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Brooklyn

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The Next Day

“A marriage of convenience?” Eleanor repeats after I tell her and Madison what happened at the hospital.

I nod, trying to look like I’m okay.

I didn’t sleep all night.

Hours after I got home, Athanasios sent me a message with a simple phrase: I fired her.

I know he’s talking about the doctor.

The proud woman inside me wanted to swear up and down that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t my problem anymore, but even in the heat of my anger, I knew that was a lie.

Unlike what I’ve done for most of my life, I can’t lock away the pain of what happened yesterday and throw away the key. It’s too real, and even though I’m still hurt, I know he’s right: it’s not over yet.

I didn’t reply to the message. There was nothing I wanted to say.

“She told me Athanasios wanted a wife of convenience and chose me.”

I leave out the part about the doctor saying he couldn’t have children. That’s far too personal to share.

“That doesn’t make sense, Brooklyn,” Madison says. “I mean, no offense, but if what that witch said is true, you’d be a pretty complicated choice, given your past—your current situation too. I’m not trying to be mean, but he could have any woman he wanted, with far less ‘baggage’ than you have.”

“He admitted he wanted a marriage of convenience.”

“And?” my sister prompts.

“He gave me his word that he would never use me or my children for that.”

“Do you have any reason not to believe that, Brooklyn? Look, I understand that you’re hurt. I almost ended everything with Zeus because of that teenager he was supposed to marry before he met me, but if there’s one thing I learned from our separation, it’s that it’s not fair to turn your back on your partner without even talking. You owe it to him to at least listen, sister.”

“Madison’s right, sweetheart. You’ve fallen for him. I never saw you look at your late partner the way you look at Athanasios. At least sit down and talk to him.”

“I know you’re both right, but I need time to think. I practically woke up from my coma in his arms. I’m confused and scared.”

“Tell him that, Brooklyn. You’ve never been a coward. Don’t turn your back on your relationship because of that witch. You said yourself she was clearly jealous,” Madison advises.

“And he fired her,” I add.

“Then take all of that into account, Brooklyn. Think it over, take your time, but don’t give up on what’s growing between you two.”

“Mamaaaaa, babyyyy . . .” Soraya says, handing me her doll to cradle.

Seconds later, Silas comes running in with the puppy—whom we’ve named Popcorn—chasing after him. My little girl bursts into laughter as she runs to join her brother.

While I hold my “grandchild” in my arms, I watch the joy in my children’s faces as they play with Athanasios’s gift and think about everything Eleanor and Madison said.

Am I being childish? If I’m honest with myself, I admit I want to talk to him, but on the other hand, the strength of my desire to accept a neatly packaged answer that will solve all my doubts terrifies me.

I made one bad choice that almost cost me my life. Now, I risk losing my heart.

I pick up my phone and stare at it like it’s an oracle that could give me an answer, but I know that’s not how things work. No one can decide for me.

I scroll through my contacts and make the call, half hoping he won’t answer, half desperate to hear his voice.

“Brooklyn.”

My heart contracts painfully. “I’m not giving up on us, but I need a few days to think.”

“And what does that mean? What could you figure out in a week that you’re not sure of right now?”

“It’s not about what I feel; it’s about choices.”

“You don’t want to stay away from me. I don’t want any distance between us. We both want the same thing.”

Instead of agreeing—because I’m not a liar, and I can’t deny that he’s right—I change the subject to something that’s been bothering me. “If she was never your girlfriend, how does that woman know about me, Athanasios?”

I hear his sigh and know he’s irritated even before he speaks. “Through my mother, probably.”

“I must have made a terrible impression.”

“No, my mother just thinks she knows what’s best for me. But I’ve already talked to her about it.”

“Why me?”

“What?”

“Why choose me from the start to be your wife of convenience?”

“You were the only candidate.”

“Why me?” I repeat.

“I thought it was because you fit what I was looking for.”

“And now?”

“If you still have to ask, after everything we’ve been through, it’s because no matter what answer I give, you won’t believe me, Brooklyn. I’m not good with words, but I’ll say this one thing: everything that’s happened between us had nothing to do with my search for a wife of convenience. I’ve been one hundred percent myself the entire time we’ve been together.”

We’re both silent for a few seconds, just listening to each other’s breathing. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t yet, so I give him the only thing I can at the moment.

“This isn’t over.”