Chapter 122

[ 1,103 words ]

Emilia’s POV

“Mm.” Lily leaned back against the couch cushions, her expression turning contemplative. “Love really is a cosmic joke, isn’t it? You’re chasing Sebastian. Scott’s chasing you. Sebastian’s probably still hung up on that bitch Abigail. Everyone’s running in circles, getting hurt.”

“You forgot one,” I pointed out. “You’re chasing Scott.”

Lily’s face went carefully blank. “Why are you dragging me into this? My existence has never mattered to him.”

“That’s because you’ve never let him know you exist as anything other than a friend.”

“And what good would that do?” She stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen. “Would he suddenly turn around and see me? No. He’d just feel awkward and uncomfortable, and I’d lose even the friendship we have now.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where she was aggressively making tea like the water had personally offended her.

“Whether he turns around or not is his business,” I said gently. “But whether you tell him is yours. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering ’what if,’ then tell him. Even if he rejects you, at least you’ll have no regrets.”

“Is that why you confessed to Sebastian?”

“Yes.”

Lily was quiet for a long moment, staring down at the tea kettle. “I’m not as brave as you, Emilia. I’ve watched Scott pine after you for years. The way he looks at you… it erased every ounce of courage I had.”

My chest tightened with sympathy. I knew exactly how Lily felt about Scott. Just like I knew exactly how Scott felt about me.

Just like I knew exactly how I felt about Sebastian.

We were all trapped in our own private hells, loving people who didn’t love us back.

“For what it’s worth,” I said quietly, “I think you’re braver than you know.”

Lily smiled sadly and handed me a mug of tea. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Two idiots in love with men who don’t want us.”

“Cheers to that.”

We clinked our mugs together in the saddest toast imaginable.

The days crawled by with agonizing slowness. Sebastian didn’t call. I didn’t call him either, though I picked up my phone a thousand times with that exact intention.

My uncle and aunt had already left, taking their problems with them. Richie Lind still called occasionally to “check on our arrangement,” each conversation making my skin crawl a little more.

Mila reached out several times, asking to meet for lunch or coffee. Each time, I made an excuse. I couldn’t face her knowing I was about to leave her son, even if he didn’t seem particularly bothered by that fact.

Tiffany sent me a string of increasingly dramatic text messages:

[Tiffany: My brother is being a huge idiot.]

[Tiffany: Like, Olympic-level idiocy.]

[Tiffany: Please don’t actually leave???]

[Tiffany: I’ll miss you so much T_T]

I didn’t have the heart to respond.

There is a saying. You fall in love with a city because someone you love lives there.

On my last night in Silverlake City, I spent hours walking through the streets, trying to memorize every corner.

I was saying goodbye to all of it.

Eventually, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, I ducked into a small bubble tea shop near Skymont Park. I ordered something sweet and caffeinated and sat by the window, watching the city lights blur in the darkness.

My phone rang.

Sebastian’s name flashed across the screen.

My heart stopped, then started again at triple speed.

I stared at the phone for three full rings, my finger hovering over the decline button.

I answered.

“Do you have time? Let’s meet.”

Every logical brain cell I possessed screamed at me to say no. To protect myself. To not give him another opportunity to break my heart.

“Okay,” I heard myself say. “Where?”

Because apparently, I was a masochist who couldn’t help picking at wounds that hadn’t healed.

“Skymont Park. I’m nearby.”

I looked out the window at the park entrance. “…So am I.”

“I know.”

The line went dead.

I sat there for a moment longer, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He knows. He knew I would be here.

I left money on the table and walked out into the night.

The park was quiet at this hour, just the distant sound of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I walked along the pebbled path, my eyes scanning the shadows for his familiar silhouette.

I didn’t have to wait long.

A hand touched my shoulder, gentle and familiar.

I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

“Why are you here?” I asked, not moving, not trusting myself to look at him yet.

“I was passing by and saw someone I knew. So I stopped.”

“Where is the person?”

“Right in front of me.”

I turned around slowly.

Sebastian looked tired. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly rumpled.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days,” I managed. “You’ve developed a sense of humor.”

“It’s not humor. You’ve just gotten significantly less observant.”

That familiar bite in his words shouldn’t have made me feel better, but somehow it did.

We walked side by side along the path, neither of us speaking.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat down on one of the benches. “Just say what you want to say.”

Sebastian sat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. “How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow. Do you want me to take you to the airport?”

“No, thank you.”

“Have you finished packing?”

“Yes.”

“Take care of yourself in Paris. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“The door is always open if you want to come back.”

“Thank you.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, on anything except him.

Sebastian fell silent.

I was about to stand up and end this torture when he spoke again.

“Everyone will miss you.” His voice was quieter now. “My father. My mother. Tiffany. And me.”

I turned my head away sharply, swiping at the tears.

“I’ll miss everyone who misses me,” I said.

Sebastian pressed something into my hand. A credit card. Black, heavy, expensive-looking.

“Take this. Unlimited credit. Don’t deprive yourself of anything while you’re there. Buy whatever you want.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Take it anyway.”

He closed my fingers around the card, his hand warm against mine for just a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

I almost broke then, and asked what he was sorry for. For not loving me? For letting me go? For making me fall for him in the first place?

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