by Robinne Lee
“Well then, I just won’t leave, then…”
* * *
The second time he was controlled and focused, intense. He was unusually quiet, and it felt to me that every movement was a concerted effort to win me back. His thrusts, slow and deep, our hands clasped above my head, his gaze holding mine, never wavering. He wanted me to feel it, all of it. And remember it. And I would.
“Look at me,” he said when I was coming. “Look at me, Solène.” And the moment was so unbelievably charged, I started to cry.
Afterwards, he held me in his arms, close, ignoring his phone, which was still lighting up on the nightstand.
“Who keeps calling you?” I asked once I’d regained the ability to speak.
“Jane,” he said, low. “I quit the band.”
“What?!” It was quite possible I had not heard him correctly. “You what?!”
“I quit the band.”
I sat up, alarmed. “What do you mean you quit the band? Why would you do something like that?”
He looked up at me, confused. “Because,” he said, “it was the one thing that was keeping us apart.”
Funny how I’d waited for this for months, it seemed. And when it finally came, it had the complete opposite effect on me. Nothing about this was good.
“Oh no. No no no no no.” I grabbed my T-shirt from the other side of the bed, pulling it on. “You’re not going to do this. This is a mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake,” he said, sitting up. “What are you doing?”
“You’re going.”
“I’m not going.”
“You’re going. I’m going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, you’re going to go.”
* * *
When I emerged, he was still sitting on my bed, naked. His expression, lost. “You’re freaking out. Why are you freaking out?”
“You can’t quit the band, Hayes.”
“I did it for us.”
“I understand why you did it, but you can’t. I don’t want you to do it for us. You need to stay in that band. You’re going to get on the phone right now, you’re going to call Jane, and you’re going to tell her you’re coming back. Tell her you made a mistake and you’re coming back.”
“I’m not going back.”
“You’re going back. I am not going to let you squander this opportunity, this gift, for what? Sex?”
He looked at me, shocked. “This is not just sex, Solène. I love you.”
“I know you do.”
“I thought you loved me, too.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.”
My head was spinning. My heart, racing. Nothing seemed clear. “What is this, Hayes? What do you think is going to happen with us? Do you think we’re going to move in together? Get married? Have kids? Are you going to be a stepdad? Drive Isabelle to fencing practice and visit her at summer camp in Maine? Think about it. Think about it.”
“I have thought about it.”
“Then you have to realize how crazy it sounds. Nothing about us makes sense.”
“Don’t say that.” His eyes were welling. Crap.
“You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you…”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s true. You think you know what you want now, but it’s going to change a million times before you reach thirty. You’re not going to be the same person ten years from now. Five years from now, even. You’re not.”
“Stop,” he said.
“I’m not going to let you do this. I’m not going to let you throw this opportunity away for something you think you want right now. And I’m not going to be the fucking Yoko Ono of August Moon.” I was crying. I did not recall at what point it started, but it had. “I don’t want the wrath of your fans. I don’t want this pressure for us to make this work. I don’t want the guilt when it doesn’t. You need to call Jane and tell her you’re coming back. Now.”
There was a thump against the far wall and I feared we’d woken Isabelle.
“Fuck. Put your clothes on. You have to go.”
He sat there, seemingly stunned.
“Now.” I grabbed his underwear from the floor. His black jeans, his T-shirt. His boots. “Now.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
I stopped for a second, peering into his eyes, haunted. “This was never going to be forever, Hayes … You need to move on.”
He reached for my arms. “I’m not going to stop loving you, Solène. I’m not ever going to stop loving you.”
“It’s a choice. You make a choice.”
“You don’t honestly believe that.”
“Put your clothes on. You have to go.”
I watched him dress. Crying.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”
I could not speak. My chest, crushed. My heart, hemorrhaging. And I thought perhaps this is what it felt like to drown.
I led him back down the hall. Past Isabelle’s room, past the photos of me pregnant, of me doing ballet, of me at seventeen figuring out who I was supposed to be. And out into the night air.
“You love me,” he said. “You loved me. You said you loved me. Why are you doing this?”
And I realized, then, that there was only one way to truly let him go. “Maybe it wasn’t you,” I said. “Maybe it was the idea of you.”
He stared at me for a minute, silent, his eyes red, wide. And when he finally spoke, he seemed to me broken. “You’re lying,” he said. “You’re lying to me. You’re trying to push me away. Again. And I don’t know if you’re just trying to convince me. Or you’re trying to convince yourself. But either way, I know you’re lying.”
“You have to go, Hayes.”
The tears were falling, rushing, easy. “Tell me. Tell me you’re lying, Solène.”
“You have to go.”
“Tell me you’re lying.”
“Please. Go.”
“Fuck. I love you. Don’t do this to us.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I stepped back in the house and shut the door.
* * *
He went back to the band. And from what I could tell, nothing came out in the press about him having ever left. He’d missed a show in Sweden due to the “flu,” according to their management. But I knew better.
* * *
He called me. In the beginning, every day. Multiple times. Although I would not answer. And he texted. At first often, and then every few days or so. It went on for months. These little messages that would paralyze me. And to which I resisted responding. Because I had made a choice.
I miss you.
I’m thinking of you.
I still love you.
And then one day, they stopped.
Long, long before I had stopped loving him.
about the author
ROBINNE LEE is an actor, writer, and producer. A graduate of Yale University and Columbia Law School, Robinne has appeared in both television and film, including opposite Will Smith in both Hitch and Seven Pounds and as Ros Bailey in Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed. Robinne lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two children. Visit her online at www.robinnelee.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
las vegas
bel-air
new york
côte d’azur
west hollywood
the hamptons
los angeles
paris
malibu
miami
new york, ii
anguilla
aspen
beverly hills
south america
japan
home
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE IDEA OF YOU. Copyright © 2017 by Robinne Lee.
All rights reserved. For information,
address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Danielle Christopher
Cover photograph of woman © Image Brief / Maja Henjak
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Lee, Robinne, author.
Title: The idea of you / Robinne Lee.
Description: First edition. | New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017004299 | ISBN 9781250125903 (softcover) | ISBN 9781250125910 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | Divorced women—Fiction. | Rock groups—Fiction. | Singers—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Contemporary women. | FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3612.E348527 I34 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017004299
e-ISBN 9781250125910
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First Edition: June 2017
