Page 48 of The Fake Family Deal

She showed me a way of life that I’d never thought about having — and now I think I miss it. Am I having a midlife crisis? I’m barely over thirty! How can I be having a midlife crisis?

But there’s definitely some kind of crisis happening here. Every day that passes makes me more and more sure. I should never have rejected Marina like I did. I should never have pushed her to the point of being so upset with me.

I was a fool and I was unforgivably rude to her. And now I’m never going to have a chance to say sorry.

There’s a loud knock on the door that pulls me out of my thoughts with a jolt. My head snaps up to see Priscilla staring at me through the window. She’s maybe the only person I could evenconsiderdealing with right now.

“Come,” I call harshly.

She enters, unfazed by my mood. Before she can speak, I say, “What are we doing next?”

“What?” she says, blinking. I guess she wasn’t expecting me to be ready to move on.

“Our next project. What is it?”

“Don’t you want to make sure that Beautiful Baby is succeeding first? You know, get that all set before we move on?”

I sigh. “It alreadyhassucceeded, hasn’t it? That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Come on, I need something to do. What are we doing next?”

She stares at me, baffled, her perfectly plucked eyebrows drawing together to form a crease between them. “I actually came to see if you had signed that document yet, but if you want to brainstorm something new, I’m happy to sit down with you soon and?—”

“Not soon!” I snap, interrupting her. “Now. I want something to donow.”

“I can see you’re busy,” she says, which is her diplomatic way of telling me that I really need to stop being in such a bad moodbefore I deal with other people. “Have you been watching the show?”

“The show,” I scoff. “No, I haven’t been watching the damn show. I lived it, didn’t I? Do I really need towatchit too?”

Priscilla shrugs. I’m sure she can see that I’m hiding the true reason for my mood, and the true reason why I can’t bear to watch the show. Seeing Marina’s face, seeing us smile together, is like a thousand knives tearing me open.

“Okay. Well, did you sign the document?”

“What document, Priscilla? Details. You can’t just ask aboutdocuments. Don’t you know how many things people want from me?”

She takes a step forward and leans over my desk, splaying her hands over the wood. “Call her back, Ellis. Stop being an idiot.”

With that, she turns and walks away, letting the door swing firmly shut behind her.

“Whatever,” I mutter. I’m not in the mood for her to be right just now. I’m not in the mood foranything.

But I have to do something or my brain is going to explode. I decide to attempt to clear out my email inbox. With a sigh, I click on one at random. It’s some sort of digest of the app’s weekly performance. I’m pleased to see that it’s doing well.

What I’m less pleased to see is how it’s plastered with images of me and Marina being held up as some sort of power couple. There are articles, analyses, posts — all about how awesome we are together.

A lump forms in my throat. We’re not a power couple. We’re nothing at all.

I look at one of the pictures of her smiling face and it’s like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

Were we ever really so happy?

It’s agony to admit it, but I do miss her. I want her back.

I think again about our conversation in the café. It’s burned into my mind, the look of hurt on her face when she realized that I was giving her money. She wanted something romantic — and I gave her business.

I had really wanted to go for lunch, but my own cowardice to confess how I truly felt ruined everything. I should never have turned the lunch date into business. It should have just been about us. It always should have been us.

And now I’ve lost her forever.

And worst of all, I keep getting reminded of it everywhere I look. I can’t look at my social media without being forced to see pictures of us holding hands. I can barely go outside without being confronted by a commercial, and it always aches because it makes me think of her warm body against mine, and her delicate hands on my skin. Her lips pressed against my chest.

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