I had a chocolate cake delivered this afternoon from Phoebe’s favorite bakery. “I’ll run and get it. It’s in my office.”
I exit the stage and march past a dozen or so people looking over the posted schedules for upcoming classes.
Spots are filling fast.
We have all the teachers we need on staff, instruments have been donated and the building next door is almost fully painted.
I should be thrilled by the progress, but it’s just another step toward a future without the woman I love.
“Alexander.”
That voice. It almost brings me to my knees. I can’t turn out of fear that I’m imagining it. It can’t be her. She’s in London.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about London.”
I’m facing her before those words have left her lips.
Jesus, she’s so fucking beautiful.
Red. It’s her color.
“Olivia.” I rush toward her. “I’m sorry.”
She’s in my arms, holding onto me, sobbing. “I went to Phoebe’s house earlier. She told me to come here tonight.”
We’re in a corridor. No one is around but I need privacy. I need to be alone with her.
I hold her against me as we make our way to my office. Once we’re inside I close the door. “You’re here in New York.”
“I’ve always been here.” She looks up at me. “I never went to London.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t.” She rubs at the streak of mascara under her eye. I push her hand away and slide my finger over it, brushing it away.
“Isla Foster told me Gabriel offered you the job.”
“He did.” She nods. “I turned him down.”
What the fuck?
“You didn’t go? You’ve been in New York all of this time?” I push back to look her over. “I felt you here. I swear to fuck I could feel you at times, but I told myself it was wishful thinking.”
“You broke up with me because of someone else.”
“No.” I grab her forearms. “There was never anyone else. I wouldn’t have fucked anyone else. I haven’t since. I won’t.”
Her head shakes. “I’m not talking about that. Phoebe told me. She said you loved someone who left you for a job. That’s why you ended things. You thought I was like her.”
I’m an idiot. I let some forgettable woman from my past come between my future wife and I.
“I was scared,” I admit. “I was so fucking scared that you’d move to London, meet someone else, and forget about me.”
“You’re too cocky to think that way.” She smiles. “Did you not realize that I was head over heels in love with you?”
“You are head over heels in love with me,” I make the subtle correction.
“I am.”