Breathing hard from her rant, she met my gaze. My stomach clenched with guilt and regret and shame. She was right. Her whole life she’d been lied to by men. I was no exception.
“How can this be it? I fucked up, Em, I admit that, but—Ilove you. I know you love me.”
She was looking at the floor again, her expression hard and flat. I’d never seen this side of her before. It wasn’t that we hadn’t fought before, of course we had, but she’d always forgiven me. I’d always been able to lay on the charm and convince her to do things my way.
“You seriously want to throw away everything we have? Everything we could be? Let me make it up to you. Let me show you that I’m not the person I used to be, that I can—”
“Shutup.” Her voice was sharp and a little bit nasty. “I’m not doing this with you. Everything you say is a lie. Our entire relationship is a lie.”
“But it’s not. You’re mywife.”
“The marriage isn’t real, Ford!” she said. “This whole thing was just an easy way for you to get out of marrying Claudia because you couldn’t stand up to your parents. You never cared about me, you just needed me to play my part. The stupid thing is that even though I knew it was all fake, I actually thought our friendship was real. Now I know better.”
“Our friendship was real.Isreal,” I argued. “Jesus. You’re my best friend.”
“Honestly, Ford? That’s really kind of pathetic. I almost feel sorry for you.”
Then she laughed, right in my face. It stung. She’d never treated me like this before. Had never been so unmovable, so dismissive.
“It’s over,” she said. “The sooner you realize it, the easier it will be for both of us.”
“Emzee, please. I need you. I fucking love you. Please, don’t do this—”
Before I could say more, she turned on her heel and went back inside, slamming the door in my face. Leaving me begging in the hallway, practically on my knees.
Fuck.
Back in my car, head in my hands, I tried to get my breathing under control. The world was spinning out of control, taking my stomach with it. How could this be happening?
I knew I deserved her wrath, knew that I’d royally fucked up, but she wasn’t giving me a chance to explain. I’d kept secrets from her, yes, but I’d had good intentions. Because if I had tried to tell her why I’d started those rumors at Wayland-Blaine, why I’d targeted her in the first place, I would have had to admit that it was because my father had been a client of her father’s prostitution ring. And the reason I never told her about KZ Modeling’s illicit underbelly was because I thought it was better if she didn’t know. Safer. Hell, finding out about my own parents’ issues is what fuckedmeup so badly in the first place. I didn’t want that for her.
But trying to protect Emzee had only made her more vulnerable. And it was me who had ended up hurting her. I’d been the one to do the most damage. I’d gone about things all wrong. I could see that now, in hindsight.
I could also see exactly why she wanted to be done with me.
But I wasn’t done with her. Emzee was my world. And that little dog of hers, too.
So I was going to have to start over, then. Figure out a way to win her back. I’d never been one to give up on something—or someone—that really mattered to me, and I wasn’t about to start.
I’d fight for the woman I loved, and I’d fucking win. Or else I’d die trying.
Emzee
Chapter 7
I’d only been in New York for a month, but in some ways it felt like an eternity.
After a few weeks of licking my wounds at my brother’s place, I’d finally made a call to Andrew Apellido, Editor-in-Chief oflookingglassmagazine (and recent recipient of a black eye from my soon-to-be ex-husband). The first thing he’d said on the phone was, “I hope you called to tell me you’re ready to be our photography editor, because the position’s still got your name on it.” I had accepted on the spot.
Convincing my brothers that I was making the right choice for myself took some work, but in the end they were supportive. They wanted what was best for me and my career, and they knew the divorce situation with Ford was destroying me. I even helped them interview and hire a new in-house photographer to take over for me at Danica Rose Management, although Stefan insisted on making it a temp-to-hire position just in case I changed my mind in six months and decided to move back to Chicago.
Meanwhile, I told a half-lie to Emma, my administrative assistant and program coordinator at See Yourself, explaining that I had some high-priority work projects to take care of over the next few weeks and that I’d need her to cover for me for a bit. I felt bad for skipping town like a thief in the night, but I was too overwhelmed to do anything other than run.
With Stefan’s help (he knew a great real estate broker in the city), I arranged a short-term lease on a gorgeous prewar apartment in an artsy area of Brooklyn, just over the Williamsburg Bridge and about a twenty-minute subway ride to Manhattan. The neighborhood was great, and I felt like I blended in with my black combat boots and my leather jacket, but on the inside, I was struggling. It had been quite an adjustment so far. Actually, I wasn’t sure I’d adjusted much at all. Chicago was a village compared to the chaotic 24/7 hustle and bustle of New York. Even Munchkin seemed to be having a hard time.
Probably just because everything was new to us. New job, new apartment, new streets and sights and smells. No reminders of Chicago at all…if I didn’t count the prenatal vitamins. I’d been keeping fairly busy, but at night, trying to fall asleep, Ford always seemed present. My grief was still so raw that it seemed like there would never be an escape. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day he showed up at Stefan’s condo with the divorce papers in his hand.
God bless the millennial habit of dog-friendly workplaces—it meant I got to keep Munch at my side all day for company, and I never had to feel guilty about the long hours I’d been pulling. My dog spent most of the day curled up under my desk, though sometimes I dropped him off at the doggie spa down the street. There was also a cute bakery a few blocks away that sold these cupcake-shaped dog treats called pupcakes, and every few days I’d walk Munchkin there to get him one.
