Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Thank you, and likewise.” A beautiful woman with long dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face extended her hand as she glided into the room, trailing a flowery Jo Malone scent with her.
Margo pulled her glasses from her nose as she stood to greet our guest. “I trust your flight was smooth.”
“Yes, thanks. I got in last night from New York and I’m off to Paris in the morning,” she pronounced.
“A whirlwind trip. How lovely.” Margo opened her arms meaningfully. “Elena Fitzroy, allow me to introduce you to one of our newer account executives, Chance Robbins-Crawford.”
I shook her slender hand harder than intended, setting off a jangle of silver bracelets that echoed around the glass-enclosed room. “Pleased to meet you.”
Elena opened her mouth, then froze, her smile dipping as she fixed me with a curious once-over. I ran my tongue over my teeth as if to dislodge any phantom food bits. Nope…I’d brushed and flossed this morning. That wasn’t it. But yeah, she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.
She recovered with a graceful tilt of her chin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You too.”
Margo motioned for us to sit before launching into a summary of our campaign. I’d done my homework thoroughly enough that I could tune out my boss and study our guest. She nodded politely through Margo’s spiel, but her gaze drifted to me more than once. Thankfully, by the time Margo excused herself, leaving me to answer any formal questions Elena had prepared, the initial awkwardness had faded.
Elena and I discussed footwear, couture sportswear, and social media’s influence over fashion trends. She asked insightful questions and took copious notes even though she recorded the whole interview. She might have been doing a character sketch or just doodling her impression of me in the margins. Boring dresser, interesting eyes, talks with his hands a lot.
Whatever. Elena was thorough, and her genuine interest in fashion made conversation easy. I actually looked forward to reading her piece.
“You’ll have first dibs before the September issue is released,” she said, capping her pen and slipping it into a side pocket on her designer tote bag.
“Awesome,” I enthused, standing when she did. “If you have any other questions, let me know how I can—”
“I do,” she intercepted, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “It’s kind of a nosy one, though.”
“My favorite kind of question. Shoot.”
She quirked a lopsided half smile and inhaled. “I noticed your last name is hyphenated…Crawford-Robbins, right?”
“Other way around—Robbins-Crawford. I was going to just take my husband’s last name, but that wasn’t practical from a business perspective. And Roman thought it would be nice for both of us to have the same last name. Easier if we decide to have kids,” I babbled. “Which we definitely want…you know, eventually.”
“Roman,” she whispered.
“My husband.” Two and a half years later, it still felt like a dream. I valiantly fought the impulse to gush, but I couldn’t do anything about the rogue grin spreading over my face like wildfire.
“Roman Crawford.”
“Yes.” I cocked my head curiously. “Do you know him?”
“I do.” Her smile was tight and didn’t quite reach her eyes when she continued. “Your husband was my husband.”
“Huh?”
“I’m Roman’s ex-wife.”
Talk about a mic-drop moment.
Holy shit.
I didn’t have words. I gaped at her as my brain did its best to make sense of this curveball.
The ex.
This was the woman Roman had followed to London, bought a house with, and made plans to build a future together.
This was the woman who’d blown it all to pieces.
I’d personally sorted through the belongings they’d divvied up after their split. She’d left him with silverware he hated, plates that were too fancy for everyday use, and scratchy towels he’d been too lazy to replace. I hadn’t wanted bad memories to taint our new beginning, so I’d taken the initiative and given their old things away. I hadn’t wanted to use forks she’d picked out in the flat Roman and I shared.
Maybe that was silly…I mean, a fork is just a fork, right? But to me, those things were symbols of defeat, a product of a relationship that hadn’t been strong enough to survive a long-distance separation. Irrationally, that fucking silverware scared me.
Roman and I had weathered a long-distance relationship before I moved to London, but I’d been nervous about being an ocean apart knowing what he’d been through with his ex. But I’d assured myself we were different.
And we were. I loved Roman with everything I had.
I wondered if Elena had once felt that way too. I wondered if—
Wait. No.
I didn’t care how Elena felt about anything. Her loss was my gain. Literally.
“Well, this is…awkward,” I finally said.
She inclined her head in agreement. “A little. It doesn’t have to be, though. I’m happy for you both.”
“Uh…thanks?”
Elena squeezed my elbow and chuckled. “I am. Thank you for your time today. I’ll be sure to forward the article to you before it’s published. Take care, Chance, and…give Roman my best.”