Page 69 of Rivals to Lovers
Her head was full of thunder, still trying to clear itself enough for her to take everything in. “It—Flor said that—”
“It’s not her choice. It was Gary’s, and he wanted to abide by Estelle’s wishes. Before she died, she wrote down that she wanted you to be the adapter.”
“Gary’s?”
“It’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell.”
Everything she had expected from this conversation was turned upside down. He had given her the best possible news she could hear, hadn’t he? It would change her life to have permission to go ahead with this book and have Yuri submit it to editors. She had wanted this since she was ten years old, but something in her still felt horrible about how she and Wes had left things. “I wanted to talk to you since I found out about the tabloids. I saw everything, and I’m sorry. I need to tell you how sorry I am for spilling the news of your parents’ divorce. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It takes two to have a conversation in public,” he said, sighing. He didn’t remove his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Ulla and my dad are fine, and the media will get bored eventually.”
Something loosened in her stomach at his confident tone, his easy acceptance of her apology, but his face was stillserious. “I need to apologize too,” he said. “About everything, probably. About not telling you about my connection with Yuri, about who I was when we met, about giving the book to that editor without your permission. I couldn’t think straight. I wanted my book to be read—both our books to be read—by someone who would appreciate them, even if only one of them could be made. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about it as it was happening. I used my power and position in a way that was so unprofessional. Again, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, the tux. I’ll be honest, I thought …” She laughed ruefully, wiping tears away from her eyes that she hadn’t known were there. “I thought this was a romantic-gesture thing.”
He reached for her hand, and she let him hold it. He rubbed her knuckles softly with the tip of a finger. “And if it was? If I even asked your roommates for permission for that exact reason?”
She glanced at him. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t come out here for business and clearing the air. Mo, I need to know that what I’m feeling for you isn’t in my head. I thought I was okay with being casual, with being friends, with being rivals with benefits or whatever we were, but Mo, I can’t do that anymore. I want to be with you. I want it all, the mess and the fights and the bad television and the grilled cheese. I want to wake up and work with you, on our books but also on us. I thought if I flew out here to tell you you’re going to be an author, it might put you in a good enough mood to consider it. To consider me.” He took a step forward and ran his finger across her cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’ve gotten inside of my skin, Maureen. Your story, yourself, your jokes, your body. Yes, the news I came to give was about the best excuse I could have to shovel myself ontoan airplane, but I didn’t want to leave things how we left them. I thought if I could tell you—”
She couldn’t wait for him to finish. “Wes, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m sitting here trying to write a toast about—” She swallowed, then steeled herself. “About love, and all I can think about is you.”
“Maureen, if I can’t kiss you right now, I’m going to die.”
She smiled, leaning in to press her mouth against his. It took less than a second for her lips to soften, then open slightly. His arm wrapped around her, and she felt calmer, more present. She noticed everything about him at that moment. If someone had asked her to guess how many hairs were in his beard, like an old-fashioned jelly-beans-in-a-jar contest, she could have aced it. She took in his smell, the pressure of his hands on her back, and when they broke apart, he looked at her face like she was a miracle. “I don’t think that’s the kind of mouth-to-mouth that saves lives, Wes.” She didn’t know how to take that kind of admiration without softening it with a joke, but maybe she would learn to take the love from him, all of it, without protecting herself from the joy.
“Your dad approves of me, by the way,” Wes said, face breaking out into a grin. “Or at least he didn’t kick me out of the party.”
“My friends and my dad in one day? We are getting cocky, aren’t we.” She could hear the distant tinkling of silverware against glass, like the chime of a thousand bells. “Okay, you need to fill me in on how embarrassed I should be right now, but we should get back to the party.”
“We?”
“Oh, you think you could get out of being my date to this thing now? Fat chance, Wesley Spencer. I plan to dance withyou all night and drag you back to the guest room to ravish you.”
Wes grinned and took her arm. “That sounds amazing, but I need to eat something first.”
“Pretty sure that they’re serving ice cream with the cake, if you can put up with that.”
“No gelato?” His grin widened.
She smacked his arm, then planted a kiss on his shoulder. “You have a lot to learn about loving the simple things, Wes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Wes
The day the Publishers Marketplace announcement appeared, Mo Denton gained four thousand Instagram followers. She was so overwhelmed that she had to hand her laptop to Wes, who promptly handled the comment responses ofThank you!with grace and a passable attempt at her social media diction.Proudby Mo Denton would come out in time for the hundredth anniversary of the original book. The winning editorial bid, it turned out, was Elena’s. Wes hadn’t been involved in the negotiation for the deal, but watching from the sidelines, he knew it was the kind of epic literary alignment of the stars that only happens every fifty years. At first, Yuri had been furious to hear that an editor had had an exclusive sneak peak of Mo’s book, but when Elena was able to put in an offer during the first week the book was on submission, it set off a bidding war. Ultimately, Elena’s offer had been the best. Not the highest—though it was close—but Elena had a vision for the book that Mo agreed with and Elena’simprint wanted two more books from Mo, includingAt the Counter.
“I just want to say that I always knew your first book was genius,” Wes said when Mo finally stopped screaming and jumping up and down to tell him the full details of the deal.
“I just want to say that I love you,” Mo said, pressing into him.
He believed in her—in everything she had made and in everything she could make.
She had been able to quit her job, something Wes always warned his clients against. Most authors couldn’t make a living from their books, but with Mo’s advance and the promise of more books to come, having the space and time to create meant more to her than continuing working for the catering company.
As a send-off, Amy and Rebekka had held a little celebration at their space. Everyone bussed their own plates and served themselves so that no one had to work. Ulla came, carrying appetizers made for a shoot at her magazine’s test kitchen, and Mo’s roommates brought boxes of wine. They had laughed and toasted late into the evening. When Mo and Wes took an Uber back to his brownstone, it was threeAMbefore they stumbled into bed.
