by Kat T. Masen
Behind the hazel eyes staring back at me is a man who loves me and is willing to offer a lifetime of happiness. Austin asking my dad for permission renders me speechless, equally so—my dad agreeing.
I love Austin, but it still feels so soon.
“Millie,” he breathes with a nervous smile, “You’re kind of leaving me out here on a limb.”
His face flashes before me.
His touch crawls on my skin.
And then—I’m reminded of the trail of destruction the moment he left for London.
Will Romano never fought for me or us. Just like I never fought for him. I chose my family, even though it almost killed me to lose him.
It’s over.
It’s been over for four years.
“Yes.” I nod, my eyes widening as I let out a gasp. “Yes, Austin Carter. I will marry you.”
2
WILL
Next to the only window inside the room, I sit at the head of the table.
Outside, the cluster of gray clouds form in the sky, rainfall predicted as usual. It’s your typical day in London—dreary, wet, and cold. Nothing at all like home.
I welcome the momentary silence.
The last two weeks have been chaotic. Non-stop travel between different countries across Europe. Endless meetings, networking, conferences—nothing remotely pleasurable aside from a day trip to the Greek Islands courtesy of a client. If it wasn’t for my personal assistant, I wouldn’t know what day it is as I barely set foot on English soil. Right after this meeting, I am scheduled on a flight to Brussels for a convention where I am the guest speaker.
Yet these moments of solitude, its purpose of disconnecting me from the world if only for minutes, is a blessing and a curse.
My eyes close as I try to drown out all distractions while I take the deepest of breaths. I’ve formed a bad habit, cracking my knuckles to loosen my joints. With my eyes still shut, my head tilts left, then right, releasing the built-up tension in my shoulders.
The door opens, and noise from outside the room filters through. Some of our executive team arrive early, entering with a welcoming nod before taking their places at the table. Jensen, our head of IT infrastructure, takes a seat beside me without considering my personal space and starts rattling off numbers with which he seems displeased. I listen attentively, nodding in agreeance, but my focus is elsewhere.
And the very reason is about to walk in the room at any minute now.
Lex Edwards.
If you listen carefully, you can hear the weighted steps, each one taken with a sense of pride. The voices around me slowly filter out, and then suddenly, the energy in the room changes.
Lex’s entrance is not subtle.
His presence demands attention.
The team respectfully rises from their chairs, acknowledging his arrival.
Not me though.
I don’t even bother to look his way.
It’s been four years since I last spoke to him—all of our business dealings executed through our management team. The moment he gave me the ultimatum—organized that contract to ship me to London with strings attached—we ended our relationship then and there.
I’d been called a fool to go up against the man who deals all the cards, often warned of the risks and ability to lose everything I have.
But the damage is done.
I’ve lost everything.
All that matters.
My wealth, if measured, is rather impressive. Yet money is the devil’s playground. There’s the freedom to do things people only dream about, but none of these things nor possessions will ever replace the heartache of letting go of the woman you love.
A phone inside the room rings, forcing everyone to silence themselves so Lex can answer.
“Hello,” he states, almost void of emotion. “I’m sorry, now is not a good time.”
My gaze shifts to where Lex now sits, and I observe a man who I once considered family. There’s resignation in his expression, despite the lowering of his head to grant himself some privacy during his call. And then, he closes his eyes, momentarily, before they spring open and lift to meet my unrelenting stare. The usually emerald eyes appear dark, however despite the change in shade, his presence inside this room onsets memories.
Memories I have long buried in an effort to move on with my life.
“Congratulations,” is all he says, without the usual jovial response attached to the sentiment. “I love you too.”
The call ends, prompting Jensen to suggest we start our meeting. As usual, he leads while I try my best to immerse myself. There are a few disagreements that encourage others to weigh in with their opinions. After two hours, I begin to lose interest, my mind drifting elsewhere.
Bored with the discussion, I respond to an email on my cell then exit my inbox, the Insta icon in the corner of my phone showing me a notification. I barely check any of these platforms, uninterested in connecting with people who serve me no interest.
I don’t bother to scroll. I simply watch the first few stories, which are mainly of my friends from college. And then, in the fourth story, Ava’s picture catches my attention. My fingers move on their own accord, swiping to view the story again.
It’s a picture of a hand with a diamond ring and a caption reading, “She said yes!”
My heart stops to what feels like a complete standstill. I’d recognize those fingers anywhere. They touched me in intimate places. Caressed my face so lovingly. Those same fingers ran through my hair softly until they found their way to the back of my neck, where they would often rest.
The kickstart of adrenaline knocks the air out of me, my breathing becoming ragged as my skin begins to crawl with heat beneath the suit I wear.
I scramble through Ava’s profile, where the last few photographs are of her, and nothing out of the ordinary. My lips press together as I contemplate stalking Amelia’s profile, something I refused to do for the last four years.
The name alone is a trigger, yet her profile is nothing but scenic pictures or objects, with not one picture of her. There’s nothing to suggest the ring is hers, and perhaps my eyes have imagined it all wrong.
Heading back to Ava’s profile, I scroll further. There’s an image of a Grey’s Anatomy scene in which she tagged Austin Carter. Clicking on his name takes me to his profile which is open to view.
My eyes widen in disbelief.
With a hard swallow, I try to ignore the pressure inside my chest, but it feels impossible—the pain has become unbearable.
It’s the same picture—the hand with the diamond ring. On the top right-hand corner, the image says one of two. So, I swipe left, my stomach hardening at the second photo, which sends a stabbing pain straight to the middle of my chest.
Austin is on what appears to be a clifftop, kneeling with the ring box in his hand. And standing there, with a happy expression, is Amelia.
Anger thrums through my veins, unapologetic with its ferocity. My nostrils flare, the temperature inside this room unbearable. The four walls surrounding us begin to close in, trapping me in this fucking nightmare called life.
“Are we done, gentlemen?” I demand, unable to control myself.
No one says a word, yet all eyes are staring at me curiously, confused by my sudden outburst.
I push my chair out, ignoring everyone in the room, and head toward the exit.
“Romano,” Lex calls, his arctic tone gaining my attention.
My sweat-filled palms rest on the doorknob while trying to control the anger which is tearing me to pieces. I refuse to turn around, but like the sadistic fool I am, I do so and fall victim to the man who ruined my damn life.
“Leave her alone,” he demands, with an insulting stare. “It’s over.”
I give him nothing.
The bastard doesn’t deserve anything from me.
Exiting the room, I head straight to the restroom. Inside, I slam my fist against the stall door, the pain connecting through my entire body. But the p
hysical pain is nothing compared to leaving her behind or the moment I chose to give up because she deserved better than me. And this pain can never compare to the last four years of hell without her.
I have a choice—follow Lex’s command once again and leave her alone.
Or—go back to the States and fight for what I should have all along.
I refuse to let him win.
It may be the biggest fight of my life, but I will battle until the very end, even if it kills me.
Amelia Edwards is mine, and this time, no one is going to stop me.
My fingers trace the rim of the glass, slowly gliding against the smooth edge and eyeing the amber liquid with a desperate thirst.
For a Monday evening, the pub is relatively quiet. Just the usual crowd, unlike the loud weekend folk who enjoyed a good pint amongst friends. The rowdy groups would have distracted me from my thoughts. Still, I manage to drown out my sorrows with a Bourbon and football game on the flat screen.
But it’s impossible to focus or even think about anything else.
She’s getting married.
I bow my head, closing my eyes briefly as my posture falls. Amelia was never going to stay single forever. It would have been naïve of me to believe after four years she has been waiting for me to come back. Her stubborn ways would have kicked her ass into survival mode, most likely throwing herself into studying or dating other men in an effort to move forward.
I just didn’t expect her to fall back into bed with that Carter kid, and have no idea why it bothers me more than if it had been a stranger. Amelia loved him, past tense, or so I thought.
“It’s only you,” she murmured, slowing her movements. “Austin means nothing to me.”
The moment we made love at her parent’s house, I knew we were both in trouble—we were in too deep with no chance of escaping unscathed. But could it be that her love for him is a stronger force than what we had several years ago?
It hurt to even think about it, my stomach hardening at the possibility of her feelings being less than my own.
I fucking loved her.
Or maybe—I never stopped.
The past four years have been hell without her, but I managed to distract myself with work and an occasional fuck when I felt myself getting desperate. They were no more than a one-night stand. I didn’t ask names, stayed away from women with green eyes or hair the same shade as hers. In fact, I went in the complete opposite direction. Blonde-haired, blue eyes, or the rare redhead.
The matter of the fact is, I chose to forget she ever existed. It was all so I could give her the freedom to live her life without the burden of me being around. I just never envisioned her marrying so soon and so young. Unless she’s pregnant…
I yell at the bartender to serve me another. My hands wrap around the glass, raising it to my lips and consuming the Bourbon in one go. It no longer burns or clouds my vision, prompting me to demand another drink. I’m surprised he didn’t stop pouring, but perhaps the bills I threw on the countertop with a rather generous tip is enough for him to keep serving me.
Inside, it all becomes numb. The pain, the anger—the bitterness and resentment. The blame is shifted from Lex to the Carter kid, then back to me.
I let her go and walked away.
I didn’t fight.
I was trying to save her and my business, gave up on the best thing to happen to me, and for what? All this money meant nothing. I owned several properties, have servers wait on me hand and foot. I even bought myself a private jet because I despise being around people on commercial flights.
All the wealth means nothing because I sleep alone in my bed each night without the woman I love. No, she’s in bed…with him.
And she is going to be in bed with him for the rest of her life if I don’t do anything.
“Excuse me, sir?” A woman beside me tries to catch the attention of the bartender to no avail. “Of course, why would a man pay attention to me? That’s right, Mister, you’ve probably got some other woman who is much more important than the person demanding to be served.”
Letting out an annoyed huff, I’m somewhat amused by this woman’s sudden outburst and enjoy the familiarity of her American accent. It brings with it belonging and comfort, a feeling I’ve forgotten until now.
“Bartender,” I call, followed by a whistle. “The lady needs a drink.”
The woman turns to face me, and only now do I notice she is quite beautiful. A bit young, perhaps, but who the fuck am I to judge? My eyes glance over her attire; a nicely fitted gray suit with a burgundy silk blouse beneath it. Her eyes follow my every move as I observe the short bob hairstyle in a familiar brunette shade.
I shake my head of the thoughts as her bright blue eyes watch me curiously.
“I guess you’re not from around here either,” she comments, extending her hand. “Ashley Stone. Born and raised in Minnesota until I realized my parents had plans to retire in Florida. Hence my spontaneous decision to move to London.”
A slow smile builds as I raise my eyebrows. “Retire? You look young.”
“I’m adopted. Fostered out when I was ten. My parents lost their son to a drug overdose.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s life, I guess. As for being young, twenty-six is not that young. Although at times, I feel invisible like I’m busting my ass for what?”
I nod, unsure what to say.
“Just ignore me,” she says in a flat tone, her expression downcast. “Bad day, bad life. I make bad decisions, and here I am paying the price with my heart and ego once again.”
The bartender finally appears, serving her the gin & tonic she has been desperately waiting for.
“If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one who makes bad decisions,” I concur, trying to comfort her, unsure of why. “I’m certain this bar stool sits many people just like us every single day. Trying to drink their worries away.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs her shoulders, drinking her beverage in one go and requesting another. “I bet your problems are not as bad as mine.”
“Oh yeah?” I rub my chin, amused by the challenge. “Tell me, Ashley, exactly what bad decision did you make?”
She lets out a long-winded sigh. “I slept with my boss. Wait, let me rephrase that. I am having an affair with my boss. He is fourteen years older than me plus he is married. I fell for the whole ‘I’m leaving my wife’ bullshit. I have no clue what is wrong with me.” Ashley’s eyes widen slightly as she toys with a diamond necklace draped around her neck. “I’m not irresponsible, I promise. I don’t know how it happened. One minute we are staying back working on a presentation, and the next minute we are going for it on the boardroom table. I was caught up in the thrill, you know. But it’s too late now. I’ve let my stupid feelings get in the way. This is not what I envisioned when I decided to move to London.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I quit my job today, actually.”
“Oh?” I pause, tilting my head to the side. “And how did your boss take that?”
She rubs the back of her neck. “He’s on some wedding anniversary getaway. It seemed appropriate to end things, including our professional relationship. There are five voicemails on my phone, and I refuse to listen to any of them.”
I didn’t blame her. Avoidance is best played when hearts are on the line. This is the trouble with love, it makes you feel fucked up inside to the point of questioning your own sanity.
“Okay, now you know how awful I am. It’s your turn,” she insists, crossing her arms while waiting for me to speak.
My eyes fall upon the glass in front of me, unable to even admit the truth. But what did it matter? Ashley is a stranger and one who I will probably never have to speak to after my next drink.
“I fell in love. But she deserved better than me, so I didn’t fight for her. Now, she’s getting married.”
Ashley falls silent beside me. Moments later, when reality sinks in, she plac
es her hand on mine. I let it linger for a moment, welcoming the kind gesture of another woman.
“Loving the wrong person is one of life’s greatest punishments.”
“You’re telling me.” I remove my hand from her touch, rubbing my face to rid myself of the nightmare.
“You and me,” she says, almost pained. “We’re the same. Captive to our bad decisions. Look at us now. We’re miserable in some bar with the slowest service ever. It’s like he doesn’t know we need to get really drunk and fast.”
A small chuckle escapes me, and I welcome the change of mood.
“You know what? Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, bored of the surroundings. “I can find us a better place to drown our sorrows.”
Ashley nods with a smile. “Lead the way…sorry, I didn’t even ask for your name?”
“Will Romano,” I tell her. “But you can just call me your knight in shining armor.”
She throws her hand on my shoulder with a laugh as I toss more bills to cover our drinks, then grab her hand to leave this god-forsaken place. The Dorchester is just a block away. I’ve stayed there many times and know the manager, certain we will get the service we deserve.
We spend the night drinking, laughing at stories we both told. In so many ways, being with Ashley makes me homesick. Four years in London with the occasional visit from my parents, and I never realized just how lonely I’d become. Ashley is quick to admit the same sentiment, having lived here for the last two years and not truly feeling like she found a home.
As the night drags on, our words slur, and the conversations become less serious and more argumentative. She is a Minnesota Twins supporter, which cannot compete with my hardcore following of the Yankees. We alternate between arguing to falling into fits of laughter, and when the bartender warns us the bar is close to shutting, I suggest we take it back to the room.
We both need what happens in the room, equally desperate to forget our mistakes and lose each other in the heat of the moment. There are no expectations, no walls to break down. We are two people grieving over the loss of someone we loved and using the pain to fuel the passion between us.
