Tutoring The Billionaire Triplets (A Reverse-Age Gap Romance)

MICHELLE The woman walking down the aisle toward my ex-husband used to be the reason I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I came to their wedding to prove I was healed now, but I lasted exactly eleven minutes. In my defense, I had spent the last eighteen months convincing myself that I was. My therapist agreed but my best friend didn't. Tasha had called me three times before I left my apartment this morning, and every call had ended with the same question. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Michelle?’ I had laughed every time. ‘It's a wedding, not a battlefield.’ I was wrong. The invitation had arrived three weeks ago, tucked inside a thick cream envelope with my name written across it in handwriting I recognized immediately. There were only a handful of people in my life who still sent invitations that looked like they belonged in a luxury stationery catalogue, and only one person whose name could make my stomach twist before I had even opened the envelope. Daniel. I had stared at the gold lettering for so long that the delivery man had asked if everything was okay. I had told him yes which is expected since I always seemed to say that a lot these days. Everything is okay. I'm fine. I'm doing better. And, for the most part, I was. The invitation had been for his wedding with Cassandra. The same Cassandra whose name had once made my chest ache so badly that I couldn't say it without feeling as though I had swallowed something sharp. She was the reason my five-year marriage had ended, but over the past eighteen months, I had worked very hard to stop making her the center of my pain. She hadn't made the vows to me. She hadn't promised me forever. She hadn't come home to me every night and kissed me goodnight before turning off the lights. Daniel had. He was the one who had stood in front of our families and promised to love me. He was the one who had looked me in the eyes and told me I was the only woman he wanted. And he was the one who had made me feel like I had somehow failed at being a wife when I discovered that he'd been sleeping with someone else. For a long time, I had hated myself more than I hated him. I had looked at pictures of Cassandra until I could practically memorize the shape of her face. I compared our bodies, our hair, our clothes, even the way we smiled in photographs, as though there was some obvious difference between us that could explain why he had chosen her. She was younger. That had been the part I couldn't escape. She was twenty-two when I found out. I was thirty. And eight years had suddenly felt like a canyon. But I wasn't that woman anymore. At least, that was what I had told myself when I accepted the invitation. I didn't have to go, but I wanted to. Or maybe I needed to. I needed to know that I could sit in the same room as the man who had broken me and feel nothing. I needed to know that I could look at the woman he had chosen after me and not wonder what she had that I didn't. Most of all, I needed to know that the past had finally become the past. So this morning, I had stood in front of my bedroom mirror and chosen a dress. A navy-blue one that hugged my waist without being too tight, with a modest neckline and a pair of heels. I had curled my hair, put on a little more makeup than usual, and spent far too much time deciding which earrings looked better. When I finally looked at myself, I liked what I saw. I looked good. Now, I'm sitting in the pew with my hands folded loosely in my lap, watching Cassandra walk toward the aisle. Her father is beside her, one hand wrapped around hers as he guides her down the aisle, and there is something painfully familiar about the way she keeps her eyes on the man waiting at the other end. Daniel. ‘My’ Daniel. Except he hasn't been mine for a very long time. He's standing beneath an arch covered in white flowers, wearing a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. His shoulders are straight, but his face has softened in a way I haven't seen in years. I remember being twenty-five and walking toward Daniel like this with my father's arm tucked beneath mine, and I'd been so nervous that I'd nearly forgotten how to breathe. Daniel had smiled at me the entire time. I'd spent the whole walk thinking about the life waiting for me at the end of that aisle. Seven years later, I’m standing, watching him look at another woman the way he'd once looked at me. Cassandra takes another step and Daniel smiles wider, and something inside my chest tightens. I swallow and try to breathe through it. It's okay. It's just a memory. People get divorced. People fall out of love. People move on. I've done it too. I remind myself of that as I watch her reach the altar, but the words don't settle inside me the way they usually do. Because I can still see myself walking toward Daniel. I can still remember the way I felt. My throat burns and I blink quickly but my vision blurs nonetheless. I lower my head and press my fingertips against my temple, willing the feeling to pass. It doesn't. Instead, my chest grows tighter and the room suddenly feels too warm, and the perfume from the flowers seems stronger than it did a few minutes ago. I take a slow breath. Still, my body refuses to cooperate. Heaven knows I don't want to cry here. I don't want anyone looking at me. So I stand as quietly as I can, pick up my purse and slip out of the pew. The doors close behind me, and the moment I'm outside, I breathe like I've been underwater. I walk faster and faster until I reach the parking lot, my heels making uneven sounds against the pavement as I hurry toward my car, and I don't care when one catches slightly and nearly sends me stumbling. I get the door open, throw my purse onto the passenger seat and climb inside. The moment I shut the door, they start coming. They come before I can stop them, sliding down my cheeks as I sit there with both hands gripping the steering wheel. I stare through the windshield at nothing. For eighteen months, I had convinced myself that I was past this. I'd gone to therapy, rebuilt my routines, started working again, learned how to sleep alone, learned how to eat without feeling sick, learned how to wake up in the morning without immediately remembering that the man sleeping beside me had chosen someone else. I don't even love him anymore. I had thought that meant I was healed. I'd wanted to prove it to myself by coming here. But maybe healing isn't a straight line. Maybe sometimes you can swim for eighteen months and still find yourself gasping when another wave comes. I wipe my cheeks with the heel of my palm and let out a shaky breath. "Get yourself together, Michelle." My voice sounds small inside the car. Then my phone starts ringing. I groan and reach into my purse without looking at the screen. "Tasha, please don't start," I say as soon as I answer. "I'm fine. I'm already leaving, and you don't have to keep acting like my mother every time something happens. I told you I could handle this, and—" A brief silence follows. Then a deep, professional voice comes through the speaker. "Michelle Blair?" I stop. The voice isn't Tasha's. I slowly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen to see an unsaved number. My brows pull together as I put the phone back to my ear. "Yes?" "Am I speaking with Michelle Blair?" "Yes. Who is this?" "My apologies for calling without notice. My name is Richard Calloway. I got your contact information from Dr. Archibong." I sit up a little straighter. "Dr. Archibong?" "Yes." For a moment, I genuinely don't understand. Dr. Archibong had been one of my lecturers at Stanford, and I hadn't spoken to him in months. "How did you get my number from him?" "He recommended you." "For what?" There is a pause, and I hear the faint sound of papers moving on the other end. "I understand you're a private tutor." I lean back against my seat, releasing a soft breath. "I am." "My family is looking for someone with your qualifications. We have three students who need intensive tutoring before their final examinations." Three students. I glance at the wedding venue through the windshield. "How intensive?" "Very." My lips form into a thin line. "Actually, I'm not sure I'm taking new students right now." There's small silence from the other side before his voice comes again. "I understand." Then he adds. “It's also important to note that the position pays four thousand dollars per week." My fingers stop moving as I stare straight ahead. "Sorry?" "Four thousand dollars per week, Ms Blair." I sit there in silence, trying to process the number. Four thousand dollars every week. "How long is the position?" "That depends on their academic performance, but we anticipate three months. Possibly longer." I look down at my dress. At the expensive heels I'd worn to prove something to myself. At the invitation still sitting inside my purse. Then I look through the windshield again. The wedding venue is still there. Daniel is still inside. Cassandra is still walking toward whatever future they have decided to build together. And for the first time since I arrived, something else manages to occupy my mind. Four thousand dollars a week. "What exactly would I be tutoring them in?" I ask. Richard sounds pleased that I'm still listening. "That is something we'd prefer to discuss during the interview." "When is the interview?" "Tomorrow, if you're available." I pause, even though I already know what my answer is going to be. “Based on my schedule, I should be available.”