Page 74 of The Write Track
“By then, I’d convinced myself that Preston coming from one of the most prominent families in Boston meant that he was a good catch and that, eventually, he would calm down and we would get to know one another properly. He couldn’t possibly walk around with that stick up his butt for the rest of his life, right?”
“You don’t want my opinion on that,” he replied.
“No.” I was rueful. “I lied to myself. Preston is good looking?—”
“Not as good looking as me.”
I snorted and shook my head. “Not as good looking as you,” I conceded. “I lied to myself that he would loosen up, and the longer I lied to myself, the easier it was to believe because the alternative, accepting that I’d been wrong this whole time, was too much.”
“So you dragged things out,” he guessed.
“I dragged things out,” I confirmed. “I dragged things out to the point that I was frozen. I kept coming up with these elaborate scenarios to get away, but then I would never pull the trigger. I was so relieved when I caught him cheating. I finally had my opening.”
Nathan’s face was full of frustration when I looked into his eyes. “I hate that you were afraid to leave him.”
“Not afraid, just…” This time I didn’t finish it out. I really thought about what he was saying.
“Afraid,” he reiterated in a soft voice.
“Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead. “I wasn’t lying about him not hurting me physically. He wouldn’t. I’m starting to understand that he did other things to me, more insidious things, and I still haven’t realized the scope of them.”
“I won’t let him hurt you again.” Nathan’s eyes were fierce. “It’s going to be okay. I want you to have fun and be yourself. Do not worry about that douche nozzle. We’re going to end his involvement in the author community within the month. I guarantee it.”
A smile pushed through the heavy moment. “You’re a good guy.”
“I’m not a dog?”
“Maybe just a little one.” I held my fingers out a hairsbreadth apart. “You’re just not ready to settle down. Something tells me, when you are ready, you’re going to make an amazing husband and father.”
A momentary flash of sadness was visible, then he pushed it away. “So, I was thinking,” he said, grinning. “How about we take our tablets and outlines to the far side of the lake and get some writing in after breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I could use a peaceful morning without having to worry about what Preston is up to.”
That was music to my ears. “You read my mind. I would love to get some writing in.”
“Good.” He didn’t release me. “Just a few more minutes, and we’ll get up. I’m dying to see if Preston does that omelet bar again. He’s a complete and total idiot, but man, the food is good.”
“Yeah, I guess we can give him accolades for that. Nothing else, though.” I rested my head against his chest.
He exhaled heavily and tightened his grip on me. “Definitely nothing else.”
19
NINETEEN
Bella and I fell into a rhythm. We ate meals with our friends and reserved afternoons for some sort of group outing, even if it was just resting in the shadow of a tree and talking about what a tool Preston was. Nights were spent by the bonfire, and one of my favorite things was listening to Bella tell stories about her mother and their wacky adopted Salem family. Part of the appeal was how irritated Preston was to hear the stories. Everybody else loved them. Even Daisy, who I was convinced was inviting Preston into her cabin nightly. I didn’t care enough to prove my theory, but there were signs that Preston was working out his stress with the buxom author.
As for Daisy, I understood why she was attaching herself to Preston. She looked at him and saw money. He was hosting an author event. It was obvious she believed she could elevate her author career by hitching her wagon to his teeny-tiny post. She was in for a rude awakening, though. She was just a means to an end for Preston. He wanted Bella back, if only so he could publicly humiliate her and get the people in his social circle to talk about something else. Once the retreat was over, Daisy wouldn’t even be a fond memory.
She didn’t see it. What Daisy had noticed was that Preston had a continued interest in Bella. She had marked Bella as an enemy. Rather than call Preston out on his bad behavior—why did nobody tell this guy he was a turd?—she projected all of her anxiety onto Bella. Interactions with Daisy had become uncomfortable. There was nothing I could do about that, though. The one time I’d tried to talk to Daisy, away from Preston, she’d accused me of wanting to steal her away as part of a game. I’d shut down communication then and there. Even if I wasn’t fake engaged, Daisy would never be my type. She was far too vapid, and there was an underlying meanness to her that I didn’t find attractive in the least.
Despite Daisy’s need to put on a show, bonfire nights were fun. Bella and I spent our mornings writing out by the lake—we were both making good headway on our current projects—and we spent nights wrapped around one another.
Nothing had progressed beyond that, and I was strangely content just holding her. She made little sighing noises in her sleep. She smelled like cloves, too, which she said was a combination of the soap and body spray her mother made and sent her at regular intervals.
Taffy Oakley sounded like a hoot, and I was determined to meet her however things turned out between Bella and me. And yeah, suddenly I wasn’t so certain this fake arrangement wasn’t going anywhere. The mental shift hit me out of the blue, and by our fifth day together at the retreat, I was no longer assuming we would go our separate ways. What I was confused about was what it actually meant, and whether I should broach the subject with Bella.
I did not want to rock the boat. My current favorite activity was cuddling up with Bella at night. Sometimes, if we had a few cocktails by the bonfire, we dropped off immediately without talking. Other nights, when we didn’t drink, we talked about ourfavorite horror movies and books ad nauseam. I should have been bored by it at this point, but I wasn’t. Her brain was as fascinating as her crooked smile. I loved hearing her analyses of movies and books, listening to which tropes worked and didn’t. She had a natural knack for breaking things down. I loved it.
She was the first woman in—well, ever—who had continuously made me think. Usually, if I had sex with a woman or dated her for two weeks or so, I was bored beyond belief. I opened an exit door early on so she wouldn’t get attached, knowing I never would.
