Page 34 of The Himbo and the Lord

It’s something I’ve been reminded of during countless conversations in the last four months.

It’s been... humbling.

To say the fucking least.

Back on the yacht, when I realized ten minutes had passed and Ru hadn’t come out of the bathroom where I thought he’d gone, I walked over to the closed door and talked to it.

Like anidiot.

I apologized again, and since I was only facing a door and not the man who had turned me inside out, it was easier to be brave. To explain everything better.

It took me another fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t there.

Two more minutes spent frantically looking for him all over the yacht, and then five minutes later Chase told me he’d left.

Just over half an hour to make me experience opposing emotions with a fervor that I didn’t know I had in me.

I didn’t understand how he could just leave.

I wanted to go after him.

I wanted to fucking strangle him.

But then...

Well, then I started drinking and didn’t stop until I was physically unable.

Seth, Kit, and Tony helped over the next two days.

They distracted me mostly, but they also got some sense into me.

By the time we were boarding the plane back home I wasn’t angry or panicked anymore, I was just sad.

I’ve never been good at being sad. It’s not enjoyable to me. Not like my sister who loves watchingThe Notebookand crying so much she finishes a brand new box of tissues.

Two weeks after arriving home, I admitted that I couldn’t blame Ru for leaving the way he had and decided to get back to my life.

To real life.

So that’s what I’m doing now.

“You demanded I get out of the house only to see you like this?” I motion toward his sad state and grimace. “This really isn’t your look, Seth.”

“Shut the fuck up and sit down,” he says without any heat.

“What the hell happened to you today?”

“Just work,” he says with a sigh, and goes back to staring down at his drink.

“You’re the one who was excited about this. You know only half your trust fund is dependent on you working for the company, right?” I talk low as I lean in so he doesn’t even have to lift his head that much to look at me.

See? I’m a great friend.

“I’m not working there for my trust fund.”

He sounds so damn defeated, this just won’t do.

“Seth,” I say, still speaking low but with more urgency now. “You love your job. Just tell me what happened, please.”

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