Page 118 of Not in My Book

“I neverlied,” he insisted.

“Yes, you did,” I snapped. “Youlookedme in the eye and told me you weren’t applying to the litmag.”

“I said I had thought about it. Which was … technically true. I’d thought about it and applied. But that was before everything happened between us—”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” I pushed back, growing frustrated. “You should’ve justtoldme.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “And you would’ve been happy for me, like you are now? You can’t be mad I beat you.”

My head reared back. “I’m not mad youbeatme, Aiden. I’m mad you didn’t tell me. I went to you for help and advice, and I fuckingtoldyou to apply, and you didn’t have the courage to tell me you were already planning to. You don’t evenneedthis. Everyone will bow down to you the minute you finish a manuscript,” I said, bitingly.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t get in. What, you wanted me to hand it to you? Give you the easy way out? You’re already doing that by writing romance.”

I stepped back like he had pushed me. The sounds of New York drowned out, and all I could hear were Aiden’s words echoing in my head.

“Fuck you, Aiden. I’m not taking theeasyway out with romance. How could you say that to me?”

“You’re a good writer, Rosie. A great one. You know what sort of stories get into that litmag—you shouldn’t have submitted a romantic piece.”

“Idatoldme to submit a romantic piece.”

“Well that was bad fucking advice,” he snapped.

IknewAiden had been lying to me this whole time. I was dizzy with pain as I realized this whole time Aiden hadn’t been taking me seriously. If he’d lied about the mentorship and respecting romance, what else had he been lying about?

“You meant everything you said in August?” I asked. “That romance was frivolous and not worth anyone’s time?”

He shook his head. “Rosie, don’t twist my words.”

“I know I’m a good writer,” I said emphatically. “I don’t need anyone else to tell me I am. I know it the way the sky is blue and the way romances will always have an HEA. It’s just a fucking fact, Aiden. Writing romance doesn’t nullify my skill, and for you to imply that makes you a dickhead.” I scoffed. “I really thought you had changed, that maybe you weren’t like Simon and everyone else. But you’re just sitting there on your high fucking horse judging me.”

“So I don’t like romance!” Aiden exploded. “You don’t like literary fiction. Whatever. I’m not throwing some fit over it.” He was getting angry now, his hands moving all over the place.

“I should’ve known better.” I could feel the tears climbing their way up my throat. I willed them away, not wanting to cry in front of Aiden as they welled in the corner of my eyes. I wasstupidfor falling for this front he had created. Of course he’d do whatever it took to get his sad ending. “I should’ve known you could never really love me like I hoped.”

“Ishould’ve known better,” he corrected, his tone lashing. “I was stupid enough to believe you could actually wantme.” His jaw tightened. “But you don’t want me.You want some guy you can mold into the words you’ve read in a book. Someone you could place on a damn pedestal that’s destined to fall.”

“So maybe I did place you on one,” I snapped, wiping the stray tears with the back of my hand. “I’d rather live in a world where I see the potential for someone’s best than their worst. But you know what, maybe I was wrong for that. How I felt for you included the litfic, sad endings, and all. And I never judged you for it. But this entire time you’ve been lying to me.” For a split second, I saw the Aiden I’d thought existed peek through the shadows. But, just as quickly, his eyes hardened again. “Finish the book,” I said, hiccupping between the words. “Kill Maxine. Give her some horrible, painful death. I’m done, Aiden.”

Before he could respond, I turned on my heel, walking home so fast the soles of my feet ached. It was easy to ignore, though, with the way the pain in my heart overpowered everything.

I ignored the glass of my own shattered heart as I cut myself trying to put hers back together.

—Excerpt fromUntitledby Aiden Huntington and Rosie Maxwell

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

We only had one class left together. Ida wanted us to have a final goodbye session before summer began. It’d only been a few days, and the wound felt as fresh as if it had happened just minutes ago. I wasn’t ready to see him.

Aiden still felt the need to update me on the book. He’d only spoken to me through email, but I never replied to them. And I never read the final chapters.

Every time his email appeared in my inbox, my heart jumped to my throat. I prayed for the grand gesture of romance novels, a love letter begging forgiveness and telling me he was wrong, that he regretted that night. That he’d been miserable every second we’d been apart, and he’d do anything to have me back.

But no. His emails were always one liners: “Chapter’s done” or “Are you writing the next one or should I?” Up until his last one: “Final manuscript attached.”

I hadn’t seen Ida since it had all gone down either. I was just as hurt by her as Aiden. In New York, I had only really built a few foundations. Aiden and Ida were undoubtedly two of the most important ones. She knew, probably even more than Aiden, how much this fellowship meant to me, what it could do for me. And she’d never even told me Aiden was submitting, too.

Our last class would probably take less than an hour, but I was dreading it. I planned to get in and out as quickly as possible. Because three hours after class ended, I’d be on a flight to Tennessee.

---