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“Go away.” My voice is hoarse. “I’m finally happy, Tristan.” It’s not true. I’m not happy, not really, but I’m not going to admit that to him. “Go away.”
He stares at me for what seems like forever. “I’m not happy.” The admission is stark, unwanted, and yet, it is everything. It’s fireworks exploding in the sky, a tsunami crashing into me. There’s so much vulnerability in his expression that I want to take him in my arms and tell him how much I still care.
“I don’t care,” I lie. “I don’t care.”
I turn my back on him and make it inside my building before I let my tears fall.
CHAPTER27
TRISTAN
It starts with a nosy neighbor, a series of mobile phone videos, and a viral Twitter thread.
“You know when you’re stuck at home alone, lonely and miserable and you look out the window and see a couple making out, like they’d eat each other up if they could? Yeah, that’s happening to me right now.”
“I think they might have sex on the sidewalk.”
“Oh, she’s walking away. Look at his face. He looks like he’s going to cry. Awww. He’s hot tho.”
“Aww. They looked so good together.”
“He looks devastated. Think she broke his heart, or he just really really really wanted to get laid?”
“Dude is hot though. I’d do him on a sidewalk.”
“Lol. Does anybody know his IG.”
“Her IG. I like a lady who doesn’t give up the goods on the first date.”
“What is this? 1925?”
“Dude...that guy looks familiar.”
“OMG…”
“Duuuuuuuude... That’s Tristan Kane.”
“What?”
“Who?”
“The Billionaire.”
“God is she crazy?”
“Is he crazy?”
“Who is she?”
By midmorning, the original tweet has more than fifteen thousand retweets and forty-five thousand likes, and the videos have been shared to every other social media platform. By lunchtime, the entertainment channels and blogs are running with it.
In just a few hours, all the privacy I’ve spent a fortune ensuring for five years comes crashing down. Soon, the one thing I’ve kept out of every interview and every part of the internet I could reach is plastered on every news site in the world. Now, the entire world knows Cora’s identity, and the fact that she used to be my wife.
* * *
“Hey, Kiddo.”The familiarity of my sister’s voice is a welcome relief after a day spent talking with publicists, social media consultants and journalists while trying to get a handle on the situation.
From the windows of my new office downtown, my view is concrete, chrome, different shades of glass, and a clear blue sky that’s the very opposite of my chaotic thoughts.
