Except those cherry buttons. She was getting rid of those.
She looked up from filling the jars and saw that one of the big foam glitter lollies that normally stood up nice and tall in the display window was lying against the glass. She growled and dropped the candy bag, then stepped over her faux cotton candy mist that was placed around the display floor, trying to get to the lollipop.
She started losing her balance and braced herself, her palm flat on the window. She cursed under breath. Now it would need to be cleaned, and that was just extra work because she was a clumsy idiot who loved a man who just didn’t love her.
Yeah, what if that was all it was. What if he wasn’t lying? What if he wasn’t scared? What if he just didn’t love her?
She felt like she’d just been punched in the stomach. She sank down slowly, in the fake cotton candy, the big lollipop trees overhead. And she just felt sad. A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away.
Would there ever be a day she didn’t cry over Ajax? Yes. There would be. Of course there would be. Because wounds didn’t hurt like this forever. But some of them never truly went away. And this was more than a wound. This was like losing a part of herself, a part she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
A part she didn’t think she’d ever be able to replace.
So no, she wouldn’t always cry. But there would always be a piece missing from her heart.
She stood and exited the display, collecting her purse and coat, avoiding making eye contact with any of the store’s employees or customers. She pushed open the door and went out into the chilly afternoon, tugging her jacket on as she did so.
She pulled up the collar of her coat, and as she did, a female reporter with a recorder advanced on her, along with two men, one of whom held a video camera, the other a microphone.
Every insecurity, every fear, flooded her, oozed from the soles of her shoes and kept her rooted to the spot.
“Ms. Holt, rumor is your husband checked into a hotel last night? Any comment? Is there trouble in paradise? What will you do if you lose him?”
She almost laughed. Because she had lost him. And then because she realized that nothing, after this, could ever hurt her again.
She raised her hand and indicated the building behind her. “I will go to work. Because I’m the owner of a very successful chain of candy shops. I’m an entrepreneur. A businesswoman. I am not simply another Holt heiress. I am not Ajax Kouros’s backup bride. I have my own identity, my own success.”
She was yelling now. She probably seemed completely unhinged. Years of pent-up rage at every member of the press who had ever abused her, pouring out onto this one woman. But she didn’t care. She’d always thought this, but she’d never been bold enough to say it. Ajax had made her bold enough. He’d made her believe she deserved more. That she deserved better.
That she deserved, not to modify her behavior to suit other people, but to step out from behind her sister’s shadow and demand respect.
“I am not defined by my family name,” she continued, “or by how I compare to my sister. I am not defined by my husband. I have a name. I’m Leah Holt, and I’m second to no one. I’m simply myself.”
* * *
Ajax stared at his phone from his position on the floor of his hotel room, at the hazy headline on the entertainment section of the paper.
Leah Holt Declares: I am not defined by my husband!
Good for her. He laughed and the sound sent a wave of pain through his head. Rock bottom was a real place. It was inside of him now. His chest felt torn to bloody shreds. His head felt like it was going to burst. But nothing, nothing matched the pain in his heart.
She’d been right about him. He was nothing more than a coward. He’d done nothing more than hide, than protect himself from any potential pain, any emotion, for so many years. Too many years.
Oh, those whiskey-colored eyes. He’d looked at them, even back when she’d been a teenager, and he’d known that she could destroy him. That she could have power over him, utterly. Completely. And so he had hidden.
He was still hiding. Hungover and hiding. Not anymore. No more.
He wanted to call Leah, but he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to call her father, but he really didn’t know what to say.
That left one number.
He dialed a number he hadn’t used in a while.
“This is Rachel.”
“Do you know where Leah is?” He didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Yes. And if you don’t, I don’t think I’m in a position to tell you. Especially not given current headlines.”