The Sherlock Holmes hat is still on the table from last night.Nick put that hat on my head and kissed me on the nose.The top knot has come undone.I thought we were that knot—that we could make it.That we made sense, looping in and out, complementing each other, coming together to make a whole.But look at how easily we came apart.One pull at a loose end.The two flaps are drooping.I should wear it like that, with the flaps covering my ears so I can’t hear about any new woman he dates.So I can’t hear what they say about me—and especially when they say,“I told you it wasn’t serious.”
I really believed it was serious.I wipe away another tear.Sherlock sniffs my face and curls up next to me.I bury my face in his fur.
A discordant note pierces through the wall.
I need to write.That’s the way I’ll get over Nick.That’s the way I process my emotions.I’ll write a tell-all, but a truthful one.One that tells how I feel, how much I love him, how he cared for me, how it felt to be attacked by trolls, criticizing everything about me, even my bag, and how important it is to be kind.
The Intelligencermay not publish it, but I’m not going down without a fight.Why should they make me choose between the person I love and the career I love?Why are they giving in to faceless demands, when this is my private life?If I want to fake date someone, I should be allowed to fake date someone.I’ve been an exemplary employee.No, I’m a rock star employee.I reported on a scheme that was funneling taxpayer money into a corrupt official’s pockets and leaving families without working repairs.
And maybe I can get Nick back.I don’t want to give up on our relationship yet.
I explain how I first found Nick annoying, if very attractive, but I appreciated how hard he worked.How he was always playing music and thinking of lyrics.How he would play at all hours of the night.But also how sweet he was.How he volunteered for my friend’s community park festival.How he took care of me when I twisted my ankle.How I agreed to date him because I liked him and thought this might be my only chance—oh yes, fans, I can see why you didn’t understand what Nick saw in me, because I had my own doubts—that even fake dating Nick was better than not dating him at all.But it felt real when we were together—so real that I’d forget and have to remind myself that it was fake.Until we both admitted that it was real and that we liked each other.And then how happy we made each other.How Nick was a great partner in crime as I was investigating the big story.How many men would be okay with someone who wants to spend her time following around suspects while dressed as an older couple?Or who insists on meeting a suspect in a blind corner?I told Nick he couldn’t punch the perp.He could be my backup only if he promised not to hurt his hand or himself because of his upcoming tour.But when we dressed up as an older couple, I thought that Nick was the man I was going to grow old with.I end with the final paragraph:
We both worked so hard on our careers.With ultimatums on all sides, I didn’t want to stand in the way of his success, and he didn’t want to stand in the way of mine.But Nick made me believe that a rock star could love me.So, for all those “girls next door” and women who don’t think a rock star will love them, I hope you find your very own rock star—the type of guy who supports your career and puts it before his own happiness.I know what real love is now.I will always love Nick.
I wipe yet another tear away and save my document.I email it to myself as a backup and then close down my computer.I’ll read it over in the morning and decide whether to send it to Felicity.
No sound comes from the apartment next door.There’s an emptiness in the air and in me.It’s as if he’s already gone.
The next morning, the office feels subdued, like the night after a late party, and I feel drained.Yesterday, the excitement about my front-page article kept me going, but now the cold hard truth that I’ve lost Nick and possibly my job is staring at me in the silent looks I get from my colleagues.Except for Nemesis.
“I have to say that I was following you guys because I couldn’t believe you were dating, but I really did think you were dating,” Sarah says.“Especially that Strangelove bar.Why did you guys go there for drinks?I took one look inside and decided I’d wait outside for you.”
“I was meeting the inspector there,” I say.
Sarah’s face falls.“If only I’d known.I could’ve followed him instead of you guys.”
Sharing my love letter to Nick feels like the wrong move in the fluorescent lighting of the halls.I don’t want to watch my memories shredded or mocked.
Nick was also interviewed on a morning show, and he looked okay.When he said we’d broken up, I’d cried again, disappearing into the office bathroom.My eyes are red and puffy.
An email with the title “Probation” appears in my inbox.I broke a story about City Hall corruption, and I’m on probation because I signed a dating contract?
Apparently so.
My whole body folds.I have no energy to fight now that I’ve lost Nick.I want to go home and curl up in my bed and cry.
Chapter thirty-five
Nick
Thisballroomhassomany mirrors that it reminds me of one of those fun houses, where the mirrors present various distorted images back to you.As I glance at my reflection, I don’t look like myself.I look haggard and thin.I miss Maddie.The late nights and the demanding choreography are also taking their toll, especially because I have no appetite.
They want a bad boy.I’m giving them that.But not a sexy bad boy.
I slump in the armchair that looks like it came off theBridgertonset and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt as directed by the photographer.His staff is busy setting up their equipment and figuring out the right angle for the lighting.Lucy Colgan arrives next, wearing a red dress that looks like she was poured into it and high heels.She walks in like she owns the room, air-kissing with the photographer.
She stops short when she sees me.
“What are you wearing?”Colgan asks.
“You don’t like my striped pajamas?”
“You look like a felon.This is supposed to be a date,” Lucy says.
I pull out my phone and read the text.“It says ‘Photo opportunity with Lucy Colgan.’Nowhere does it say that this is a date.I’m not dating anyone.”
“You knew this was supposed to be romantic.”She stomps her foot.
