Piece of Work

by Staci Hart

And the craziest thing of all was that it might just work.

  I smiled to myself as I opened the velvet box again, the ring inside winking a flash of sunshine at me.

  It was Johanna’s ring, the band incredibly detailed with delicate gold filigree, and in the center was a rectangular emerald, faceted to shine, ringed with diamonds.

  It had been in the wonder in her face, the reverence in her words, her wish that she could have tried it on that sparked the idea that she needed it. That it should be hers and that I should be the one to give it to her. So I’d arranged to buy it.

  It wasn’t the ring—I’d assured myself of this a thousand times that day and every day since—just a ring, something that would take her breath away, a gift to move her heart, a beautiful adornment on the most beautiful woman I’d ever known.

  But I hadn’t given it to her. There would be a right time, and I would wait for it. And so it went in my pocket where it had been every day since I acquired it. I didn’t know why I’d waited. Because it wasn’t the ring. It could have gone on any finger, not just the long ring finger of her left hand. It was just a gift. It didn’t mean anything. Because that would be crazy. Completely, absolutely, unutterably ludicrous.

  But then today had happened.

  As I sat there in the stairwell, my mind spun, whirring over the truths I’d realized, the stack of trouble that I’d brought on myself, the mistakes I’d made. And my goal-oriented mind cataloged each one, lined them up, organized them, and began to problem solve.

  The answer was so shockingly simple, it was astounding. I loved her. I could protect her. I could put her first. I could save her job, and I could keep her. I could fix everything. And I even had the implement in my pocket to prove it to her. I’d had it all along.

  I loved her. I loved her with a truth so elemental, it was a part of me. She was a part of me.

  But I couldn’t tell her. She’d shut me down, call me crazy. Reject me. But I loved her, and I was going to marry her. I wouldn’t even ask her to love me back. But I held on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, I could make her fall in love with me, too. If not, I’d love her enough for the both of us.

  The only way it would work was if I kept the truth of my feelings to myself and posed the question as a solution to a problem. As a ruse. Which meant I would have to give her an eject button, an escape hatch.

  I’d offer her a divorce and hope I could make her fall in love with me before she used the getaway car.

  If I could convince her how well it would work, if I could show her all the good it would do, she’d say yes. And I’d marry her. She’d be mine. She could have her job and her reputation. And, if I was lucky, she’d eventually fall in love with me too.

  All I had to do was pose the question. Give her an out. Hope beyond hope that she would say yes.

  If she would even hear me out.

  If she would even answer her door.

  My heart and stomach had swapped places by the time the car pulled up to her brownstone. And I looked out the car window at her door for a long moment before garnering the courage to get out and knock on the damn thing.

  By the third knock, my anxiety had dialed up to unbearable volumes, and I was just about to give up when the door swung open.

  A very angry girl with curly, dark hair glared at me, one hand propped on the wide curve of her hip. “She told you she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Val, right?”

  Her scowl deepened.

  “I know what she said. But I think I can make it all right. I just need to talk to her.”

  “You should have talked to her a long time ago,” she said, moving to close the door.

  I stayed it with my foot, pressing my palm to the door for good measure. “I know. I fucked up, Val. I need to try to make it right.”

  She eyed me for a moment.

  “Please,” I begged before she could refuse me again, desperate emotion climbing up my throat. “Please. You have to let me try. I don’t want to lose her.”

  Her brows pinched together, but the rest of her softened with a quiet sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

  I let her close the door, leaning against the stone rail, my hand in my pocket, thumbing the velvet box like it would bring me luck.

  I shot to my feet when the door opened, and Val waved me in with a look on her face somewhere in between hopeful and disappointed.

  Rin sat in an armchair, her face flushed and eyes swollen from crying. The knowledge that I’d done that to her, that I’d ruined her in so many ways, cracked my already aching chest open.

  I can make it right. I can get her back. I can make her happy. I can fix this.

  Her eyes followed me as I stepped into the room, her spine stiff and face smooth, but her gaze blazed with pain and accusations.

  I glanced at Val and who I guessed was Amelia, who glared at me from where they hovered in the kitchen.

  “Could we…” I started, swallowing again. “Can I speak to you alone?”

  She watched me for a second before looking to her friends, dismissing them with a nod.

  I sat on the edge of the coffee table—it was the only way I could get close to her—and she sat before me in that chair with her back so straight and chin so high, a queen on her throne, and I was a criminal, begging to be saved from the gallows.

  “I asked you to leave me alone,” she finally said, her voice quiet and hurt.

  “I know—”

  “Once again, you’re here because you want to be, and you’ve ignored what I want. It hasn’t even been two hours.”

  “You’re right. About everything. You’re right.”

  “I know I’m right, Court. That doesn’t change anything.”

  I shook my head, looking down at my hands. “Rin, just…just let me try to explain. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  That elicited a dry laugh, but she didn’t speak.

  “First, I should have trusted you. I should have told you. I just didn’t know how. How could I have told you that I’d loved her when you were in my arms? How could I have said she’d betrayed me in the cruelest of ways when your hand was in mine? How could I have told you she left me for my father, that she’d only wanted my name, my money?”

  “You should have found a way,” she said, tears clinging to her bottom lashes.

  “I should have. I should have protected you. I should have been more careful with your job, your heart. But I wasn’t. I put myself first. Let me make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I’ll take care of you. I have a plan to fix it. Everything.”

  Her lips turned down a touch as she searched my eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Just…promise me you’ll hear me out,” I warned.

  Her eyes narrowed for a split second as I reached into my pocket. But they shot open wide when I opened the small box and extended it in display.

  Her hands flew to her mouth, cupped her face. “Oh my God. Court, what the—”

  “Hear me out, Rin.”

  Her eyes were glued to the box. “It’s Johanna’s ring. From Florence.”

  I nodded, my breath frozen in anticipation.

  “You bought this in Florence.”

  Another nod. A hard swallow. I scanned every feature of her face to try to deduce what she was thinking.

  “I’ve figured out how to undo what I did to your education, your career. Marry me.”

  She gasped. And before she could say no, I kept talking.

  “My father will let you stay if you’re going to take our name—he’ll protect you. You can have your job back. We can stay together. I’ll take care of you, Rin. Plus, you’re practically living with me at this point anyway. Everybody wins.”

  She still didn’t speak, her hands pressed to her lips and her eyes on the box.

  “And then, whenever you’re ready, we’ll get a divorce.”

  Her gaze snapped to mine with the fire of a thousand suns blazing in her irises. “What?” she asked in one low, flat syllable.

&nb
sp; I blinked. “We’ll get a—”

  “I heard you. But you cannot be fucking serious.”

  My heart folded in on itself. “I—”

  “This is your solution? This is your sacrifice?” Her voice climbed, a flush crawling up her neck in hot tendrils. “To fake marry me to save me?”

  “Well…yes, I thought—”

  She rose slowly, arching over me, her body trembling with anger. “You thought you’d throw me a bone and marry me? To what? Defend my honor? So we can keep sleeping together, I can keep my job, you can still sacrifice nothing, and then we can just get divorced when we break up?”

  “Rin, I thought you’d—”

  “You thought I’d, what? Throw myself at your feet and thank you when it was you who put me here in the first place?” She laughed a sob, fresh tears rushing down her face. “For a second, I thought…I actually thought maybe…” Her breath hiccuped in her chest, and she shook her head. “I don’t need saving, you asshole.”

  I stood, panicking as I reached for her. “No, that’s not…it’s not what I—”

  She slapped my hand with a pop. “Marry me.” She laughed through her tears, edging on hysterical. “I mean, how could I refuse with a proposal like that? Never in my entire life have I known someone so clueless. You don’t even see that you’ve done it again, do you? You think you have all the answers, that you know how to fix everything. That you can devise some crazy, narcissistic plan to control me. Again.”

  “Dammit, Rin, listen for one—”

  “No. Absolutely not. Fuck you and the fucking horse you fucking rode in on, you overbearing, presumptuous, knuckle-dragging savage. You won’t give me your heart, but you’ll give me a ring and your name? You won’t ever love me, but you’ll marry me? Don’t do me any fucking favors, Court. Ever again. Go!” Her hands shot out to shove me uselessly in the chest—she rebounded off me. “Get out!” She flung her hand at the door, crying. Crying and yelling and glaring at me with her broken heart shining behind her eyes.

  “Please,” I begged.

  “You’re just like your father,” she cried through her tears, and every molecule in my body stilled. “He thinks he’s helping you by controlling you, but you solve your problems the exact same way. You have disregarded what I want for your own means, for your own ends, and I’m through. I’m through! Get out of my house. Just get out.”

  I slipped the box back in my pocket with my hands shaking at the clarity of the situation, of the man I’d become, a mirror of the man I hated so much. I’d wronged her in the most blasphemous ways.

  And in my effort to make it better, to get her back, I’d only pushed her further away. I’d only proven her right.

  I’d only done her more wrong.

  There was nothing left to do but leave—I hadn’t finished a sentence since the word divorce left my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, turning for the door so she knew I’d do as she’d asked.

  She said nothing as I walked away with a hundred admissions climbing up my throat. But when I looked back and saw her, her shoulders bowed and face buried in her hands, the last sliver of my hope died.

  I’d tried to fix the break by smashing it with a hammer. I’d tried to ask her for forever and only hurt her more. Divorce. It was an offering, a word and concept meant to mask the truth—that I wanted to marry her. Even though it was senseless and stupid. Even though it was irresponsible and irrational.

  Because I loved her, and I wanted to make her happy forever.

  That was the craziest thing of all; I couldn’t even make her happy now when things were supposed to be easy. I just kept hurting her, over and over again, despite my intentions.

  I was just as toxic as she thought me to be.

  And so, to truly save her, I did what she’d asked and walked away, leaving what was left of my heart with her, where it belonged.

  29

  Empty Handed

  Court

  Everyone was staring at me.

  I walked through the museum the next morning feeling like a rumpled-up newspaper, my feet dragging and shoulders slumped, my face unshaven and my eyes bloodshot. Even my clothes, which were pressed and neat when I’d put them on, sagged on my frame in defeat.

  My night had never ended.

  What had met its end was the back half of a bottle of scotch.

  I’d woken up this morning in my pants from the day before—no shirt, no shoes or socks, just my slacks and belt. My body and mind were grinding and sore, as if I hadn’t slept at all. But somehow, I’d shoved my legs into fresh pants, punched my arms into a clean shirt, and hauled myself into work.

  I had no purpose or objective going in—my alarm had gone off and told me to, so I had with a splintering headache and churning stomach to keep me company.

  And as I passed everyone, they stared. And I didn’t give a single fuck.

  About anything.

  The first thing I did was walk into Bianca’s office. She looked up, looked me over, and opened her mouth to speak.

  But I cut her off.

  “You’re fired.”

  I turned to leave the room as she sputtered behind me.

  “What? You can’t—your father said—”

  I whipped around so fast, my vision dimmed, my brain throbbing against my skull to the beat of my broken heart. “Do I look like I give a fuck what he said? He might be the president of the museum, but you’re my assistant. You picked the wrong Lyons to align with, Bianca. And if you’re stupid enough to fight me, just know this—I will bury you. Pack your things and get out of my fucking sight.”

  That time, I ignored her when she argued. And she had the good sense not to follow me.

  Once in my office, I slammed the door because it felt good—the weight in my hand, the strain of my arm, the satisfying sound it made when it clicked into place regardless of the echoing sound in my dehydrated brain.

  And I sat down at my desk and stared at that closed door like the answers to my problems were written on it.

  Scattered on the desk’s surface were resources for the exhibition, some advertising materials that needed approval, a folder of signed contracts. And on top was a letter from the Accademia, thanking me for my donation and offering congratulations on the partnership with The Met regarding the loan of David.

  And I held that letter with no joy, no sense of accomplishment. There was no satisfaction. No pleasure.

  After a year of planning and several more dreaming, I had everything I’d wished for right there at my fingertips.

  And it meant nothing.

  You’re just like your father.

  Rin was right—I’d realized she was always right when I was so self-assured that it was me who had all the answers. I had taken without giving. I had sacrificed nothing, and she had sacrificed it all—her job, her education. Her heart. And she’d lost.

  Because of me.

  And now, nothing meant anything.

  Not without her.

  I loved her, and she didn’t know. I needed her, and I hadn’t told her.

  I’d hurt her, and I was wrong.

  I had to show her that she meant everything to me, that I would put her above everything I held sacred in the world.

  And there was only one way to prove it.

  Rin

  I knocked on the doorjamb of Amelia’s office, book clutched to my empty chest.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me and offered a smile. “Hey. Finished it already?”

  One shoulder rose in a halfhearted shrug. “What should I read next?”

  “Hmm,” she hummed as she pushed away from her desk and wandered to her bookshelves. “I feel like you need some historical in your life. Here.” She handed me a worn paperback, the edges curling and spine creased.

  “Lord of Scoundrels?”

  “Trust me, you’ll appreciate it.”

  I sighed. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Still rough, huh?”

  “I stopped cryin
g. That’s something, right?”

  “I mean, it’s better than nothing. I still can’t believe him. Val shouldn’t have let him in.”

  “He’s not an easy person to refuse.”

  “But you did.”

  I would have laughed if I didn’t feel like dying. “It wasn’t exactly the romantic proposal a girl hopes for. And, he’s an asshole.”

  “He is. But I can see how he might have thought he was doing the right thing.”

  My face flattened.

  “Not that he’s not a complete asshole. He is. The ultimate asshole. The king of all assholes. That’s not what I’m saying. I am on your side,” she defended. “But, after everything you’ve been through with him, do you really think he would have asked you if he hadn’t meant it in some way or another? If he hadn’t thought he was helping you?”

  Now I was frowning, my insides twisting at the thought. “That’s not the point, Amelia. I’m not going to marry him to save my job.”

  “No, and I wouldn’t suggest you should.”

  “There was just this moment…” I shook my head. “It’s so stupid. I just…when I saw that ring, I thought he…I thought he was going to tell me he loved me and ask me. For real.” The words tumbled out, and I took a breath, pressing a cool hand to my warm cheek. “I am so, so stupid. He told me. He told me he would never love me, and like a stupid idiot, I agree to be with him anyway.”

  “What would you have said? If he’d asked you for real, if he’d professed his love, would your answer have changed?”

  I gave her a look. “Since we’ve been together, he’s berated me, accused me of seducing him for my career, seduced me, lied to me, put me in danger to suit himself, and got me fired. Oh, and insulted me with a proposal of fake marriage and subsequent divorce. The man is a red flag with legs.”

  “Long, tree-trunk legs.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You didn’t answer me,” she pressed. “Despite all that, you would have said yes, wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s too ridiculous to even consider.”

  “So, yes.”

  I pressed my fingers into my eye sockets. “I would have made him swear we’d be engaged for years, but…” I sighed. “Probably. What is wrong with me?” I buried my face in my hand. “I would have said yes,” I said from behind my fingers. “I’m sick. I need a doctor. Or a lobotomy.”