Page 6 of Words We Didn't Say

He wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. He wanted a commitment. Someone special. Or so he’d said.

Six months later, the roller coaster sat parked and rusty at the station. Worley and Stone owned Zach’s soul. He wasalwaysat the office.

I was the first to sing from the rooftops about how much I loved his drive and determination. He wouldn’t be one of Sydney’s top lawyers if he didn’t have that edge. But he’d captured me, convinced me to move into his apartment on a whim when my lease had been up, and now, he was never there.

I slipped away from the wall, pinned my reflection in the mirror, and examined my face with critical eyes.

I could see her. The confident woman who’d escaped a childhood better forgotten to claw her way to the top was still inside me. The courage and the same steely determination shone through, but a heavy truth weighed behind my eyes.

My impossible dream was slipping through my fingers.

Huddled under my covers late at night, I’d squeeze my eyes shut and fantasise about a future that wasn’t just me against the world. The empty shell of the bedroom warmed up, and my imaginary husband snuggled closer, laughing about how we needed to buy a bigger bed because our kids kept sneaking in and we needed more room. It was the opposite of how I grew up, and the craving had only gnawed deeper once Zach became part of my life.

But I couldn’t lose myself. I had to stay strong. Courageous. Sometimes, it was still me against the world.

My black satin gloves balled by my side, and I challenged my reflection head-on.

It was time for the pep talk.

Who are you?

“Eden Phillips,” I told the mirror.

Who made you the woman you are?

“I made my damn self.”

Who needs a man?

I scoffed. More than one hook-up had complained I haddaddy issues,but I wasn’t a card-carrying member of the ‘I Hate Men’ club. Men were easy on the eye, and I’d stumbled on plenty who didn’t need an hour-long seminar and a personalised map to find my clit. Sex was a joy and one I’d always indulged in with abandon, but outside the bedroom, most men were walking disappointments.

My head bowed.

Until Zach.

I prowled through the world like a tiger, seeking opportunities, staking my claim as the queen of the urban jungle, but with Zach, I purred like a kitten. His whispered promise to take care of me was a drug. Addictive. When I’d only ever relied on myself, words like his tingled on my skin, braided around my heart, and twisted too tight.

I hadn’t whispered the three magic words:I love you. Neither had Zach. We’d jumbled up the steps to a relationship. Maybe because we lived together, he didn’t think he needed to tell me. Maybe everything about this relationship was a mistake. How would I know? I’d never been in a relationship before.

Sighing, I turned my back on my reflection and headed for the door. I’d never find my true strength hiding in the bathroom.

“Happy Birthday!”

I fluttered through the crowd. More air kisses. More superficial conversations. More of my sincere thanks to my guests for choosing to spend their Friday night celebrating with me.

A yelp turned my head.

The crowd split. Two waiters spun, trays swooping out of the way, barely avoiding a collision. Guests on the dance floor scrambled. An enormous white box pirouetted through the chaos. It wobbled. Spun. Expensive black dress shoes with lacestiedjust sostumbled left, then right, before the awkward dance ended with a sigh and a mumbled, “That was close.”

Wait.

My eyebrows pinched together. I’d recognise the velvety rumble of that voice anywhere. “Zach?”

His head popped out from the side of the box. “Hey.” A sheepish grin followed.

I waved at the chaos. “What the heck is all this?”

“Your cake.”

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