-Daisy-
I didn't sleep.
Noah was snoring next to me, peaceful like always. Like nothing had changed. All I've been lying bin the bed and staring at the ceiling, obviously overthinking again.
The moment I shut my eyes all I see is Maxwell.
His face.His voice.
That stupid line: "I never signed the divorce papers."
It played on a loop, like a broken record. I wanted to scream into my pillow just to shut it off.
By morning, I felt hungover. And I hadn't even had a drink.
Noah shifted, then rolled over and kissed my shoulder. "Morning, babe."
"Morning."
He sat up, rubbed his eyes. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah." I say feigning a smile. Good thing he doesn't dwell on my facial reaction
He stood up and walked towards the kitchen, if he could do much as put something on. He loved being naked in the room, walking around humming as he made coffee for us.
Buh me? I was just staring at my fingers, the engagement ring in my hand. A million thoughts running through my head of how to deal with Maxwells return to my life. How will Noah feel about this.
I shoved the thought and got dressed for work.
Work was a mess. Not that anything dramatic happened, but everything just felt...off. Like the air was thinner or something. People said good morning, I nodded. My inbox was packed, but I couldn't focus. I took occasional glances towards his office, hoping I'd catch a glimpse of him.
Maxwell of course always had a way of doing his things, at around eleven fourth or so , he strolled into his office.
I was at the copier when I heard my name.
"Miss White."
I turned.
There he was, standing like nothing had happened. Calm. Clean-cut. Expensive suit. Not one damn hair out of place.
"I'd like to review the new campaign projections," he said, all business.
Not a question. More like a command.
I didn't answer right away. My throat felt dry.
He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Yeah," I finally said. "Sure."
Walking into his office felt like stepping into a room I'd been avoiding for years. It still smelled the same. Like leather and some expensive cologne.
He pointed at the chair across from his desk. I sat down crossing my legs, I nearly started biting my fingers as I was trying to keep it together.
He sat too. Didn't say anything for a second. Just stared at me.
I forced myself to speak. "I thought we were reviewing campaign projections."
His mouth twitched, like he knew I was bluffing.
"Do you remember the day we met?" he asked.
I blinked at him. "Seriously?"
"I'm just asking."
"No. We're not doing this. This isn't a reunion."
"You were wearing a red hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve," he said like I hadn't spoken.
I froze.
"You came into the bookstore looking for some old poetry book. Said you hated love poems. Thought they were stupid."
I stood up. "This isn't good, it's not right."
"I'm not trying to say it is."
"I'm engaged," I said, sharp. "To your brother."
"Do you love him?"
"What?"
He leaned forward. "Because you didn't answer me yesterday."
"You don't get to ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because you left," I said. "You don't have any right whatsoever, you vanished for forever and now you feel you have a say?"
"I never stopped searching for you."
I laughed. "Funny. It felt a whole lot like being forgotten."
He went quiet.
Then, calmly, "You still didn't answer."
I turned toward the door. "Jesus."
"I'm coming to the engagement party."
I stopped cold. "What?"
"Saturday night, right? Your fiancé's mom, well to say my mom sent me the invite."
"She invited you?"
He nodded. "She wants everyone to get along, apparently."
"You're playing with me right?"
"I'll can put on something you like," he said like that should make me feel better.
My hands balled into fists. "You are not showing up to my engagement party."
"I was invited."
"You know exactly what you're doing."
He stood, walked around the desk until he was right in front of me. "You think I can just stand there and watch you with him, like none of this ever happened?"
"Then don't come," I said.
"I'm coming."
My chest was tight. I could feel it happening — that thing where your throat closes up and your eyes burn and you just want to run but there's nowhere to go.
"You don't get to do this," I said. "You don't get to walk in and screw with my life because you're feeling something now."
"I'm not here because of guilt."
I gave a bitter laugh. "Right. Because Maxwell Jordan doesn't do guilt. He just shows up and takes what he wants."
He looked at me. "And what if what I want is you?"
I swallowed. "Then maybe you should've wanted me ten years ago."
I walked out.
Didn't stop until I was outside, standing on the sidewalk like fresh air could fix what just happened. It didn't.
Back at my desk, I pretended to work. Answered a few emails. Nodded through a Zoom meeting. My phone beeped …
Noah:
Dinner at my parents' tonight? They want to go over guest list stuff. Also your mom RSVP'd finally lol
I stared at it for a second.
Typed: Yeah, sounds good.
Deleted it.
Typed again: Sure. I'll come to you.
Sent.
Maxwell was going to be there Saturday. Dressed up. Smiling. Playing nice. And I was going to have to smile back because I don't want anyone suspecting.
I excused myself and went to the bathroom, I felt like I wanted to puke.
That night, I showed up at Noah's parents' house and pretended everything was fine. His mom had everything laid out perfectly — seating charts, appetizers, fancy cocktail napkins with our initials. She was already talking about floral arrangements and signature drinks.
I sat next to Noah, I was just scrolling through apps on my phone to distract myself and my thoughts.
He leaned toward me. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired," I said. Again.
He kissed my temple. "We're almost there. Just a few more weeks and you're stuck with me."
I laughed, soft and automatic.
But all I could think about was Maxwell.
And how in two days, he'd be standing in this backyard.
And everything I've worked so hard to bury would be right back on the surface.