“I don’t want to be, either,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze.
“Exactly. I think you should forget about the column and focus on your romance novel. I read it and I think it’s great.”
“You read all of it?”
“I did, and I think you have something good there. I love Matthew and Annie and their story.”
“Oh.” I smile, buoyed by his encouragement. “So you really think I should turn down the column?”
He gives a slow nod and confusion swirls through me. How can he be so supportive of my novel but not the rest of it?
“Michael… you said you’d support whatever I decide to do. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah, I do. But I think you’re wanting to write this column for the wrong reasons. I mean, you’re not interested in writing it, are you?”
“Well—”
“It’s more about proving yourself to your parents.”
I pull my hand away. “What?”
“Am I wrong?”
I chew my lip, staying silent. I don’t want to think about it like that, but maybe he’s got a point.
“Alex, it’s okay. But”—he shrugs—“it’s a little immature to let that influence your decisions. You just have to get over it.”
His words hit me like a slap and I shrink away, feeling a cold, prickly sensation wash over me. I think back to an hour ago when I was anxious to come up here and talk this through with him, certain he’d understand why I’m feeling so torn. Instead, he’s just making me feel like shit and expecting me to give everything up without a second thought.
And now I wonder if turning this job down could be a big mistake. This is the best opportunity for my career that I’ve ever had—which is why I came all the way over here in the first place. Maybe Mum was right: I am giving up on my writing. Do I really want to throw it away because I’m hoping for my happily ever after? I might have had an amazing week away with Michael, but if he can’t understand why this is important to me then maybe he doesn’t know me so well after all.
He studies my face. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at him, incredulous. Right. Well. If he doesn’t get why I’m upset right now then he really doesn’t know me.
“I don’t know what you thought was going to happen,” he says, looking perplexed. “If we want to be together then you can’t write the column. You get that, right?”
“Of course I get that!” I blow out a frustrated breath. “It’s not even about the job, Michael. It’s about the fact that you can’t understand why this is difficult for me. I thought out of everyone, you understood what my writing means to me, and how complicated things are with my parents. I thought you’d support and encourage me.”
“I do understand—”
“You don’t, because you’re telling me to get over all this stuff with my parents and abandon my career, just like that. In fact, you were telling me on the drive home to give up on this. So clearly, you don’t understand me—”
“Alex, you’re being ridiculous. I do—”
“Stop!” I raise my hand, anger boiling hot in my blood. How dare he call me ridiculous for defending myself. Fuck—he sounds exactly like my mother.
I climb out of bed, pulling my clothes on with trembling hands. I’ve had enough of the people I care about not supporting me. I might not be able to control who my parents are, but I sure as hell can control who I give my heart to. And it’s not going to be someone who can’t understand what matters to me.
“You know what?” I say, zipping up my dress. “You might be this hot-shot writer with loads of books published, but I’m not sure you should be telling me what to write. What about your historical novel? How can you sit there and tell me what I should or shouldn’t write when you won’t even take your own advice?” I glare at him, waiting for his retort. But he just stares at me.
I turn to go, thinking I’m done, when more words rush up my throat. “And as for Mel? I can’t believe you’re okay with her speaking to me like that. I understand you have to look out for Henry, but that’s no excuse for letting her push me—or more importantly, you—around.”
“Fuck, Alex,” he growls, sitting up in bed. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a hard time about Melanie right now. You have no idea what I’ve been through with her.”
“But have you thought about the example you’re setting for Henry? He sees you being manipulated by her. He sees her walking all over you.”
Michael’s jaw tightens. “Oh, so now you think I’m a bad father too? I’m sorry I’m not some kind of perfect Prince Charming, Alex, but I do have flaws.”
I suck in a shocked breath. “What? Is that what you think I’m looking for? Prince Charming?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You’ve told me you think I’m perfect. And let’s face it, Matthew is pretty perfect. It’s hard to live up to that.”
I gape at him in disbelief. Matthew is a fictional character; I don’t expect Michael to be faultless. God. It’s one thing to hear my mother say that I’m searching for some unrealistic ideal of romance—I expect it from her. But to hear this from him?
“Melanie is always giving me shit about how I’m a crap father,” Michael mutters. “Always pointing out my flaws. And now you’re—”
“You’re comparing me to her? Are you fucking kidding me?”
A muscle ticks in his neck and his eyes are cold as they move over my face, but he doesn’t deny it.
“Wow.” I swallow hard, realizing just how wrong I was about him. Because if he truly thinks I’m no better than his cruel ex-wife, then he really, really doesn’t know me at all.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. Of course there’s no such thing as a happy ending. Why on earth
