“But it took him a few years to get there—”
“Butyoudon’t need to spend years getting him there.Just summarize, something like: ‘His time in Russia was occupied with tying up loose ends and checking in on his men.It wasn’t long before he was on a train for Italy.’You get the idea.”
Her cheeks started burning with the effort of holding in her anger.She knew it was well out of proportion to the situation, but she couldn’t help it.
“Yes, I get the idea,” she said, her voice a simmering warning that Oliver clearly didn’t recognize.
“Then there’s his time in Italy.Frankly, it’s a little boring.He’s sitting around painting and thinking through his plans for the future.I’m yawning just talking about it, let alone reading pages and pages about it.”
Aurelia was barely processing his words; she was too focused on whether she should reach over and flick his ear with her finger or kick him in the shin.He was ripping her manuscript to shreds with no regard for the fact that she’d worked so hard on it.
“But I think the biggest issue for me is the lack of any love interest.”
The rising color instantly drained from her face.
“Love interest,” she repeated flatly.
Aurelia was in shock.The thought of a love interest honestly hadn’t occurred to her.Vronsky had never mentioned it, nor had the other characters—everyone knew how devoted he’d been to Anna.It seemed completely heartless to think of suggesting that he write himself into a new love affair when he was still in mourning.
Her silence finally seemed to register with Oliver.
“It might seem like a lot to tackle, but these are all minor changes in the grand scheme.These changes are going to give this”—he gestured to the manuscript—“muscle.”
He sounded excited and energized by his notes and the project, the complete opposite of Aurelia’s feelings of disappointment and frustration.All her hard work, all these months of writing with Vronsky, and she still had so much further to go before they’d actually be able to publish it.Maybe she wasn’t the right person to write this book.Maybe she was too close to Vronsky, toAnna Karenina, to write something that anyone other than her would want to read.Maybe it was too soon and she needed more time to process all that had happened in the past year.And Vronsky—she’d have to tell him about Oliver now.But would he want her to find another publisher after hearing Oliver’s notes?
She’d had her work critiqued and edited plenty of times before, but this felt so much more personal.
“Aurelia?You look stricken.”
He was leaning toward her, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes ran over her face and caught sight of her hands, which were clenched around the arms of her chair.
“I feel stricken,” she said with a hint of a laugh as she repeated his old-fashioned expression.
“I know editing’s a rough process, but you’ll weather it, I’m sure.”
“And if I don’t make these edits, you won’t publish it?”
“If you want to push back, you should.Though there may be a point where I don’t feel confident about moving forward without certain changes.”
Aurelia nodded.
“You should take some time to think about my notes—the ones we’ve discussed and the ones I’ve marked on the draft.What do you need, a few days?”
She nodded again.
“Today’s Monday…” he said thoughtfully.“My week’s a bit crazy with meetings and a production deadline.I might be able to do lunch on Friday, but it would be tight.Maybe dinner then?”
“Dinner,” she said vaguely, trying to keep up with the conversation while her mind was still on his edits.
Oliver seemed to take that as an answer, so he continued.“Great, we can talk through what you do and don’t want to change, then see where we are.In the meantime, I’ll have my office send over a contract.We’re a small outfit, so the advance will be small.Is that an issue for you?”
Aurelia’s mind was spinning as she tried to process making revisions, talking to Vronsky about Oliver’s notes, reviewing a contract, and having dinner with Oliver.How wonderful—they’d have the span of an entire meal to discuss what he didn’t like about her book.But, she reminded herself, as of right now, he was her only option.
“No, that’s fine.I just want to get it published.”
Oliver stood and walked himself to the door.
“I’ll give you a call with a place and time.See you Friday.”
