The Bride (The Boss) (47 page)

Tears had welled up in my eyes, and I thumbed them away. “Wow. So…this is what it’s like to have someone believe in you, huh?”

“It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?” He put his arms around me. “I will always believe in you, Sophie. As arrogant as it may sound to admit this of someone that you love and plan to marry, you and my younger self have a lot in common.”

I hugged him, feeling foolish for being so vulnerable. But if I couldn’t be vulnerable with Neil, I’d have to maintain a twenty-four-seven front, and I loved him too much to not let him see the real me, warts and all. “We do? Even this whole ‘lost year’ thing of mine?”

“Darling, I had a baby with a woman I had absolutely no future with when I’d just gotten out of college. It should have been the biggest mistake of my life, and it wasn’t. But believe me, it was sheer panic at the time.”

Oh f—
“What’s Valerie going to think?”

Neil’s features slid into a frown of confusion. “About what?”

“About the magazine. About me going in to business with Deja? Who got fired from your company for just talking to Gabriella?” I rolled my eyes. “And she still thinks I was trying to destroy
Porteras
from the inside out. Not to mention the fact that my publication is sort of similar to
Porteras
and—”

“Oh, fuck Valerie,” Neil said with an annoyed shake of his head. “I’m sorry. Sophie, you must have realized by now that Valerie’s problem with you has nothing to do with what happened at
Porteras
. It’s an easy way to justify her dislike for you because you’re with me.”

I wasn’t sure my jaw would actually close after that. He’d admitted that his relationship with her put a strain on our relationship, and he’d done the work to make it up to me by listening to my concerns and setting boundaries. But he’d never said a word against her. Which I admired, but it was somewhat gratifying to hear that the sun no longer shone out of her totally innocent ass.

“I’m not stupid,” he continued, his tone softening. “I haven’t been…fair to you. I’ve pretended that the only interest Valerie had in me was platonic. But I realized a long time ago that Valerie will always be either waiting for me, or wanting me to wait for her. I don’t even believe that she’s in love with me, I think she just can’t bear the thought that I might be happier than she is. But I respect her, and she’s my business partner and the mother of my child. That doesn’t mean she has any say in what you do with your life. You’re marrying me, not my past.”

“Fair enough.” What else could I say to something like that? “So, the magazine is on.”

“It appears so.” He paused. “Just don’t sell that bag. Please. I’ll buy it from you. It’s too lovely.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll keep it.” I picked it up and tapped my fingers on the leather.
 

He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “And if by chance you’d ever want to sell your company—”

“It’s not for sale,” I said with a contented sigh. I stepped back. “I need to go do something. Finish your chapter.”

I went to my office in the loft over the den. I woke up my MacBook Air and got to work. First, I emailed India. I apologized for having altered her career path, but writing another book wasn’t in the cards for me at the moment.
I’m Just The Girlfriend
was one of the most scary, painful things I’d ever done. I wasn’t one of those people born with ink their veins, and it seemed stupid to force myself to continue. I let her know all of that as gently as possible, and added:

PS. If you’re ever looking to return to the fashion world, I’m starting my own magazine. You’ll always have a place there, you just have to let me know when you want it.

After I hit send on that bit of awkward business, I composed a message to Valerie. This one was a little trickier. I typed, proof-read, edited, re-edited, wondered if I could reasonably get away with a few mild jabs, then decided that honesty was going to be the best policy, not just when it came to Neil, but when it came to other people, too.

Valerie:

I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you, either. But I appreciate the way you tolerate me for Neil’s sake. It shows how good of a friend you are, even if you and he don’t always see eye to eye.

Though I don’t forgive your repeated attempts to harm the relationship between Neil and me, I should have never said the things I said to you at Emma’s rehearsal dinner. It wasn’t the mature way to handle the situation, and my assertion that I would somehow be justified in demanding Neil cut you from his life was petty and hypocritical. And for that I’m sorry.

It seems unlikely that you and I will ever truly let go of our animosity toward each other, but I love Neil, and I love Emma. I’m committed to protecting them. Can we agree, for their sakes, to stop with the manipulation and pretending? I’m willing to meet you halfway, if you can afford me the same courtesy.

When I was finished there, I opened a new compose window and took a deep breath to brace myself. Then, I started typing.

Holli:

I miss you so much. I want to fix all of this, but I don’t know how.

My fingers hovered over the keys. There was nothing more I needed to say, and nothing more Holli would need to hear. If Deja had told her about our meeting—and if she was going to forgive me—I had this one chance. I wasn’t going to blow it by rambling on like an idiot. I sent the brief message, and it was out of my hands.

When I was done, I sat back and stared at the screen, not willing an immediate response. I wanted her to think about this, so any reconciliation that was going to happen wouldn’t someday be crushed under the weight of resentment.

“Sophie?” Neil called from downstairs, his voice echoing from the next room.

“Yeah, I’m up here. I just got…distracted,” I called back.

He reversed his path, and in a few seconds, he was headed across the little bridge into the loft.

 
“I was just going to plan dinner, and I thought you could help, if you weren’t busy. If you’re in the middle of something—”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “I just spaced out a little.”

I got up and we walked to the kitchen, Neil keeping two paces behind me. “I don’t wish to be invasive, but what were you doing? You seem so relaxed. Are you high?”

“Kind of, but not in the way you’re thinking.” I stopped and faced him. “But no. I’m keeping it to myself for now. And not because I’m withholding or avoiding. I just don’t want to jinx anything. But suffice it to say, I think therapy is really working.”

“Well, then we’ll have to do something to celebrate. An exquisite wine with dinner?” he asked, looping his arm around my waist as we fell into step together.

“Look, since we’re pretty much failures at veganism already, how about really good beer and—”

“Cheeseburgers,” he said with me.

I knew there was a reason we were together.

After Emma’s wedding, life slowed to a crawl. I hadn’t abandoned the magazine idea, and neither had Deja, but it was tricky, with Holli still not talking to me. I’d asked Deja point-blank if she was lying to Holli about the project, and she’d reassured me that while Holli hadn’t exactly expressed enthusiasm, she hadn’t outright objected.

I took that as a sign of progress.

Though I was champing at the bit to launch an honest-to-god magazine, I was trying to do things right. We’d contacted freelancers, both writers and photographers, and approached cosmetics companies and some designers I’d gotten along with well when I’d been Gabriella’s assistant. We were aiming for a modest, but hearty, first issue.

Neil was great about helping out when I needed him and backing off when I asked. I hadn’t been joking when I’d told him therapy was working; it really was, both for us as a couple and for him by himself. After a brief setback, his hospital-induced PTSD had become manageable once again. For a while, he had to work through some dissociation; every now and then, I would hear him talking to himself, saying things like, “I am in my kitchen, at home, making a sandwich.” Sometimes it was tougher, and he’d ask me for help, something he’d been unwilling or unable to do before. I think he finally believed that it would be a life-long process of recovery.

Valerie had responded graciously to my email, agreeing that it didn’t make sense for us to always be at odds, and apologizing for what she’d said. That was when I’d decided to tell Neil about what had happened.

He was sitting on the deck when I told him, in one of the modern style armchairs that had been put out by the groundskeeper for the summer. It boggled my mind that we had real furniture outdoors, and not just patio stuff.

When I finished recounting the incident at the rehearsal dinner, he blinked at me, eyebrows raised. “Well, I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s totally cool now. We worked it out, and agreed to just dislike each other maturely.”

“I can’t say I’m thrilled at the idea of my ex-girlfriend and my fiancée arguing over who can manipulate me more skillfully.”
 

Neil leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely from his wrists. “It hurts my feelings,” he said finally.

I hugged my cardigan tighter around myself. “I know. I didn’t want that. It was shitty of me to say those things, and I’m so, so sorry.”

He gave me a tight smile. “I suppose if I reframe it, it could be flattering. You were trying to protect our relationship. You were just going about it in a way that was mildly insulting to me.”

I snorted dismally. “Just mildly?”

He shrugged. “Just mildly. Because you were right. If it came down to it, of course I would choose you over Valerie. You’re going to be my wife, Sophie. You don’t have to be threatened by anyone else.”

“Well, at least this gives us something to talk about to Dr. Ashley.” It astounded me that Neil could be so gracious about all of my bullshit. Although he claimed to be less emotionally mature than me, the twenty-four-year difference in our ages did give him the upper hand in relationships. He’d already made huge mistakes, while I had a whole lifetime of fucking up in front of me.

Whole life or not, when we hit mid-June and no word from Holli, things looked dire.

Neil and I were lying in our bed, the windows open to let in the sea breeze and sounds. The sheet lay tangled around us, and though I was unbearably sweaty from all the hard work I’d just put in on top of him, I snuggled up at his side.

“Bravo,” he said through a yawn.

“Thanks.” I smiled to myself in the darkness. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

I’d nearly fallen asleep when I startled awake. “Did you ever find the red checkbook?”

His answer was preceded by a hiss of shame. “No, I knew I was forgetting something.”

I groaned and kicked my feet in the most tired temper tantrum I’d ever had. “The contractor is coming at eleven.”

“Then I will get up at nine and look for it.” He thought I was overreacting, I could tell from his tone.

“No, I don’t want an alarm. I just want to sleep in and snuggle you. I love waking up with you.” I burrowed my face in his armpit.

He lifted his arm and scooted away from me. “I will get out of this bed at nine and not a minute before. It can wait until morning.”

“Ugh, fine.” I rolled away to the side and sat up.

“Where are you going?” he called after me as I padded to the door.

“I think I saw it in your desk in the library.” It would drive me crazy all night thinking it was still missing. The contractor was coming with his team to finish alterations on the home theatre. Neil had wanted a set up closer to what we’d had in the Manhattan apartment, with a comfy bed we could lay on to watch movies. That had been one of the things I’d missed most from the apartment, so I was happy to have it copied here.

It was weird walking around the house naked, because it was so big. It felt like I would bump into someone, even though logically I knew we were alone.

Because he was ridiculously afraid of the loft where I’d made my office, Neil’s desk was in the room he’d designated as the library. I think it was supposed to be some kind of morning parlor, because it always had a lot of sun. Except for now, when the full moon illuminated it. My bare feet slapped on the wood floor in the darkness, and I knew I was close to the desk when my soles landed soundlessly on the Persian carpet. Holding my hands out in front of me, I walked until I bumped into what I was looking for. I pulled the chain to the little desk lamp with the prairie-style glass shade and opened the long drawer that spanned the front of the desk.

Neil’s office in London had been a nightmare of clutter, and his desk was no exception. I shifted through random pens, empty pill bottles, tape, a spilled box of staples—when on Earth did he ever need staples, for Christ’s sake?—and pricked my hand on loose thumbtacks, but I did come up with the checkbook. I thrust it triumphantly in the air, even though I was the only one there.

I was about to run back to the bedroom with it, to gloat about finding it and tease him about the mess in his office, but when I shut the drawer, the computer mouse bumped and the screen lit up with the purple northern lights of Mac OS X.

I’d been checking my email obsessively, hoping to hear a reply from Holli. A war started in my brain, between
just check really quick
and
you can check in the morning.
The latter was technically correct; anything in my inbox at the moment would still be there when I woke up. But the former seemed to know that I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, now that the thought had entered into my head.

Plopping my bare ass on Neil’s leather desk chair, I entered his four digit password—six-nine-six-nine, because he was apparently twelve—and chewed my fingernail nervously as I opened Chrome.

My fingers hovered over the keys when I was prompted to enter my email address and password. Then I took a breath and typed in the information.

I couldn’t stop holding it when I saw “RE: I miss you” in bold black at the top of my emails. My hands shook as I guided the cursor to the subject line and clicked.

Holli and I had always been pretty spare in our communication to each other. We didn’t need a lot of words to get our points across to each other. So when I read, “K. Meet somewhere?” my heart swelled with hope. I leaned over the desk, my head in my hands, and cried as hard as I would have if someone had died. They were happy tears, though, and fearful ones; what if we couldn’t make up? What if it ended up being a disaster?