Page 57 of The Fake Affair

Later, after more food than I thought possible and adorable childhood stories that make Bella blush, we’re back in my car. The sun’s setting over Cedar Grove, painting everything gold.

“That went better than expected,” Bella says.

“Your mother threatened to murder me.”

“Exactly. She likes you.”

I laugh, then grow serious. “I’ve been thinking about therapy. Since Audrey mentioned it.”

She turns to face me. “Yeah?”

“I need help. To deal with... everything.” The words come easier than I expected. “Would you... would you come with me? Sometimes, at least?”

“Of course.” She takes my hand. “But Logan? I meant what I wrote in my resignation letter.”

“I know.” Audrey has already filled me in about her wanting to resign, and I get why. She needs to build something of her own, away from my shadow. “You’re too talented to be an assistant, anyway.”

“And I’m moving back to my apartment.”

This one’s harder to accept. “You don’t have to?—”

“I do. We need to do this right. We need to build something real, not born from convenience or pretense.”

She’s right. Of course, she’s right.

“Besides,” she adds with a small smile, “you’ll have to work harder to see me now. Actually, earn it.”

“I’ll earn it every day.”

The drive back to Manhattan is quiet. At her apartment, I help her unpack the basics—enough for tonight. We’ll get the rest tomorrow.

“Stay,” she says when I turn to leave. “Just to sleep, of course. I’m not ready for you to go yet.”

In her bed, with her head on my chest, she asks, “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” I admit. “But not of the same things anymore.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Not being enough. Not healing fast enough. Messing this up again.”

She props herself up to look at me. “That’s normal, you know. Being scared of that stuff.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And Logan?” Her hand finds mine in the dark. “I’m scared too. Of being a mom. Of starting my own business. Of letting myself trust that what we have is real.”

“It’s real.” I pull her closer. “Realer than anything I’ve ever known.”

“Good.” She settles back against me. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Even when you’re being an impossible CEO with control issues.”

“Even when you’re being a stubborn perfectionist who stress-bakes at midnight?”

“Especially then.”

* * *

Three weeksafter Bella moved back to her apartment, I’m still adjusting to the silence—to coming home to an empty penthouse. We’re doing this right—dating properly, learning each other without pretense.

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