Page 36 of No More Billionaires

“You’re still in love with Mark. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to move on—believe me—I know. I’m sorry.”

I blew out a breath. It was inevitable we’d have to do the months-later post-mortem.

“It’s not that. I mean, I was devastated. It was shocking after so many years of being together. That, and the fact it happened so close to the wedding. I was just so sure of how my life would play out, you know? And there’s a certain amount of comfort in that. But looking back on it… at the same time I was feeling hurt and betrayed by him, I also felt kind of… relieved.”

“Wow.” She took a hearty swallow of wine. “Maybe you dodged a bullet then—no—you definitely did. Anyone who would leaveyoufor another girl is clearly an idiot. Don’t worry. Your next date will be better. And eventually you’ll fall in love again.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“What do you mean?”

Of course she couldn’t relate. She’d found the perfect guy and lived in a state of perpetual bliss.

I inhaled a deep breath and let it out. “I can’t do it again. I’m tired. I know I’m only twenty-three, but I feel like I’ve lived a hundred lives already, trying to be who other people wanted me to be—my mom, different guys. Do you know every guy I ever dated thought I was his ‘soul mate’ after a few dates? What does that tell you?”

“You have wide market appeal?”

“I think it shows I wasn’t being myself. I was trying to be whatever they wanted me to be. And I was so good at it, I kind of lost who I really am. I want to be by myself for a while and figure out who that is. Maybe it’s why I’m not into the whole makeup thing right now. I need a blank slate.”

Heidi nodded, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

“I get it. And you’re absolutely right. I think you should look and dress and act however feels right to you, whether it’s mom jeans or mini-skirts, bare-faced or a three-inch layer of Dolly Parton makeup. And you know what? Yourrealsoul mate will find you attractive and love you exactly like that.”

I squeezed her hand back. “Thank you.”

“I do have one thing to ask you, though.”

I looked up at her face.

“Promise you won’t make any assumptions about who that person could be, okay? And be sure you’re not turning it around and judging people based on outward things like appearances… and wealth.”

I sniffed a laugh. “Are you pushing me toward Larson again?”

She shrugged and broke out into a guilty grin.

“Only if you want to be pushed.”

THIRTEEN

Change of Plans

The surgery shoot went well the next day.

Sky and I were in the operating room, dressed in scrubs, and positioned back near the wall so we weren’t in the way. It was fascinating to watch.

When you’re in the room and the patient is covered with a drape, a sort of scientific, detached interest takes over, making it possible to do the job without being grossed out or fretting over the patient.

Contrary to what I’d seen in movies and TV shows, the atmosphere in the OR wasn’t tense and serious.

While they were entirely professional, the doctors and nurses also chatted with each other during the procedure. There was classic rock playing softly in the background.

When I mentioned it, a nurse told me that was typical—not in emergencies of course—but for scheduled surgeries, especially the long ones.

She said the staff would all drop dead from stress if they stayed intense every minute of an hours-long procedure. This was something they did every day, and they were all used to it.

Afterward, when Benji had been wheeled to recovery, we filmed the doctor telling the Websters how well the procedure had gone, and I did a quick interview with the relieved parents, who wept and smiled through every word. I wanted to make sure Larson would have it if he needed it.

He’d look over the sound bites and new footage when we got back to Atlanta and select the parts he wanted to use for his report.

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