I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open, which was not good.
Hannah had asked me to meet her at her office—I normally went straight to the store, where it wouldn’t really matter if my eyes were at half-mast. But I had a ton to get done—it was Friday, and I’d be leaving for New York the next morning. The night before Dylan had come home from that party in a state of near desperation. Presumably the fact that there’d be no sex for a month had just dawned on him—the last time he’d gone a month without sex was probably middle school.
I’d been asleep, sprawled out facedown on our bed, and I’d woken to him hovering above me, his hand sweeping my hair off my back, pushing my T-shirt over my head, laying kisses across my bare back. He had whispered “marry me” and “say yes” as we’d made love. He’d done this before while making love to me, reminded me how much he wanted me to be his. I’d usually say “I love you” and “soon” and make love to him right back. But last night felt just a little more raw, a little more real. And making love had turned into the feverish kind of fucking that included handcuffs he apparently had stowed away in his sock drawer and sounds I should have been embarrassed by in the light of day. It had been nearly two in the morning before I’d fallen asleep again.
“Lydia?” I looked up, fighting a yawn, and saw Fiona glaring at me in a way that suggested she’d probably said my name three times already. “Hannah said she’s ready to meet now.” She held out a cup of coffee, which I pulled out of her hand with probably a little too much enthusiasm.
“Are you in this meeting too?”
She nodded. “Any idea what it’s about?”
I shook my head as we stepped into Hannah’s crisp white office and sat before her desk. She was beaming, so presumably it was good news.
“Morning, ladies. I’ll cut right to it.” She looked between us like she was about to tell us we’d all won the lottery. “We’re opening up a proper shop on Madison Avenue in New York.”
Fiona and I just looked at each other, then back at her. This was amazing. It was everything we’d been working for. Her brand was growing, faster than any of us had anticipated. If we managed to get a New York store up and running within the next eighteen months, it would represent unprecedented growth for a company of our size.
“That’s incredible, Hannah. I’m thrilled for you,” I said, still in awe, pleased that the Knightsbridge store must be doing well if we were moving forward.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Lydia. Because my hope is that you’ll be the one to do it. I want you to go to New York tomorrow and do the pop-up as planned, but I’d also like you to stay on and oversee the opening of the proper shop.” Thoughts started to swarm through my mind. Stay? In New York? “And, Fiona, you can take over for Lydia here. You can work from her office and take over management of the shop in Knightsbridge, if it suits you.” Fiona dove right in with the effusive gratitude. I smiled, still struggling to process this.
“Wait, what?” I asked, probably a little more abruptly than was professional. I cleared my throat and tried to refocus while images and thoughts of being back in New York for more than a few weeks flew through my mind. “Um, when would this happen? What’s the timeline?”
“Oh, I shan’t think you’d need to be there for much more than six months, don’t you think? So if you leave at the weekend, you’ll be back before Christmas. Or of course if you want a permanent position in New York, I’d be happy to discuss it.”
Six months? Why did that number make me feel sick? It was an opportunity. To be trusted to open the shop in New York was a big deal. But something felt off about the whole thing. I couldn’t process it here, in Hannah’s office. Before I had time to think it through, to respond, to do anything other than the situation required in terms of thanks and enthusiasm, the meeting was over, and technically I was committed to leaving London tomorrow. For New York. For six months.
* * *
After downloading the news with Josh, who was immediately planning Hannah-funded trips to New York, I chose to walk to the store. It wasn’t too far, and I needed to think. I needed to figure this out.
For the past five months, I’d taken my mission to heart: Put yourself first. Enjoy the freedom of life out of the spotlight. Get your career off the ground before it competes with running an ancient estate and being on your husband’s arm.
For five months, I’d said yes to all things. Late nights dancing with Fiona and Josh. Girlie nights with Emily. Paris for Fashion Week. Long runs in the park by myself without paparazzi trailing me. Late nights working on the launch of Fiona’s online store. Dylan and I had kept our relationship low profile so that I could do all those things, so I wouldn’t get sucked into the aristocratic machine, so I could move freely and make choices without fear of how it would look or who would be watching. And it had been great. It did feel freeing, like I’d been slipping into a version of adulthood I’d always been waiting for, figuring out who I wanted to be in the world, taking a deep breath while I thought about the reality of being a duchess. But no matter what I did, I was always happy to go home to Dylan, to find him there, to let him find me there. Nothing had changed in that regard—I wanted to be with him.
I had figured I’d wake up one day and just know, now’s the time. And on that day I’d replace soon with yes. We’d make a big announcement, open the door, I’d officially be Dylan’s fiancée and soon after his wife, with everything that came with it. But that aha moment hadn’t happened yet, and now there was this. This decision, going away for six months, would change everything. If I said no to Hannah and stayed in London, I knew that, in some plates-shifting kind of way, it meant that I was ready to say yes to Dylan, to all of this, to everything he was asking for. But if I said yes to Hannah, to effectively leaving behind everything I’d built in London for a half a year in New York, my long engagement would be longer than I’d ever really wanted it to be. I knew Dylan would want me to stay in London, with him, to say no to Hannah, to give in to what he’d been waiting for me to give in to. But that meant diving into everything I’d been holding off. Was I ready for that?
With each block I passed through Mayfair, my mind changed, I swayed back and forth. Yes, I’d go to New York for six months. No, I’d stay in London with Dylan. Yes. No. Yes. No. It felt like everything was pitted against one another. London versus New York. My career versus my relationship. My present versus my future.
I was swimming so feverishly in my own mind, my heels clacking on the pavement, my bag swinging against my hip, that I jumped a foot and actually shrieked when I heard a familiar voice say my name. I turned to see Lloyd standing by Dylan’s car. In front of our house.
Our house.
I hadn’t walked to the store. I’d walked home.
I smiled at Lloyd, who must have sensed I needed privacy, because he walked around to the side of the house where the garage was. I looked in the window, and I could see Dylan in the library on the ground floor. It looked like he was searching for a book, his arm stretched up to one of the higher shelves. He’d been working on a restoration recently and had been researching like a madman. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that fitted his muscular frame perfectly. His hair was tousled, uneven from running his fingers through it. He looked at the book in his hands and then stared into the room, thinking. I knew that in a moment he would begin absent-mindedly spinning the pencil in his hand, tapping it against his shoulder, deep in thought. I knew, without looking, that his feet would be bare. I knew there was probably a half-consumed cup of tea on a stool by his drafting table. I knew him.
The beauty I saw when I looked through that window made my chest tighten, made me want to take care of him for the rest of our lives. I was looking into a home that had become mine, ours, and all of the anxiety of the decision fell away. I was looking at my future.
There was no way I could go to New York for six months. And if there was no way I could do that, then I knew in my gut that the plates had shifted. I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted whatever a life with Dylan brought me. There was nothing left for me in the version of the world where my first thought was, Is Lydia being free, doing everything she should be doing as a twenty-five year-old starting her life in London? I didn’t need that anymore. I didn’t want it. I felt freer with Dylan than I ever would without him.
As I watched Dylan disappear from the library, I turned around and began to walk back to the office, practically jogging. I needed to tell Hannah that a month in New York was my limit. Maybe Fiona would want to open the Manhattan store, and if even she didn’t, Hannah would still probably need her to take over the London store. The reality was that if Dylan and I were going to be married, I was going to need more flexibility at work.
As I picked up my pace, I let the details and questions and possibilities unfurl in my mind, let the excitement take over. Then I started daydreaming about that night, about what it was going to feel like to watch his eyes fill with satisfaction as he finally got his way, to say yes.