Like that’s that, he begins typing on his computer. Probably sending an email to legal.
It’s a clear dismissal. He’s given the final word, and I’m expected to follow along like a good dog.
But not this time.
“No,” I state firmly. “No annulment, and I’m not done with this Cartwright deal. And I’m certainly not done with Luna.”
Before he can reply, I stride out of the room, feeling free in a way I haven’t in a long time. Maybe ever. I have a mission—two of them.
Luna.
Elena.
In that order.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
LUNA
I haven’t called in sick a single day in the years I’ve worked at the museum . . . until today. I simply didn’t have it in me to ‘people’ this morning. Instead, before she left for school, Samantha got us coffee and bagels, made sure I showered and put on fresh clothes so I ‘felt cute’， and then she set me up with my tablet to work. Okay, she called it ‘drowning my emotions in a fantasy world’ but it’s the same difference.
After working on it for hours, I realized that my tablet had been at Carter’s. I have no idea how it got here, but I’m glad to have it because I’m almost finished with this edition of Alphena. Writing has been going great, this edition nearly writing itself.
In this part, Alphena’s showing a podcast dude the error of his misogynistic ways, and miraculously, he’s coming around. Even more extraordinary, it’s not because of her breasts but because of her brains.
“See . . . people can change,” Alphena proclaims triumphantly on the page.
“Blah, blah, blah,” I tell my alter-ego character, irritated that she’s ‘pro people’ at a time I’d rather shut myself off from everyone and become a hermit. I stepped way out of my comfort zone and onto an unstable raft in a storming sea of lies and emotions. Those are two things I suck at the most, but I tried my best. I really did. It still ended up with me a confused and broken mess.
I know better. That’s why I stick with scripts at the museum, close friends who know my strengths and respect my boundaries, and a fantasy world of my own design. It’s easier that way.
Looking at Alphena’s joy in her accomplishment, I consider scratching the last two chapters of happy resolution and instead, have Alphena throw Podcast Dude into a pit of snakes and let them go bitey-bitey on his balls and peen. That’d be more likely.
“Change that! Ugh!” I scribble on the tablet with my pen, and with a rumble of frustration, I toss it on the couch next to me. Flopping back, I curl up with a couch pillow in my arms. One-handed, I braid the strings of the pillow’s tassels and consider what to do with my story. And my life.
It was fine . . . until Carter.
I’m furious with him but also disappointed in myself, which only makes me angrier for what we did. Last night, I reached my threshold and simply couldn’t contain the truth anymore. It bubbled out of me, relieving a heavy pressure I didn’t realize I was fighting.
I take a sip of the coffee that’s been sitting on the table too long, annoyed that it’s gone cold but still willing to drink it since it’s sweeter than candy thanks to Samantha’s care-taking efforts. The knock at the door annoys me too, as does the blanket that tries to strangle my feet as I get up.
“Let go,” I tell the cuddly soft fabric that I usually love to cozy up with, dragging it halfway across the room. Finally, it does just before I throw open the door, annoyed with it too. “What?”
I figured it was Samantha or Zack coming over to check on me. What I don’t expect is to see Carter standing there, grinning like a fool with a black eye. “Luna,” he sighs right before he scoops me up into his arms.
My feet dangle toward the floor as he hugs me tightly. It feels so good to sink into him for a moment that my mind turns into fluffy fuzz and my whole body relaxes. Then I remember that I’m mad and I flail, kicking my feet and pushing at his shoulders. “Put me down.”
My feet touch the floor gently, but Carter doesn’t let me go. He cups my face in his hands as his smile grows by the second, and I swear he’s a breath away from kissing me like nothing happened. “I missed you.”
I shove him off. “No. Don’t do that.”
I stomp away, picking up the blanket and folding it carelessly. I lay it on the couch and then pick up my tablet, setting it on the table. That takes me to the coffee mug, and I carry it to the kitchen, pouring it out in the sink. Anything that’ll get me away from Carter. Except he follows me into the kitchen, trapping me and making me wish I’d chosen an apartment with a more open floor plan.
“Luna, we need to talk.” He sounds so sure that I’ll do what he wants, but those days are over.
I’ve done too much for Carter already, and the end result is that I’m mad at myself and mad at him. “You should go.” I put the mug into the dishwasher. “I have nothing to say.”
“That’s not true. You have so much to say, I can see the words jumbling together behind your eyes.”
Carter’s right, but telling him what I think won’t do either of us any good. I want to walk away and pretend this never happened so I can go back to my comfortable, predictable life. “It doesn’t matter. Just go.”
I try to squeeze past him, but Carter grips my upper arms in his hands. “It matters to me, Luna.”
Laughing bitterly, I jerk out of his grasp. “No, it doesn’t. If it did, you wouldn’t have dragged me into all this.”
His eyes go wide. “Dragged you? As soon as I mentioned Thomas’s collection, you were all aboard. Remember that?” I cross my arms over my chest, screaming at him with my eyes and hoping the lenses in my glasses amplify it like sunlight through a magnifying glass and he fries like an ant. He looks back at me, frustrated. “It’s easier to fully blame me, though, isn’t it? Guess you’ve decided I’m your all-too-convenient scapegoat.”
I put some space between us, but there’s nothing else I can do to keep my hands busy. I resort to fidgeting, wringing them together as I clarify, “I’m not blaming you. Or not only you. I was wrong too. I shouldn’t have gone along with your stupid plan so I could see the art collection. No matter how amazing it is, it was wrong.”
I’ve already given myself a hard time for that and don’t need Carter to repeat the conversation or talk me out of the self-flagellation.
He takes a deep breath, his blue eyes locked on me. I feel like he sees everything—my nerves, my anger, and even the desire I’m shoving down so deep I can deny it exists. “That’s not even why I’m here. I think we’re well beyond that, and we both know it. I want to talk about us.”
I laugh. “Us? There is no ‘us’。”
He jumps in immediately, stating, “But there is. We’re married . . . for real. My dad’s talking about annulments and prenups—”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” I bark. “Fine. Show me where to sign and I’ll put your mind at ease. I just want this whole thing to be over.” I wave my hands around, wishing I could wipe this whole thing away with just a signature. If only it were that easy. But I’ll never get Carter out of my heart, no matter how many times I sign us away.