Page 97 of Praise


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She tilts her blue-haired head as she adds, “You mean, will people think it’s wrong? That sounds like athemproblem.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Touché, Smurf. But Beau found out, making itall of ourproblem.”

“Did you guys…break up?” she asks.

Solemnly, I nod. “But it wasn’t just about Beau. It’s…complicated.”

“Shoot. I can handle it.”

I laugh again. “Okay…here’s the PG-13 version.”

Sophie screws up her nose, making a disgusted expression. “Yes, please.”

With a tight smile, I tell her everything. How Emerson was always in charge. How I had to change my entire identity to be with him. How I would have done anything to please him. And how toxic it became.

And instead of agreeing with me or commiserating with me, she stares at me as if she has something to say. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “It’s just that…I don’t think you changed your identity. From my perspective, it was like you got all of that confidence back. Did he really make you change or did he let you be yourself?”

My head is a mess. I know on some level she’s right, but something is blocking me from seeing it that way. It reminds me of that first day I started as Emerson’s sub and how he said, ‘On some days, I want you just to be Charlotte.’ What did he mean by that? Did he like the regular me enough or did he just not want to deal with the hassle of teaching me on non-sub days?

Did he let me be myself? It wasmyidea to take on the sub-secretary role. I was the one wandering down dark hallways in the club. I was the one eager to learn it all.

And I’m the one who really wants to go back to that club.

“Dad left because he couldn’t accept me as I am. He would have rather seen me unhappy than accept the change I knew I needed. But you found a guy whowantsyou exactly as you are.”

“I wish he wanted me, Sophie. But he has to put his son first…and that leaves no room for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Tell Beau to get over it.”

A laugh bubbles out of my chest again. “Trust me, I would if I could.”

* * *

That night, I lie in bed and stare at the eight texts from Emerson I’ve left unanswered.

Can we talk?

I just want to apologize.

I made a mistake.

I miss you.

I understand you need time. I can wait. My front door is always open.

Beau knows everything now. He’s mad, but we can work that out.

I’m not choosing him over you. I’m sorry for ever implying I would.

Please, Charlie.

Tears prick the back of my eyes as I read through each one. There are also six missed calls and a few voicemails that I don’t have the heart to listen to. He’s right—I do need time. I need to come down from the Emerson Grant high, so I can think clearly. Maybe some space will help me figure out what I really want.

There’s not one from Beau—which is surprising. No scathing judgment. No invasive questioning. He just disappeared from my life. Probably better that way. I don’t even know what I would say to him.

Just then a new text pops up, and I stare at it for a moment before realizing who it is.

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