But I’d be lying if I told myself our fractious partnership was the entire problem. Part of it doesn’t even reach Nathan. It’s the nervous turbine humming to life within me, the fear of knowing I’ll be putting down words destined for print and for readers probably worldwide. My words. Words that might not compare to Only Once. The feeling burrows into my chest, tightening my breath. When sweat springs to my fingers, I bury my hands in my lap so Nathan won’t notice.
The ringing of my phone saves us.
I reach with unhidden desperation for the black plastic case vibrating on the wood. With immediate and aching relief, I see Chris’s name on my screen. My fiancé. The person who knows how to help me.
“Hi,” I say, sounding strangled.
“Hey, babe.” Chris’s voice is unwavering. The opposite of mine. “How’s it going?” Nathan’s scowl is reflected in the computer screen, black now from disuse. With how quiet the room is, I have no doubt he can hear every word from Chris.
“Oh, it’s . . .” I want to get up, walk out of the room, tell Chris it’s horrible, it was a mistake and I feel sick and I’m a fraud and no one should ever want another book from me. Then I think of returning home, of Chris’s quiet disappointment, of the widening chasm dividing us. “Good,” I say. “Great, actually. We’re really getting somewhere.”
Nathan’s eyebrows rise. He’s no longer feigning discretion, his gaze glued to me. I turn away, facing the wall and the potted fern.
“Fantastic.” Chris pronounces the first two syllables emphatically. I’m reminded of politicians or football sportscasters. “I knew you could do it. You’re talented, Katrina. You’re goddamn talented.”
I wish I could tell him his confidence just makes me more uneasy. I run a damp hand down my shorts. Making matters worse, Nathan shifts in his seat. I have the feeling he’s reminding me he’s listening.
“Is there anything you need from me?” Chris asks.
“No. Nothing.”
“Well, then I won’t keep you,” Chris replies unhesitatingly. “Don’t want to interrupt the creative process.”
I laugh. It’s a laugh that shares more with the jerk of my knee under a doctor’s mallet than with genuine joy or humor. I regret it immediately. Chris, however, doesn’t notice. “Right,” I say.
“Love you.”
“Love you,” I repeat.
I hang up. When I face forward, Nathan is staring, not even making the faintest effort to hide his scorn. It’s the first time he’s looked me in the face today. I’m caught off guard once more, remembering he’s actually here with me, within arms’ reach, not in a photo online. The familiarity in his features is jarring. The way stubble shadows his face like it’s doing him a favor, the way his blue eyes glitter like the ocean outside. The brooding edge of his brow.
Then he smiles. “You lie to your fiancé often?” he asks.
I want to shove the question back at him, ask him how often he lied to Melissa. Unlike Nathan, however, I have a modicum of discretion. If I let myself fight with him—if I let this discussion spiral out of control, it would leave me nowhere I want to be. “My relationship is none of your business,” I say instead, curt and clipped. A conversational Caution—Wet Floor sign.
Which I should’ve known Nathan couldn’t resist. “Of course. I’m just curious,” he says, pontificating like fucking Socrates, “why did he push you to do this? He has to know you don’t want to. What’s in it for him? I mean, money, obviously,” he answers himself. “But I doubt even Chris is that selfish, and you certainly wouldn’t accept for that reason.”
He falls silent, mulling the question over. I hate him for it. I hate how close he’s coming to the truth.
“I honestly don’t know why you’d agree,” he says, “unless it’s to make him happy. Oh, Katrina.” He looks up, mock mortification in his eyes. “Tell me it isn’t that.”
My modicum of discretion flies furiously out the window. “Didn’t you ever do anything to make your wife—sorry, ex-wife—happy?”
The point lands. Nathan’s expression storm-clouds over. His jaw clenches, and he stares past me, cheeks flushing. It is enormously satisfying. Nevertheless, wounding him feels a little wrong. I know I’m only reacting out of my old instincts to not hurt Nathan or pry into his personal life. It’s not the relationship we have now. The memory is just hard to shake.