He takes my hand and leads me out to the living room, and we sit on the couch. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, and I know this is it, the moment in time when we discuss our future.
His eyes hold mine. “How long have you been unhappy here?”
“I’m not unhappy with you . . .”
“Answer the question, Hayden,” he replies flatly.
Be honest.
“Almost the whole time.”
He raises an eyebrow and sips his wine.
“To clarify, I’m not unhappy with you and our relationship. I love you, more than anything.”
“Not more than living in the country, though.”
He’s hurt.
“Chris, I just . . .” I hesitate, unsure what to say. I need all the facts in front of me. “Where do you see your permanent home being?” I ask. “Long term, like where do you see your children growing up?”
“Between London and New York.”
“In apartments?”
“Yes, my apartments are bigger than most houses, Hayden.”
“I know.” I nod. “It’s true; they are. And will you always work for Miles Media?”
“Of course I will; it’s my family’s business. I’ll never leave the company.”
“Oh.” I sip my wine, unsure what to even say to that.
His future is set in stone.
“In a perfect world, where do you see yourself living?” he asks.
My eyes search his, and I don’t want to say it out loud, because once I say it I can’t take it back.
“Please, just be honest, Haze,” he says softly.
“On the land.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Not necessarily my parents’ farm, but something similar. I eventually want my own animal husbandry business. It’s what I do, what I love, and I’m missing it so much.”
I see the hurt flash through his eyes.
“Would you . . . ever live on a farm?” I tentatively ask. “Can you see yourself living in the country?”
“No.”
“Would you ever try it?”
“No point. I already know that I would hate it.”
We stare at each other as a realization begins to set in.
“What do you hate about the city?” he asks.
“Everything.”
“Specifics.”
“The pollution, the people, the chaos, the paparazzi. It’s just so loud and on steroids. I don’t feel myself here.” I take his hand in mine. “And I desperately want to because I love you, but I already know that to be here, I have to give up who I am.”
His haunted eyes hold mine.
“And maybe I should do that . . .” I shrug. “I just . . .”
“No.” He cuts me off. “I don’t want you to do that.” He cups my face in his hand. “You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t change a thing.”
My eyes well, and a tear escapes and rolls down my face. He wipes it away with his thumb.
“What does this mean for us, Chris?” I whisper.
His nostrils flare. “It means I have to let you go.”