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  I tell her a partial truth.

  “No,” I lie.

  “No, Olivia, there isn’t, but I think it only fair that we both have the opportunity for a real marriage at some point. You deserve happiness, and true love. It’s not me. We both know it,” I confess. “I can't do that if we're living this lie.”

  I feel a slight pang of guilt, but not a very large one.

  Olivia has made this bed, and she’s going to lay on it.

  “So, there's no one, in particular, you want that with?” she says, probing.

  Tinsley's name automatically pops into my head.

  Am I even capable of having a real marriage? I think to myself.

  What if, Tinsley and I were to have a real relationship?

  Could we ever get to the point of a proposal?

  Could I even make it work?

  It's not that I haven't tried in the past.

  I have.

  But, the disintegration of my marriage to Olivia is evidence of the fact that maybe I am not the marrying kind.

  At all.

  Ever.

  If Tinsley and I were out in the open, I wouldn't care what anyone thought.

  I've dreamed of loving her; I've felt I love her.

  To marry someone - not in some arranged mockery or sham of an idea – in a real marriage only makes me consider Tinsley, and that leads me to understand, suddenly that I am, in fact, in love with this particular woman.

  I never believed in true love, but now it’s right in front of me, in the form of Tinsley.

  I am sure.

  My inability to trust has always gotten in the way.

  Though I loved Olivia, I was never really in love with her, because the trust was never there.

  Tinsley and I are a different story.

  I've always trusted her because she has never given me a reason not to.

  Her innocence and her ability to speak her mind have always been endearing.

  She always comes to me first whenever she needs something.

  Our friendship extends far beyond our trysts, far beyond when we first used to spend time walking or talking, the times we ran together.

  I've always admired her, liked her as a person.

  The trouble with loving someone you respect is that you can fall too deeply in love with the ideal of them.

  But, in Tinsley’s case, the ideal and the woman are the same.

  So, that's where I stand.

  Deeply in love with Tinsley.

  “Are you all right?” Olivia breaks into my thoughts.

  I suck down a huge gulp of whiskey, afraid I have given away my ace card, that I truly am in love.

  She’d never go through the divorce if she knew!

  Of this, I am certain.

  I pray she didn’t guess my state, and her gaze is relentless.

  I carefully face her, using all my emotional control to will away all thought of Tinsley until this is finished.

  “I want to do this through mediation,” I say. “The last thing I want is an intense court battle over nothing.”

  I reiterate my earlier stance.

  I do not want to lose everything, and not now, when I'm about to make a break for power.

  “We aren't nothing,” she tells me, her plaintive voice indicating her pain.

  “But this marriage isn't worth a court battle, Olivia. You realize I'll give you what I understand is owed,” I explain carefully.

  Truthfully, she deserves nothing.

  Which means she probably may attempt to bleed me dry.

  Olivia Winthrop has her own business, and her own money.

  This puts us on a somewhat equal footing.

  Our separate residences also mean I might escape with little to no damage.

  “Fine,” Olivia concedes, as though she knows what I'm expecting.

  “I'll talk to my lawyer about a mediation. But I won't give an inch, do you hear me, Noah?” she says.

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  When I stand to leave, the whiskey is empty.

  Olivia frowns, and I think maybe she did think about poison the drink.

  She goes to the bottle and pours herself a full glass.

  She picks it up and drains it on one long gulp.

  She puts the glass down, her eyes never leaving mine.

  When she doesn't fall dead, I am both relieved and afraid.

  Maybe she's immune to her poison.

  “Send the signed copies to my attorney, please?” I implore her.

  Then, I walk out, thinking that the woman might be an actual demon.

  Bruce is waiting by the chopper.

  We board, and in a few minutes we are back aloft, soaring away from the dark castle of Olivia’s hate.

  I think about the future, and turn my thoughts to Tinsley.

  Bruce points out a bizjet at 5500.

  “You got me, you son of a bitch!” I tell him.

  That’s the first time in a long while that happened.

  I owe him a soda.

  He smiles, pleased to have won.

  We fly on, and now I am totally aware of the situation.

  All of it.

  And, I think I may have to do something drastic, something big, to rectify it.

  I need to update my will, and make some changes to a few trusts I hold.

  Heaven forbid if something were to happen, and everything wound up in Evan's hands.

  Because, right now, Olivia is still his guardian.

  8

  Tinsley

  October 1, 2009

  Noah still hasn't returned my call.

  It's been a day, and I am getting more anxious, terrified by the possibility we will not be together.

  I just curl up in my bed; hide away from the world.

  Now, as my fears nibble at my insecurities, I imagine he's dumped me.

  I sit up in bed, suddenly furious.

  I won’t let him do that, at least not without talking to him first!

  So I pick up my phone and dial.

  He answers on the third ring.

  “Hello,” he says.

  He sounds far off, distant.

  “Noah? You sound strange?” my voice is edged with worry, cracking slightly. “Are you okay?”

  “It's nothing,” he tries to assure me.

  He clears his throat, and I think he’s lying to me.

  “Nothing?” I ask.

  My throat constricts, as I wonder what exactly is going on.

  He is breaking this off!

  My heart sinks and I feel like I’m about to vomit.

  I hear his voice, tiny and far away as it comes out the speaker.

  “I'm wondering, Tinsley, what with the divorce and all the ensuing drama, if us getting involved is such a good idea. It’s causing me to reconsider some things,” he tells me.

  His excuse is swift.

  There is a terrible pause, as I reel from his words.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  To think that Noah would actually want me?

  “A good idea?” I whimper.

  Suddenly angry, my voice travels from a high-pitched whine to a snarl in seconds.

  “Goddamn it, Noah! If you didn't consider this a good idea, why didn't you leave me alone? Let things stay the way they were?” I scream into the phone.

  “I didn't mean it like that Tinsley.” He tries to backtrack

  But, I will not let him trample all over me.

  “Just how did you mean it? Noah, I’m not one of those Park Avenue women you can just date and dump,” I tell him, with feeling.

  How could I have been so blindingly stupid that I thought he was going to treat me differently?

  As much as this hurts, in spite of whatever he’s trying to say, I can’t stop the feelings I have.

  We were in a good place; we were going somewhere.

  We were going to be together!

  I’m so certain that I’m in love with him!

  How can this be happenin
g, now?

  “Tinsley please listen,” Noah begs.

  “No. Fuck that!” I reply, seething.

  I’m short with him.

  “If you didn't think this was a good idea, you shouldn't have started up with me!” I cry.

  “I didn't mean it,” he says, stammering.

  He seems to want to tell me something, but all I can hear is him as he tries to argue with me now.

  “But you said it!” I say, accusing him.

  I have to keep myself from yelling into the phone.

  “You said it, and now it's there, and I can't stop wondering about it. I'm done with this conversation! Fuck!” I yell.

  There’s not a drop of fight left in me.

  If Noah Stone he wants things this way, that’s fine by me.

  I hang up the phone before he can do or say anything else to hurt me.

  It’s over.

  I take a few deep breaths, then collapse on my bed, weeping.

  I am numb, and trying to adjust to this new problem.

  Now, I am faced with having to deal with Connor!

  I sob and sniff some more, then a brilliant plan comes to me.

  I call Connor and set up a double date with Hazel and her new boyfriend, an exchange student from school.

  We all agree on a modern Asian fusion restaurant downtown, and I intend on dressing to kill.

  That will teach Mr. Noah Stone, the Lord High Almighty of Manhattan, that even HE can’t screw around with Tinsley Whittaker!

  Asshole!

  If Noah doesn't want me, I'm sure there are plenty of men out there do.

  Of course, none of them compare to Noah.

  Noah, the one man with whom I'm sure I'm in love…

  Damn that man!

  I get up from the bed, and decide to shower, quickly.

  While I am washing my hair, I ruminate over our breakup.

  I am certain Noah doesn’t feel about me the same way.

  He made that clear, and I my heart dips into my stomach again.

  I spray cold water into my face, relishing in the harsh feel of it on my nose and lips.

  It patters against my eyelids, and drains my stress away.

  Getting out, I grab a luxurious, puffy towel to dry off.

  As I work the linen over my body, I consider that I've never been sure about Noah.

  He’s mostly been off limits, and he’s probably too old, anyway, and now I'm just convinced that this is over.

  I finish drying my body and wrap the towel around my head, to get the remaining water out of my hair.

  I find my favorite nail polish, and shake the bottle.

  Then, I begin to paint my toes.

  I think of Noah’s kiss, and suddenly the reality stabs me in the heart.

  It makes my throat so dry, so I go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  I pour one out, and I gulp down an entire helping, but still, I can't swallow properly.

  Weeping, I go back to my room.

  I sniff, and wipe my hand across my face, then blow my nose into the towel.

  I toss the towel to the floor, standing there, naked, and I look at myself in the mirror.

  Steeling myself, I promise that I will get through this, and tell my reflection that when I am finished, all the men in New York City will have a sight to remember!

  I stand before my closet to get dressed, and it’s still a nightmare.

  Mostly, because my mind keeps going back to what Noah would like me to wear.

  Well, fuck him!

  Who cares what that ass thinks, right?

  That man is no longer in the picture.

  Therefore, I need to set myself straight: stop speculating about him.

  I try to toss his memories out of my head, to just be an empty vessel, one that the gods of fashion can have their way with.

  My expansive closet proves to be an indispensable distraction, as I move through my wardrobe, grabbing and tossing dresses one after another, discarding them haphazardly and creating total chaos on my floor.

  Desperation takes over, and I pick up my phone to call Noah, and then I swear at myself, for being so foolish.

  Hazel will be there, tonight!

  She’s has always been smart about men and will, therefore, know what to do about Noah.

  I pick out a tight, strapless, red mini-dress that looks painted on from any distance.

  Honestly, it’s the only thing left hanging in the closet.

  Finding my slim bra and a thong, I dress myself.

  The red mini I slip on, quickly.

  Running back into the bath, I rummage around for a lipstick, and some mascara.

  I toss all of that into my clutch, and grab the closest shoes I can find as I run past the closet.

  The only heels I find are gold.

  I shrug, sliding them on in the elevator, as I'm running far later than I expected.

  Connor is waiting outside my building, in a cab, and his eyes go so wide I glance behind me, wondering what he's staring at.

  “Don't you need a coat?” he says, leering, looking me up and down.

  I guess he approves of my attire.

  “This dress is too fabulous for me to wear a coat,” I reply.

  Then, I warn him.

  “No touching, Connor!” I say, wagging my finger.

  This only seems to get him fired up.

  “No touching, sure, Tins,” he repeats.

  I think he’s just mouthing the words, but he keeps his hands away from me.

  We sit back as the driver navigates the streets.

  It’s quiet for a minute.

  Connor looks out the window at nothing.

  “Though I am tempted. What brought this on? You never dress like this,” he suddenly says.

  I stare at him, trying to gauge his thoughts.

  “Yes, well it's not just us tonight, now is it?” I say, sternly.

  I press my lips together, and count to ten in my head.

  It's harder than ever not to just snap at him.

  I can’t stand being around him!

  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all?

  There's a difference between tolerating someone, and wanting to rip their head off most of the time they are around.

  God, I miss Noah!

  Shit!

  Why did I think that?

  The cab goes down another street, the traffic lights approach and recede.

  Connor and I sit there, looking out at the scenery.

  “Oh right, Hazel and Diego. Does he even speak English?” asks Connor.

  I swat at him, narrowly missing his hair.

  He grins at me.

  “He speaks English. Are you stupid?” I say, astounded.

  It turns out Connor is just stupid.

  Diego is fluent in both English and Spanish.

  He’s a real looker, handsome with that dark Mediterranean skin, and eyes.

  Hazel has stars in her eyes when we meet them at the restaurant.

  I greet Diego in Spanish, and his eyes light up with delight.

  He replies in his native tongue, and we converse briefly about nothing important.

  Just small talk.

  “You speak Spanish well Tinsley, where did you learn?” Diego asks, switching smoothly to English.

  He smiles at me, and slides into the booth beside me, leaving Connor and Hazel on the other side, together.

  “Summers in Italy, and my mother is Italian. My private school offered advanced language classes, so I indulged in most of those,” I say, and he smiles brighter.

  “That explains it! I could hardly tell English is your first language!” he compliments me.

  I blush a bit, and am horror stricken by the realization that I am actually having a fun time, without Noah.

  Diego smiles at me, and I can see why Hazel finds him so attractive.

  “Hazel, you didn't tell me Tinsley was so smart? Do you study at Colombia as well?” he asks, genuinely interested.

 
“I'll find out in December if I got in,” I admit.

  Diego’s smile widens.

  “And, of course, you will be studying languages, no? I've heard the United Nations are looking for people as fluent as you,” he says.

  The United Nations?

  Me?

  That sounds crazy.

  Diego sees my expression and shakes his head.

  “No, no! Really, Tinsley, you'd be phenomenal!” he exclaims.

  He seems to truly believe it

  “What a crock,” Connor's mumble doesn't go unnoticed.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, obviously not at all in the least bit.

  I turn to him.

  Connor doesn't say a word.

  “Think about it,” Diego urges.

  He ignores Connor and launches into a delightfully amusing and slightly raunchy story about his hometown in Spain.

  He paints a wonderfully colorful picture of life a world away, especially in Spanish.

  This makes me long for Italy.

  I readily tell him stories of my own.

  Almost makes me feel bad for hating most Spanish wines.

  Almost.

  “And then, the man points at the clock tower, and says ‘Can’t you tell time, gringo?’” Diego concludes his story.

  We all laugh, at his tale, which was funny, silly and hilariously droll.

  I chuckle at Diego explaining that he needed to move the donkey’s balls to see the clock!

  My new life seems so easy and uncomplicated without Noah in it.

  But, I still miss that man fiercely.

  “Can you not?” Connor whispers in my ear, as Diego excuses himself.

  “Not what?” I ask, confused.

  “Do you two have to speak in Spanish?” he says.

  “Hazel and I don't understand Spanish; I don't even know what to talk to her about!” he whines.

  “You’re being rude, Tinsley!” he pouts.

  I sigh. What an ass.

  “Connor, he just misses home,” I explain, patiently. “He enjoys having someone with whom he can speak in Spanish, his native language.”

  But then, I notice the flash of jealousy in Connor's eyes.

  Why you little piece of shit! I think.

  When I peer at Hazel, she looks slightly worried, glancing at Connor.

  I regroup, deciding to be the better person.

  “Listen I'm sorry we got carried away…” I tell them. “He’s just lonely, I guess,” I say, apologizing for no real reason.

  “And you're in that stupid dress,” Connor mutters.