living room with Richard, altogether.
I could've easily afforded something bigger since it turns out I've made more money over the years than Richard ever let me know, but I don't want bigger.
It's easier to wait for someone in a small apartment than to echo through a huge one alone.
At least Ben's parents haven't freaked out that much when they found out about the baby news.
Okay, correction: they absolutely freaked out.
Carmela called Ben on repeat, full Italian-mother meltdown, and honestly, it was chaos.
However, Mara—amazing as ever—absorbed the blast by dropping her own pregnancy news.
She called me after, laughing, saying, "Crisis averted, you're welcome." Then she promised she'd smooth everything over before Christmas and said that Carmela and Antonio even got me a Christmas sock to hang on the fireplace. So it can't be that bad?
"You're one of us now. Prepare yourself for some screaming, maybe some emotional casualties, but don't worry, there'll be presents at the end," she said.
Our plans are set, and I'm excited that we get a chance to redeem what happened four years ago, when Ben had to go alone. This time, I'm part of the family, and we'll finally get our midnight photo.
And nothing will ruin my mood today, because Ben has the day off, and we're going back to our beach.
My phone buzzes.
Ben: Out front. Car's warm. So am I. Come ruin me a little
Biting back my smile, I peek through the curtain, and there he is—leaning against his parked Spyder, wearing the usual all-black. Hands in his pockets, he gazes out toward the waterfront with that lazy posture and half-lidded eyes.
My heart skips a beat as I type.
Me: Can you look a little less brooding? You're scaring my neighbors
Smirking, he glances up at my window, though he can't see me, and his thumbs fly over his phone.
Ben: No. I'm sad. Hurry. Bring that mouth I like
I grin—actually grin—because of course he'd text that and ruin me with a handful of words.
One last check in the mirror: new red dress, thin straps, fitted through the bust and waist, hem skimming the top of my thighs. Now that I'm no one's wife—though officially not yet—I can finally wear whatever I damn well please. Freedom looks good in cherry-red.
I practically fly down the stairs, skipping two at a time, and nearly snap an ankle, but who cares.
He's here, arms open, eyes starving the second he sees me.
And then I'm on him as he clutches me, like he couldn't wait to hold me.
"Hi, baby bird."
His lips brush mine in a soft kiss before he looks around, scanning for witnesses like a criminal—check—and his fingers pinch my cheeks under my dress.
"Ben!" I slap his wrist, even though I want more. "Manners."
"You walk out looking like this, and expect me to have manners?" he says with a raised brow. His fingers squeeze harder as I wriggle against him. "This dress has a five-minute life expectancy. Tops."
"No, no," I warn, jumping down, holding a hand up like a shield. "We are going to the beach. You promised."
His jaw works as his eyes drag up my legs, the weight of his gaze almost physical. Then a long, slow exhale. "Fine. Beach. But I'm walking behind you. No one else gets to see this."
I roll my eyes. "Possessive much?"
"Observant," he says, hand brushing at the small of my back, ushering me forward.
The second we're in the car, the streets melt around us. Music hums low through the speakers and the silver coastline emerges. Then, once we get out of the city, pedal down and Ben weaves through the cars like a maniac.
He should probably hold the steering wheel with both hands, but his hand is where I want it—on my knee.
"Hope there's no cliff-jumping this time," he says, half-laughing.
"Don't make me angry and there won't be," I say coyly.
He laughs and makes it through the light at the last second, just as it turns red.
"I'll try, but one never knows with you. You're crazy."
"Uhum. And you aren't? You're going to get us a million tickets."
"Worth it if it means I get to spend more quality time with you." He shrugs and grins when he sees my eye roll. "How was your day?"
"Good." I nod. "Library. Coffee with Lu. Took a walk along the Marina. Missed you while doing it."
He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it. "We'll take more walks soon. Once everything calms down."
I've heard that one before, so I let it be. Clear my throat instead. "Do you think Romeo and Juliet would've lasted? Like, if they hadn't died."
He cuts me a sidelong glance, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Where did that come from?"
I shrug, pretending it's casual. "I saw the book today and thought about it. It's the greatest love story of all time."
He hums, that skeptical kind with a stern look. "Depends."
"On?"
"On whether they figured out how to argue without threatening to die every time."
I snort. "Smartass. All the great loves end tragically. Maybe that's why they are great, because they never have to survive the real part."
He winces, shaking his head, obviously disliking the idea. "Books aren't real life. You know that, right?"
I shrug. "I mean, yeah, but heartbreak is the same whether it's on a printed page or in your DMs."
He whips his head to me and frowns. His voice comes out puzzled and a bit affronted. "What? What are we even talking about now, Emma?"
"Nothing." I shrug innocently, fidgeting with the frills on my skirt. "Just a philosophical debate? The love stories in books are what we live. It's the same with people, no? Some turn into legends only because they died, so love might be the same? Humans, by default, ruin everything anyway."
He doesn't even flinch at the road, just keeps frowning at me, eyes pinned to mine.
"Okay, that's surprisingly dark, coming from you." He focuses back on the road, licks his lips, but his brows stay cinched.
"I didn't mean it like that—"
"Humans don't ruin love. They just have to learn to live through the after," he cuts me off.
"You mean fight for it?"
"Yeah. Fighting for something doesn't make it less valuable—by definition, it makes it more worthy."
He's angry. I probably shouldn't have asked it, but I kind of needed to.
The coastline blurs silver and ocean-black, and for a while neither one of us says anything, but we don't move our hands from each other either.
"My turn," he says finally, his voice a little measured. "Would you rather be deeply loved but misunderstood, or understood perfectly but not loved?"
I think about it for a bit, then smile warmly.
"After meeting your parents? Loved. Deeply loved. Even if misunderstood—that's how you know it's real."
That finally makes him crack a smile. "Good answer."