Page 309 of One More Kiss

Sometimes the hardest choices are the right choices. I had an ever-growing list of mantras that dotted my waking hours. You have a legacy to uphold. Nobody said it would be easy.

I directed the movers as best I could, keeping a close watch on the box of personal items. Knowing my father, I couldn’t rule out that he somehow knew the last of Axel’s things were tucked away there, including the drawstring baggie of beach glass in the same blue thunderstorm of his eyes.

Once the movers were packing up the last of the truck, I tucked the box under my arm, grabbed my purse, and let Randall, our West Coast driver, whisk me away to my new home.

I’d been there only once before, back when my parents had sent me a long list of potential properties to visit. I’d offered my preferences, but this one hadn’t even been in the top three. I could only assume we’d been too slow or bid too low to secure the home I truly wanted.

And really, what did it matter? This was a gift. I could say nothing. Even though I desperately wanted to select a home for myself, even if my choice was drastically smaller and in a different part of town, that wasn’t how this transaction worked.

My father made the decisions.

Everything happened according to his liking. To his tastes. To his desires.

And everyone around him just watched as the vice clamped tighter.

“Darling. Welcome to your new home!” My mother was there in the slate-paved cul-de-sac of the two-story stucco home that had once, according to the realtor, been an early residence of Jennifer Aniston. I’d seen Jennifer Aniston in that show Friends that Axel had me binge with him on Netflix once, so it was a talking point, if nothing else, for future guests.

“Thanks, Mother.” I tried the forced smile again, but it failed to light. My cheeks twitched and gave up.

I hauled myself out of the car, limbs sluggish and heavy.

“Quit slouching,” she snapped quietly. “I thought you’d grown out of that after you turned thirteen.”

“Must be regressing,” I muttered, straightening my back. My body clearly wanted to curl into the fetal position and remain there for a year until I metamorphosed into a different, rested, emotionless version of myself. But until then, slouching was the only thing that made sense.

“Did everything go okay at the old place?”

“Sure. Yeah. Great. It’s empty and ready for the next person.” I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my box of Axel memorabilia.

“What’s in there?”

“Just my personal stuff I don’t want the movers touching,” I told her. “My earrings and bracelets and whatnot.”

My mother sniffed and nodded, already not listening. “I came to help get you settled. This is a big day! Aren’t you thrilled?”

Thrilled was not even in the top hundred words I’d use to describe how I felt, so I just said, “Mmm. Yes.”

My phone buzzed intermittently from inside my purse, which signaled incoming messages. I followed my mother up the marble steps as I fished my phone out.

Axel had written on Instagram: Are you getting my texts anymore? I just tried calling you and it goes straight to voicemail. Did you fucking block my number?

AXEL: How the fuck do you go from engaged to taking a break to blocking my number?

AXEL: Cora, answer me!

Nausea churned through me, making the hairs on my arm stand on end. I hadn’t blocked him. I didn’t need to guess who had.

“Cora, are you okay?” my mother asked, but her voice sounded a million miles away. I brushed past her, heading for the half bath just inside the main foyer.

I burst through the door and bolted for the pristine toilet, yanking open the lid so I could ingloriously expel another round of bile.

I collapsed in front of the toilet and gagged a couple more times.

My mother’s heels clicked across the smooth gray tiles. The bathroom door swung shut a moment later, my mother on the wrong side of it.

“Are you pregnant?”

I pinched my eyes shut. “No.” I’m just life-shatteringly distraught.

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