Two Years to Forever

CHAPTER THREE

"No," I said, for the third time, like the word might land differently if I kept trying variations of it.

We were on the terrace, cold air cutting through my dress, the noise of the gala muffled behind glass doors, and John Reed was proposing marriage like he was pitching a merger. Which, in every way that mattered to him, he was.

"Two years," he said again, patient in a way that used to charm me and now made me want to throw my drink at his very symmetrical face. "Clear terms: " You get financial security and whatever you need to rebuild everything you lost. I keep what my father built out of my uncle's hands. Nobody has to feel anything real about any of it."

"We hate each other, John. We cannot stand each other."

"Do we? Hatred requires a level of ongoing effort neither of us has clearly put in."

"I put in plenty of effort not thinking about you."

I hadn't meant to say that. It hung there in the cold air between us, more honest than I'd planned on being tonight, or possibly ever again in this lifetime.

Something shifted across his face, quick and unguarded. He didn't press it, which surprised me more than the proposal itself had. The John I remembered would have pressed it immediately, would have used it, would have smiled that particular smile that meant he knew he'd landed something.

"Two million pounds," he said plainly, the way other men said lovely weather. "Paid in full the day the contract's signed. Your name stays separate from mine and from Reed Holdings on every document that matters. When it's over, you keep every penny."

I didn't answer right away. Two million pounds is not a number you respond to quickly, not after a week of arithmetic with eleven pounds. I get to sort out my bills, keep my apartment, pay off my debt and even start a new business. That's a lot of money!! I was broke, but I still had some pride left. I am not going to grovel on my knees to my ex for money.

"How do you even know what I need?" I said finally. "We haven't spoken in eight years."

"I had someone look into your situation after I saw you. You know my guys work fast," he said with an annoying smile on his face. Something underneath his voice wasn't level at all. "The lease. The supplier. The client who didn't pay. It took my guy ten minutes."

"You had me investigated?" I said with a surprised look on my face.

"I had someone confirm what I already suspected the moment I saw your face in that room. I don't enjoy this. I don't enjoy needing anything from anyone, least of all you."

"Good, because I don't enjoy standing here listening to you list off everything wrong with my life like a business case." I was so upset. Who did he think he was?!

"Then don't listen to the list. Listen to the number." He stepped closer, close enough that the cold stopped feeling like the only thing keeping us apart. "Two years, Isabel. Two years of hating me from a very comfortable distance, and then you never have to see me again for the rest of your life."

He scoffed. "You also leave very wealthy."

"I already don't have to see you again. That's how estrangement works."

"Then prove it. Say no and walk back inside." He didn't move, close enough that I could smell the same cologne from eight years ago underneath something new, and I hated, with real and specific fury, that some traitorous part of me didn't want to walk away at all.

He was right, infuriatingly, unbearably right, and I hated that some old instinct in me still trusted his read on people, on situations, on me specifically, more than I currently trusted my own judgment tonight, and I hated even more that standing this close to him again felt like something my body remembered better than my pride did.

"I'll think about it," I said, which we both understood meant no, dressed up nicer.

I left without finding Lisa to say a proper goodbye, slipping out a side entrance because I couldn't face the walk past him again. I got home to a second notice taped to my door, this one from the bank, red letters that didn't care about my evening at all, and stood in the hallway until my legs finally agreed to hold me up on their own.

My phone buzzed against my palm. Whenever you're ready to say yes instead of I'll think about it, you know exactly where to find me.

I sat on the floor of my hallway with the notice still in my hand and did the math I'd been avoiding for a week. Rent I couldn't make. A business I couldn't rebuild without capital I no longer had access to. A family I'd cut off out of a pride that felt, tonight, less like strength and more like a debt coming due with interest. I couldn't even get groceries. I planned to move in with Lisa but that will be too inconvenient. How was i going to get another job fast? So many questions on my mind.

I didn't sleep. By the time the sun came up, the decision had stopped feeling like a question and started feeling like a matter of when.