Nate
Someday, you're going to have to learn to stop thanking me
Nora
Not sure that's going to happen.
Nate
I got you Len, always.
Three dots appear then disappear. So I slip the phone back into my pocket and head inside.
Julian's emerges from his nap looking marginally more human.
"Who was the dude?" he asks.
"My dad."
Julian's mouth falls open. "Yourdad.As in your biological father just... showed up at the studio." He stares at me. "Nate, I took a nap. I was asleep fortwo hours.How does your life move this fast?"
I laugh because he's not wrong.
But for the first time in a long time, it feels like I can handle it all.
CHAPTER 32
I WANT TO BREAK FREE
NORA
When Camillaand Marcus come to pick me up, I debate whether going out is a good idea.
My mind is still replaying this morning—Wes's hand on my arm, the confrontation, how Nate stepped between us like it was the most natural thing in the world.
How he looked at Wes with that deadly calm that was somehow more terrifying than any shouting could have been.
Camilla knows enough to read me anyway.
"This will be good for you. Promise," she says as we pull up to Sonder. "But if you really want to, we can just go back to the lake house, open wine, talk shit about men." She looks over her shoulder. "No offence, obviously."
"None taken," Marcus says cheerfully. "We're very shit-on-able as a gender."
"Statistically accurate," Alex adds without looking up from his phone. "I've represented enough of them to have data."
"No," I interrupt. "I need to get out of my head for a while. And besides, we need to celebrate you officially becoming someone's fiancée."
Camilla's been keeping her engagement on the down-lowsince Jay proposed—because of my recent spectacular implosion. Marcus told me earlier that she wasn't even planning to wear the ring tonight because she didn't want to make things weird. I'd told him that was ridiculous. That I'd be offended if she didn't wear it.
Still, I appreciate the thoughtfulness.
"Translation: she needs to get drunk and dance," Marcus calls from the backseat where he's wedged next to Alex.
"Exactly."
Alex leans forward between the seats. "As her legal counsel, I advise getting extremely drunk and making questionable decisions. It's therapeutic."
"You're an entertainment lawyer, not a therapist," I point out.
