Page 79 of Bossing My Holiday
A nod. That’s what I get, and when she starts to put my earrings in her ears, I know I can’t take any more. “I’m going to shower.”
“Sure.”
I pause. “Wait for me?”
Her head tilts. Likely because of my tone. It was pleading. Begging. Not at all asking for her to wait for me to go upstairs, but for her towaitfor me. And I can’t ask that. She’s in Boston, and I’m needed in Paris. I knew it would come to this, and I never should have started with her. I never should have entertained the three of us. I should have always directed her to Brax and never me.
It’s why I fought it. Half-heartedly, sure, but I did try.
I was selfish. Lonely. And I wanted her to such an extent, I didn’t know it was possible to want anyone. It’s still that way. It’ll always be that way.
“Of course,” she says flippantly as she hooks my diamond hearts into her ears. I bought her other things. A million things. I couldn’t stop. Any time her back was turned and something was there, I bought it for her. They felt like my last stand or things I wanted her to have beyond this time here.
I fell so fucking hard for her, and I knew better, but there was no stopping it.
“Waverly…” Her name hangs in the air between us. I told myself repeatedly on my walk that I wouldn’t try to explain myself or tell her how I felt. That it wouldn’t help anything. But looking at her, all my wisdom is gone. “I…”
“Don’t,” she bites out sharply. “I don’t want to hear it. I know why you’re doing what you’re doing. I accept that, but more than that isn’t good for me.”
I can’t reply.
My chest feels like it’s being squeezed to death or like Santa’s fat ass is sitting on it. She’s not angry, and it’s the worst thing in existence. She’s resolved. At least when I used to piss her off and she hated me, I was inciting emotion in her. I was affecting her. Her indifference is a particularly awful frozen hell of death.
I shower off a day of walking the Parisian streets on Christmas, and never have I felt lonelier. I want to kiss Waverly. I want to watch Brax’s eyes light up when she enters the room and know he’s growing hard with the thought of her. I want to tell him how to fuck her and watch as she comes on him and then on me. I want to hold her hand and take her on dates. I want to introduce her as my girlfriend and eventually, my wife. I want her babies to be ours, and I don’t want to have to ask whose they are because they’ll all be ours, and it won’t matter.
But how does that work in reality?
That’s all great behind closed doors, but in the harsh, scrutinizing light of day, it doesn’t.
By the time I get out of the shower, she’s left the bedroom, and I change in deafening silence. In solitude, glancing around my bedroom, and knowing that this is how it would be. I’ll be back here in six months and the ghosts of this week will be everywhere, haunting me. Eventually I’ll be married off to some woman after fame and money and designer everything. She’ll marry me and I’ll have to fuck her a few times a year to try to make a kid and that will be my life.
My sheets won’t smell like Waverly. My pillows won’t hold the evidence of her hair all over them. I won’t have my best friend to talk to and spend time with and watch as he falls more in love with our girl by the day.
I dress in all black. Far from festive, but I don’t care.
The door opens, and I catch Brax and Waverly on the edge of the kitchen, her in his arms, both of them smiling at each other. It’s a pleasure-pain unlike any other.
“Ready?” I ask, annoyed and dejected, with no one to blame but myself.
Two heads swivel in my direction, and their smiles instantly slip.
“Ready,” Brax announces, forcing it back onto his lips.
My steps feel like lead, even as I catch the sparkly hearts in Waverly’s ears and the one around her neck. I take her hand, savoring that I can still hold it in mine as we head for the elevator. It’s deathly quiet as we go up to my parents’ flat. The moment we reach their floor, Brax releases Waverly’s hand, but not before he leans in and kisses the corner of her red lips.
“Love you,” he whispers to her.
“Love you,” she replies, and fuck. That should be how our days start as we’re drinking coffee in my kitchen. We should kiss her and chat and laugh, and it should be easy. It shouldn’thurt this much. And the thought of not having her, not having them, shouldn’t break me apart.
But it does.
I found what I want in my life. It’s all right here in front of me.
We step off the elevator into my parents’ flat, the sound of music and the chatter of people filtering into the foyer. Suddenly I can’t breathe. But more than that, I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t walk in there and smile and tell the world I’m moving back home to Paris.
I catch Brax’s eye and pull Waverly off to the side and into an alcove. “This isn’t fake to me anymore. I love you,” I tell her, my hands on her face, my eyes glued to hers. “I’ve loved you for… god, I think since I first saw you and knew I was in so much trouble. I hated how I felt about you. It drove me crazy and I wanted to get rid of you so many times, but I couldn’t because having you there, seeing you every day, even if it was just in passing or you were handing me my ass, was better than not having you at all. For two years, Waverly, you’ve been the best part of my day.”
Waverly searches my eyes and glances over at Braxton, who is standing close but giving us this moment because that’s who he is. He loves selflessly and completely. He loves without limits, whereas that’s all I’m comprised of.
