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You should either commit to him or let him go.
Well, I let him go, or he let himself out…whatever.
And Tristan.
I raise my fingers to my mouth, and crazily enough, I can still feel the soft tingle of his lips on mine. It’s madness that even with everything that has happened, I would choose that kiss again and again.
Because I had been starving for it.
You’re not over Tristan Kane.
Does it make any difference that I wish I were? That even as I imagine what it would feel like for him to be here right now, touching me, making me feel the kind of pleasure only he could ever give me, that I wish I could forget him?
The sharp ringing of my phone jolts me out of my thoughts. Probably Marie. I ignore the call. We can talk tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to drown my sorrows.
The phone stops ringing. After a few moments of silence, it starts again. With a sigh, I reach for it and instead of Marie’s name, I see an unsaved number flashing on my screen.
A number I recognize.
It’s Tristan’s old number, the one from when we were married, the one I had no idea he still used until he’d called me earlier in the day.
Why is he calling me?
The phone continues to ring. I want to take the call, so much. There’s a part of me so hungry, so desperate to hear his voice that it threatens to roll over the rest of me like a tidal wave.
Talk to him, Cora.
I touch my thumb to the green button on my screen. The call connects. For a second, I don’t hear anything. I don’t say anything either.
“Cora.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. In the darkened apartment, I can almost feel him on the sofa beside me. Like, if I reach out, I’ll touch his warm skin, his hard muscles, his unrelenting physical perfection. And yet, I know that I can’t, that even if he were right beside me, it would be impossible to bridge the distance between us.
He hurt you, Cora.
I take a deep breath. “Tristan.”
“I…” It sounds like he’s at a loss for words. A first. “I’m sorry about last night…and everything since then.”
Is he? I’m not sorry we kissed, but I’d rather tear out my own heart and submit myself to all kinds of torture than admit that to him.
“We’re scrubbing everything we can from the internet. My people will send out a press release early tomorrow. We can also set something up for you, to manage enquiries and requests for interviews and the like, except…” There’s a pause.
“Except what?”
“Except you want to talk to them.”
My breath releases in a small snort. “You think I want todishon you?”
“It’s your life too, Cora. If you want to talk to the press about it, I won’t blame you.”
The idea that he imagines I’m one of those exes who seek relevance through the names of former partners annoys me. “Even if they’re mostly interested in the parts that include you?” I shake my head. “I don’t want to court the most pathetic kind of fame or recognition by using my connection to you. I don’t know if you noticed, but I liked my life without you. I liked my peaceful, simple life.”
“I know.”
He’s sorry. I can hear it in his voice. It’s hard to blame him, to be as angry as I want to be, when he sounds so contrite.
“It seems you only had to show up to disrupt my life,” I say softly.
