I watch him, halfway to impressed. His elbows resting on the counter, the posture pulling up the sleeves of his white Bob Dylan T-shirt, he looks comfortable. Hints of the warmth I felt when he climbed onto the chair in the café flicker in me now. I’d honestly forgotten in the past four years how good he was with people.
The line is silent. No one knows if Nathan’s joking. Finally, it’s Jen who’s brave enough to reply. “Kind of, yeah,” she says. “We want your book to be the story, not you.”
“Although . . .” Liz chimes in, with singsong stretching of the word. “A little peek into your relationship has always sold books.”
I understand what she’s saying. She’s not wrong, either. Signs of tension between Nathan and me would fuel the fire of our notoriety. People would line up for the book, reading for the answer to whether we love each other or hate each other. I don’t blame them. If I thought it would help me find out, I’d scour the pages myself.
The next voice who speaks is one I don’t recognize. Someone from publicity? I ignore the unpleasant reminder of the lengthy call sheet. “It’s about hinting just enough to create mystery. The history of you two is so storied. We don’t want to waste it.”
The explanation is like a lecture, enough that I’m interrupted in my nervousness to roll my eyes.
Chris jumps in, which is when I realize I haven’t heard his voice in days. “Of course. We want whatever will sell copies.” He pauses. “Right, Katrina?”
I’ve noticed how Chris never uses “Kat” on work calls. I’m “Katrina.” Generously, I respect the professional veneer he’s trying to maintain, but I’ve never understood it. It’s not like everybody doesn’t know he’s engaged to his bestselling client.
“Yeah. Right,” I say, not convinced. Would I do whatever will sell copies?
“I’m flying out for the interview,” Chris says offhandedly.
I whip to stare into the phone screen, like he’s in there somewhere, shaking me in person with this sudden revelation. “What?”
Nathan immediately tenses.
“I don’t want you to have to deal with logistics,” Chris says calmly. “I’ll handle it, and I’ll be there if . . . anything comes up.”
When my surprise wears off, the hurt seeps in, like my heart’s stumbled and skinned its knees. I can’t enjoy whatever eagerness I might’ve felt to see my fiancé. The fact is, when I begged him to come to Florida, he wouldn’t. Now, feeling the slightest hint of professional obligation, he decides in one day to fly out.
Because it’s Katrina he’s coming for. Not Kat.
The line is silent. Nathan obviously won’t say anything, waiting instead for me to respond. Despite how I’m feeling, I know this call with our whole team, with Nathan, isn’t the place to delve into romantic disappointment.
“Is that it, everyone?” It’s the best I can do.
My blood is pounding so hard I barely hear what they say. The usual pleasantries, how they’re so excited to read the book, early talk of promotions, foreign sales, book festivals. After everyone signs off, Nathan hangs up and drops his phone into his pocket.
“How about we take a walk?” Nathan suggests suddenly.
I look up, not sure I’ve heard him right.
“We heard everyone else’s opinion about how we should approach this interview,” he goes on. “I wonder what we want out of it.”
I study him. Doesn’t he want what they do—book sales? Why else would he be writing with me in the first place?
“Unless . . .” He falters, his eyes skirting from me.
Swiftly, I rise from my seat. I’m not shying away from this conversation, not if Nathan’s willing to have it. “A walk sounds lovely.”
Something crosses his expression, a softness I haven’t seen on him in years.
It makes him unbearably handsome.
33
Nathan
We walk through the neighborhood. I’m calm, which I guess I didn’t expect, knowing what we’re going to be discussing. Even I’m aware of how unlike me proposing this walk was. I just couldn’t face spending the night in the shadow of the publicity call.
On our street, the start of sunset casts orange over everything. We catch slices of ocean between the houses, the breeze rolling innocently off the water. It’s the hour of prepping for dinner or driving home from the office, and no one is out right now. It’s just me and Katrina.