Page 15 of Austen Persuaded

Being a copyeditor was OK. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it. I didn’t even like it much. It really wasn’tme. I was good at it, I supposed.

“I wonder if Viv will quit contracting for Bolder too,” I wondered aloud. “I didn’t get the sense she was flattered by Brandon’s attention. She seemed pretty disgusted actually. But then there’s the thing with Gregory, so I dunno. Well, that’s her issue, not mine.”

“Exactly, boundaries,” Rafael said, holding up both hands briefly. “I always wondered if she’s the reason you stayed there so long. I get that you needed some work out of college, and I thoughtit was awesome for her to hook you up with that gig, but I never expected you to keep doing it for more than a few months. I mean … didyou?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know what I expected, really. I just … knew I needed to finish my degree and get a job and—and not let anything get in the way.”

“Or anyone.”

“Or anyone,” I whispered, trying unsuccessfully to think of the half-smile on the face of that unfairly handsome man holding up the plane tickets. I drew in a deep breath. I hadn’t told anyone this before. “You have to understand. I didn’t want to be like my mother and just … just blindly follow men around the world. I needed to do something for me, get an education, a career, a life, for myself. That’s all that mattered.”

Rafael nodded sympathetically, as though none of this was a revelation. Either he knew me so well he’d guessed at this or I’d confessed these thoughts before while intoxicated—both highly likely. “So instead of doing what your mother wanted or what some man wanted, you did what … Viviana wanted.”

I sighed. “Yes and no. I needed guidance, I really did. She gave me a path, and maybe it wasn’t the best one, but it was better than the alternatives at the time. She was trying to help. I just … I don’t know why I stayed on the path this long. Four years, I think?”

As my mentor when we both attended the University of Minnesota, Viviana had made me realize that I was actually pretty good at editing and writing, which is what led me to the English major and then to the freelance editing gig for both of us at Bolder.

And away from a life of unknowns with Kylan.

Viviana talked me out of making a huge mistake, throwing my life away to follow him across the country on a pipe dream.

Rafael looked like he had a burning question he was holding back. Then, he suddenly turned to the clock and gasped. “Annie, you’re going to make me late! I need to dress for class.”

“Sorry,” I said, rising to finish cleaning up the kitchen. “Good talkthough.”

“We can keep talking,” he said as he darted into his bedroom. Then he swung his head back out. “Hey, want to come along? The Saturday ballet class is my favorite, actually.”

“Oh, I’m so out of practice—”

“You haven’t visited the school lately,” he said, with pouty eyes and lips. “Anyway, it’s a beginning class, so it’s not like you’ll need to demonstrate a fouetté. Though, knowing you, you probably could.”

One of the few things I didn’t resent my mother for was forcing me to take ballet as a child. It was grueling at times, and sometimes I hated it, but I grew to mostly love it, and devotion to the art was one of the things that had gotten me through some of the harder years of adolescence. Of course, by that point, my mother wasn’t very supportive of the pursuit, as she realized it was claiming my attention and thus suiting her daughter’s needs rather than serving her own goals.Thatwas never something Jacqueline could handle very well. Fortunately, Rafael’s parents had helped support my love of dance when my mother would not. For a while, they even helped me pay for lessons and drove me to class when my mother refused—but only until Jacqueline found out, because then she was horrified and refused to have anyone think she couldn’t afford ballet class for her own daughter. The monthly checks were never an issue again after that.

Rafael had been such a natural at dance that he’d gone on to co-found and co-manage a dance school, which he continued to teach at, even on weekends. I had occasionally joined him for a class here and there, but it had been months. Maybe even a year or more. I was beyond proud of him for his ingenuity and success at such a young age—we were only 26. What had I accomplished in that time? Besides a string of casual relationships, a party girl image, a job that paid the bills and not much more, and a couple of amazing best friends who were roommates now but would eventually get married and leave me all alone?

“I’m going to pass this time, Rafael,” I said, averting my eyes. “I am still recovering from the worst cold ever.”

After he furrowed his brows and ducked into his room, I shouted, “I promise you, next time!”

When he came out, dressed in his black and pink tank and purple tights, he walked over to me and enveloped me in a hug that nearly stole my breath. “I’ll be dragging you there next time. You relax here and get better, do you hear me? I love you, girl.” When he released me, he jogged to the door, mumbling about being late.

Once the door closed, without realizing what I was doing, I started taking steps toward the center of the room. Of their own accord, my legs arranged themselves in fourth position and then into a plié, and then I executed a perfect pirouette. Or nearly so.Might as well try a fouetté. I’ll probably land on my butt, but no one’s around to see.But again, my muscle memory proved intact, and I managed a fouetté turn, stumbling only a little. But I began to feel dizzy and … oh, right. I was supposed to be taking it easy, a little, since I was recovering from a viral illness. I sighed. It was probably time for another nap. At least the guys had been thoughtful enough to wash all my bedding, so it wasn’t quite as abhorrent to return to that bed yet again.

Settling into my room, I realized I wasn’t that sleepy, though I knew the nap would be good for me. At least, my mind wasn’t sleepy, though my body probably was. My eyes wandered over to the bookshelf in the corner of my room. I rarely made time for reading anymore. Between working, socializing, adulting, and spending time with Brandon, there wasn’t much time for reading, as I often told myself.

But the truth was, reading was somewhat bittersweet for me. I absolutely loved to read, always had. I’d discovered this wasn’t the most common trait among extroverts, yet I was a book-loving extrovert. But sometimes reading brought back painful memories that were hard to deal with.

Reading reminded me of my father. Anders Martin was often away on business or working long hours, but when I did see him, he always read to me. Reading was our thing, whether just the two of us or attending a library reading group for kids. He died of a heartattack when I was only six years old, and … my world shattered. As if it wasn’t hard enough to deal with my mother before that, I’d truly loved my father and felt his loss keenly. Shortly after his death, my mother changed both our last names to York, her maiden name, because she said it was more sophisticated than Martin. I wasn’t even allowed to express my grief, as my mother wouldn’t tolerate it. She insisted on happy moods, fun, and pleasantness at all times—except of course when she was annoyed, and then I knew to stay far away from her.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the bookcase. I felt a pull I hadn’t in a long time. Blinking back a bit of moisture in my eyes, I began to slowly scan and lightly touch the shelves, looking at old favorites and some unread ones. I expected a layer of dust on my fingers as I brushed the spines, but none appeared. Rainn or Rafael must have been more thorough in cleaning my room than I’d realized. I really owed those guys. Sure, they were my best friends, and that made them kind of obligated to make sure I didn’t, like, die of a cold virus, but they went above and beyond. Dusting books? Who does that? I smiled.

I couldn’t decide what to read; it had been so long. So I did what Dad and I used to sometimes do. He’d say, “Pick four randomly off the shelf, and then choose the one that calls to you the most.” I closed my eyes and picked four off the shelf, one by one, selecting from different rows, and then carried them to the nightstand. I resisted the urge to reveal them and dive in to make a choice now; it was probably a good idea to get some rest first. For the first time in days, I felt excited about something, but my body was putting on the brakes. Fine, I’d slow down … for a bit.

I was half asleep the next day when my phone buzzed repeatedly with text notifications. I’d forgotten to put it on silent; it wasn’tsomething I’d worried about the past few days while I’d slept like the dead. If my phone was even on, I hadn’t heard it.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I reached over for the phone on the nightstand. Instead of grabbing it though, I must have knocked it over, as it clattered loudly to the floor along with the books I’d set on the stand. I grunted, face-planting into the pillow and pulling the covers back over my head. By this point, though, I was awake enough and eventually climbed out of bed and looked at my phone. My eyes widened when I saw who sent the texts.

Brandon.

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