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My message shows as read, but he doesn’t immediately respond. The absence of typing stretches out between us, and my breath catches in my chest until the dots finally appear.
Christian:
I’m starting to believe that.
Maybe it’s only a start, but I’ll take it. For this thing to work, we have to trust each other completely, but it goes beyond trust. Iwantto make Christian feel good. Iwanthim to be comfortable and know his worth. And before this thing is over between us, I’m making it my mission to show him how amazing he is.
For, umm, no other reason than the fact he deserves it.
I send him back a blowing kiss emoji and roll over onto my front to where my emails are open on my laptop. I’m deep into planning for this charity event, and it feels good to be working on something I care about. Something I’m good at. Whenever I’m back in the States for an indeterminate amount of time, I need to be working, and the only part of the family business I have any interest in touching is the charity offset. Sure, it was originally started to reduce our taxes and bad press, but even with the shady origins, it’s the one part I actually like.
Because, you know, people are okay with forgetting that your enormous ships pollute the seas as long as you start a charity to benefit marine life.
Let’s not worry aboutfixingthe problem so long as we’re retroactively throwing money at it.
With the most paper thin of defenses, supplies do need to make it to other parts of the globe, but I wish it didn’t have to come at so high of a cost. Still, I’ll take my family’s guilt money and make as much of it as I possibly can.
My charity event won’t be attached to the business, but I’ve had enough experience now that I know what I’m doing.
I’ve got the venues short-listed and contacted, a list of caterers to try, contacts to reach out to for donations, and a tentative guest list. But every time I try to focus on more, my mind insists on creeping back toward Christian. I wish I could sulk and tell him I miss having him around, but I refuse. This play is important to him and it only goes for three weeks. He needs my support, not me distracting him from something he’s been working so hard at.
Still, it’s hard not to keep checking my phone for a reply, knowing full well he’s gone out for a quick drink with the cast before he heads home to sleep it off. It’s the final show of the first week before he has the next two days off, and from the phone conversations we’ve had recently, he’s exhausted.
And his lack of presence at family meals isn’t going unnoticed.
All week I’ve fielded questions about which school Christian attended, which families he’s associated with, and whether he’s a hunting or a polo man—Dad’s scoff when I reminded him Americans hardly know what polo is still echoes in my ears.
I’ve been keeping things close to the chest, because it’s only a matter of time before they work out that Christian is estranged from his family and not going to inherit one red cent. Whichmeans shit all to me but will cause a catastrophic meltdown for them.
Unfortunately for them, there’s literally nothing they can do at this point.
Hmm … The sooner we’re officially public, the less power they’ll have to meddle with our relationship.
Breaking up when our social circles already know about my proposal is one thing, doing so at an international level? Might as well put Gran in her grave.
Me:
We’re going to have to announce that we’re together. Sooner, rather than later. I know you only have two days off next week, but could I schedule something for then?
Christian:
What do you mean by “schedule”?
Me:
A photographer. Maybe even someone to write the announcement for The New York Post.
Christian:
Jesus.
Me:
Yeah, it’s a lot.
Christian:
I know you warned me, but I don’t think I understood how BIG everything would be.
