Page 62 of Rivals to Lovers
“Enjoy,” Wes said. “Sorry if you wanted room for cream.”
Wes turned away from the table and took a breath. He’d been well behaved enough. He didn’t want to cause a scene for Ulla to have to clean up, like she’d had to with the NDA after he’d punched a guy. More than anything else, Wes didn’t want to further embarrass Mo, but it certainly wasn’t for Tim’s sake that the man didn’t get a scrotum-burning dose of half-caf. Wes handed her the carafe back. As he was walking back to Ulla’s side, past the long tables covered with pictures and memorabilia from Doug’s early journalism days, he felt a hand on his back and turned.
Mo stood in the corner of the room. This was as private a time as they would get, Wes realized. A few other people stood at a table six feet or so from them, paging through old newspapers and picking up framed photographs.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Mo said.
“I wanted to, though. I have really bad impulse control.”
Seemingly despite herself, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He was so relieved to see it that he would have talked about anything with her in public. She could ask him anything and he would give her the truth. He owed her that much.
“It’s so good to see you,” Wes said.
She didn’t respond for a moment, then said, “I really don’t have anything to say to you except congrats, I think.”
“Mo—”
“No, it’s fine. Are you going to Estelle’s funeral?”
“The wake, maybe.” Wes didn’t want to talk about Estelle. He didn’t want to talk about anything except how he could get Mo back into his place to make sandwiches again. “Listen, I think it’s kismet that you’re here. My mom never invites me to these things.”
Her expression dimmed. “I don’t believe in fate. Unless your parents getting a divorce is all part of some grand plan.”
“Maybe it is,” Wes said. “My parents were going to divorce anyway. I see that. They weren’t happy, but the timing worked out so that—”
“I think relationships end for all kinds of reasons, in their own time. Ours had an expiration date. You knew that. I knew that. You knew once one of our books was chosen it was going to be over.”
It was the first time she’d acknowledged that they’d been something. Wes’s heart clenched. He should have told herearlier just how much he wanted to be with her. He had never dated someone who hadn’t asked a single thing from him before and whose interest in him seemed so genuinely based on who he was, not on what he could give her. And now, he would give her anything, make any number of promises, to find a way to make it up to her. “Nothing is official yet,” Wes said.
“Our relationship never was either.”
That stung. “I would buy a million fancy cheeses and watch ten million hours of bad television that you chose if you would come over again. I will watchLord of the Ringswith you high on edibles. I will carve you a whole-ass butter sculpture if you have dinner with me again.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and Wes followed her gaze. More people were starting to mingle, leaving plates and silverware behind. “I have to clean up and get on a plane,” she said. “And you need to go save your mother from whatever is happening over there.” A jerk of her head directed Wes’s attention to Tim pointing a finger at and animatedly talking to Ulla.
When Wes turned back, Mo was gone, and he couldn’t find her again the rest of the night.
Wes woke up the next morning with what felt like a hangover, even though he hadn’t drunk anything. His sheets rumpled around his body, and he wished they smelled like Mo. He wished they had Mo in them too. He had dreamt of her on an airplane flying away from him—farther and farther—and he was hanging on to the wheels of the jet that had never retracted.
Once he’d blinked the sleep from his eyes, he snatched the phone from the nightstand. He had a dozen missed calls. Four from Ulla, six from unidentified numbers, and two from Loris. Loris worked at theNew York Post. Wes sometimes fed him publishing gossip, and he filled Wes in when his newsroom was sniffing around something that pertained to Wes’s family. He hadn’t had a call from Loris in two blissful years—blissful not because Loris was a bad guy but usually because this meant there wasn’t drama to discuss, as Ajay took care of the social plans. Since the story of Wes punching the guy at the agency had gotten bought out, buried under an NDA, and stayed out of the papers, thanks partially to Loris’s connections, Wes hadn’t had a call.
But Loris had texted too.Sorry, Wes. I tried to warn about the story getting out. Let me know how I can help. We love you.
Wes was wide awake now. Not even seven thirty, and his brain whirred.Story?His brain first went to Estelle and the adaptations. He shouldn’t have emailed anything to Elena. He Googled his name and checked the news section. It wasn’t about the books at all. The first entry, published four hours ago: “DIVA DIVORCE? Ulla Unhooks From Hubby.”
Wes skimmed the first paragraph of the article, heart turning to ice under his rib cage. “At a gala event last night, Ulla stepped out sans ring and sans husband. Her son, Wesley Spencer, confirmed at the event that Ulla is now a single woman. Her car-collecting ex-hubby has fled the city for parts unknown. Fortune hunters: start your engines!”
Oh fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mo
Seven puppies tumbled around Mo, three of them deciding to make her legs their wrestling mat. If puppies didn’t cure her bad mood, Mo was pretty sure nothing could.
Mo, her father, and Anna were sitting in the dog barn, hiding from various family members. Or rather, Mo’s mother had corralled most of the family members together for mandated fun that the rest of them had been allowed to skip. There were a few hours before the rehearsal dinner, and Mo was happy to help Anna with dog chores rather than think about the hours ahead. Her sister was getting married. In her head, Anna was still six years old, pigtailed and scabbed kneed, chasing the chickens and naming each of them (and each of their eggs). So much had happened since Mo graduated college, and it didn’t feel like her trips home allowed her enough time to really take in all those transformations. Finally, being truly with her sister in this place Anna had built for herself, Mo understood the kind of woman Annawas: passionate, caring, and yes, still chasing around small animals and naming them.
Speaking of—unlike Maureen, Anna couldn’t exactly take a day off. She had a pregnant mother dog, as well as this litter of puppies to train and socialize before their families took them home in a few weeks. This was the definition of a true farm-raised puppy—sheep to chase, lots of people to cuddle, and individualized love. The intense nature of her sister’s business also meant that Anna and Kyle would have to take a delayed honeymoon. Their cousin, a small-animal vet, had volunteered to step in for a week over Christmas. It wasn’t easy to find someone with the skill set to take care of so many dogs at one time.
