Chapter 38

Dear Ryland,

I don't care what the rest of the world will say about us. The older professor with his forbidden student. I don't care about the centuries of traditions you think you're bound to. I refuse to believe fate allowed us to meet only for us to be passing ships in the night.

I think your mom in heaven brought me to you because she couldn't bear seeing her sensitive son torturing himself, because she knew your cold heart needed warmth, needed sunshine, and I want to be the one to give it to you.

Be brave, Ryland.

And until you get there, I'll be brave enough for the two of us. I won't give up. I want more tomorrows with you until one day I won't need to ask anymore because they'll be a given.

Love, Millie

I WIELD MY PRUNING shears like a weapon and trim the dead or weakened branches from the barren trees in the rooftop garden. An icy wind lashes my skin and I burrow myself inside the warmth of my down jacket and wool scarf, the thick wintry clothes doing little to ward against the chill of a New York December evening.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The motion is cathartic, and I imagine the fallen branches are my worries, and with each cut, my problems disappear.

Problems like him and his conflicting behavior.

It has been a few weeks since our night at Noire, where Ryland revealed a part of his soul I suspected had been long buried under the weight of his responsibilities.

We spent a beautiful night in his penthouse apartment, talking about our childhoods, eating overcooked burgers because the man couldn't grill anything to save his life, and drinking hot chocolate. He curled me in his arms afterward, wrapping me in his strong, warm body as we sat on the sofa on the heated balcony and gazed at the stars.

He kissed me like he had been starving for the press of our lips together, like he hadn't had anyone love and care for him in far too long. He tucked me tightly against him as we fell asleep, holding onto me like a drowning man would hold on to a piece of driftwood in the deep, dark seas.

I whispered in his ear, "Tomorrow. We still have tomorrow," and that seemed to settle him and calm the restlessness in his tense frame.

Then, the next day at school, his demeanor turned into ice again, his expression a sharp blade to my heart. But when class ended and I lingered behind after everyone left, he snaked his arm around my waist, pressed me against the closed classroom door and kissed the ever-living daylights out of me, and the fatal wound in my heart would miraculously heal again, revived by the passion in his kiss.

That day, as we parted for air, I once again whispered, "We still have tomorrow," and he gave me a solemn nod, the barest of acknowledgments.

And for the last few weeks, we'd fall into this strange routine—a chilly reception in class, one where I'd start doubting his feelings for me, followed by the occasional make-out session when I loitered behind after everyone left.

My mind would warn me we shouldn't be doing this on campus. After all, look at what happened to Professor Archer and Tammy. But I couldn't bring myself to deny him, to deny us, when these fleeting moments were all that he'd offer me.

The kisses were bone melting, his possessive touch setting a fire in my veins, but he wouldn't go beyond that. His fingers or mouth would bring me to a sopping mess as I'd cover my screams with my hand, but he wouldn't have sex with me. His cock would be hard as steel but he'd ask me to leave, or he'd make up an excuse about an appointment he had to go to or a call he needed to take.

He was holding me at arm's length.

My heart clenched every time I saw the longing ache in his dark gray eyes, the throbbing pulse against his temple, and I just knew one day he wouldn't nod anymore. He wouldn't give me the tomorrow.

I lied.

I told him I'd be fine. I told him I was strong enough to handle his darkness. To handle him walking away from me whenever this ended, because he made it clear this wouldn't be permanent.

We are living on borrowed time. One tomorrow after another.

And when that day comes, and I know it will, he'll set me free, even though I want to be chained to his side forever. My heart will break into a thousand pieces, the pain eviscerating, and the organ will never beat for anyone else again.

Moisture prickles my eyes as I take a step back and look at my well-tended garden, half blanketed in snow, with the more delicate plants and flowers covered in a large tent constructed with a clear weather tarp.

Closing my eyes, I lift my face toward the skies, hoping somewhere up there, a higher power will take care of my fragile heart, which has been sliced far too many times.

The plants will survive the harsh New England winter, but will my relationship with him, if we can even call it that, survive?

A lump lodges in my throat and I heave out a heavy sigh, watching my breath crystallizing in a white plume before dissipating, a transient whisper, much like the love I'm trying to hold on to, only to watch it helplessly slip through my grasp.

"Dang, it's cold out today," Belle says from behind me, her footfalls soft on the ground. "Are you almost done?"

I blink, trying to dispel my morose thoughts, and turn around, giving her a shaky smile. "Yes, just finished. The tarp is holding up well and the plants look healthy."

Belle frowns, her light brown eyes narrowing. She sets two cups of steaming hot drinks on the outdoor coffee table and walks up to me. "What's wrong, Millie? Don't lie to me. You look like you're about to cry."

I swallow and look away. Sniffling, I shake my head. "I-I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Don't hide from me, Millie, or from any of us. We're always on your side. Nothing you say or do will chase us away. You don't need to take care of our feelings or be worried about how we'll respond because," she steps closer and takes my icy hands in hers, "you'll never get rid of me or the other girls. Ever."

My face scrunches and I take in the concern in her kind eyes.

I let out a sob and throw my hands around her neck and breathe in her faint scent of lavender. Old habits die hard. I'm so used to putting on a front with everyone, I keep forgetting I can be vulnerable in front of my girls.

"Shhh…" she hushes me and rubs soothing circles on my shuddering back. "I'm here, Millie. You can tell me everything."

Tears slip down my face and I nod wordlessly. After a few minutes, she gently pulls away and leads us to the wooden bench, which is protected from the elements by the canopy we had set up at the beginning of the season.

I take out my latest knitting project—a small blanket I barely started—from my tote and stare at it. The stitches look uneven and wrong, like everything else in my life. I pull at the yarn.

"Hey, hey. Tell me what's going on." Belle stops my hand with hers, puts my project back in my tote, and hands me a mug.

Staring at the hot chocolate in my hands, I whisper, "Thank you."

Belle shrugs and gives me a wink. "I see you drinking your hot chocolate like how I inhale my coffee, but be warned, I don't know how to make them fancy like the way you do. This is just an instant mix."

My heart warms, the earlier pain fading away slightly as I take a careful sip. The drink is much too sweet, but my soul feels soothed. It's the thought that counts.

"So tell me, why are you so sad? I thought the plan worked and you and Ryland are together now?"

I stare at the colorful twinkling lights of the tall buildings surrounding us. The city is a veritable Christmas snow globe, with buildings around us glowing in red and green lights, and adorned with festive decor—a sparkling Santa atop a sleigh and his team of reindeers on the rooftop garden in the next building, a light dusting of snow atop any shrubbery or flat surfaces.

The honking of cars and faint melodies of Christmas songs travel through the air from our surroundings. The city is very much alive and bursting with the excitement one normally expects for the week before Christmas.

But my heart doesn't feel the elation, the thrill of the season.

"Do you know that feeling in your gut when you think something bad will happen? That uneasiness swimming around in your chest making it hard to breathe?"

I blow out a deep breath. "That's how I feel every time I'm with him. He has never made me any promises. Our interactions are intense but fleeting. A stolen kiss here, a make-out session there. I feel like I'm trying to hold on to him, but he wants to let go, if that makes any sense."

Belle curls her arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. "Aww, Millie. That sounds so rough. I was hoping things were going well for you two, since I'd seen that smile on your face more this past month than I did before."

I stare at the cup in my hand, a wistful smile on my lips. "I can't help but wonder, is it better not knowing how it feels to be loved by him, to feel his warmth and kisses, than to have experienced it knowing it won't last? I feel him pulling away, Belle."

"If this doesn't work out, will you regret it? Or will this be a beautiful memory?" she murmurs, her eyes taking on a pensive gaze as she stares at the buildings in front of us. "I'd like to think, if I were to have a choice, it'd be better to have experienced something earth shattering, to have an empty heart be filled with love, than to never feel it before. If there was a choice, that is…"

Her voice trails off, and she sounds sad.

I look at her just as she turns her head toward me, her eyes dimming. I remember what she said back in the rage room all those weeks ago and how her parents were looking to set her up in an arranged marriage. "Are you okay, Belle?"

She pauses for a second and shakes her head. "Not really, but I will be." She pauses and I wait for her to continue. "I'll tell you girls everything someday."

Belle takes a sip of her drink as she looks far away, a wistfulness in her expression. "And maybe you'll hate me for saying this, but honestly, I'm jealous of you sometimes, Millie. You're strong. A go-getter, going after your dreams of becoming an educator, chasing after your man, allowing yourself to get hurt. And while you might feel your future is uncertain, you're living your choices, Millie. You have a choice. You get to decide what to do next."

Belle tips her lips up, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Don't you think that's a powerful thing? To have that choice? To choose if you want to risk it all? To let yourself get hurt in the process? To experience love?"

She swallows and sighs. "Not all of us have that choice and for some people who do, they aren't even brave enough to take a step into the unknown, and that's how I know you'll be okay, Millie, regardless of what happens. Because you'll always get back up. You may cry, you may get hurt, but you'll stand back up and fight."

Tears well in my eyes as I look at one of my best friends, who's clearly troubled by problems of her own, who sees me in a different light, and I'm reminded of what Ryland told me once. Something I once told myself, but have conveniently forgotten.

I'm a fighter.

Squeezing her hand, I whisper, "Thank you, Belle. And you're a fighter too, just like me, just like Grace. Just like all of us. And I'm here for you."

She stays silent as we take sips from our drinks, allowing the hot liquid to warm our insides in this frigid cold. After a few moments, she asks, "Want to learn something interesting?" She sneaks a glance at me and grins.

I chuckle, my chest feeling lighter now that I've unloaded some emotions weighing me down for the last few weeks. I nod.

"In my mom's culture, or I guess, my culture too since I'm half-Chinese, there's a saying, ‘when a woman pursues a man, they're separated by a silk screen, but when a man pursues a woman, they're separated by a mountain.'"

She waggles her brows, the spark appearing back in her eyes. "What that means is, it's much easier for a woman to get to a man. She just needs to poke through the thin silk screen to reach his heart, but it's much harder for a man to get to a woman. So, you have a distinct advantage."

"Probably because the idiots are ruled by their brains down below." I snort, motioning to my groin.

"Bingo. Exactly." She sits up, her soothing voice picking up in volume, and says, "If I were to pretend to be our evil genius friend, Tay, what would she say?"

I laugh. "She'd probably be hurling F-bombs and other expletives at Ryland and men in general."

Belle chuckles. "Yes, she would, but then she'd probably say," Belle's face twist in a comical scowl resembling Taylor, "‘If you like him so much, Millie, then grab him by the balls.' And she'd be right. Obviously, you guys have an emotional connection and it sounds like on the physical side, things are combustible too."

My skin heats as I think of his scorching kisses, his deep growls in my ear making my panties wet, the orgasms he tears out of me in the few make out occasions that are too few and far between.

"Ugh. That flush on your face totally answers my question and I'm really jealous, girl," Belle comments, a knowing smirk on her face. "If he's pulling away but still giving you those ‘tomorrows' as you call them, he's obviously torn inside and definitely still wants you but doesn't know how to get out of his head…or this brain on top," she taps her index finger against her temple. "I say, let's take it up a notch and engage his brain down there and kick off ‘Operation Vixen.'"

"Operation V—What?" I can't stop the incredulity from seeping into my voice.

She sits back, a smug grin on her face, her fingers twirling around a thick lock of silky black hair. "You know how we just launched McKenzie's Little Secrets?"

I nod. Her family's new luxury lingerie line has taken the fashion industry by storm, rivaling some of the bigger brands like Agent Provocateur or La Perla. The cute, lacy designs are sexy, available in a wide range of sizes to embrace the unique body shapes of women, and are made to empower the wearer, to flatter and make them confident in their own bodies.

"Well, we've partnered with the famous sex toy company, Femme Fatale, and are beta testing a few lingerie products with built-in toys."

My eyes widen. "I mean, that sounds exciting and all, but how does that have anything to do with Ryland or this ‘Operation Vixen?'"

Belle twiddles her thumbs. "Well, he always comments how he's much older than you and more experienced and all that. Let's show him how worldly you are…unleash your inner vixen, if you will."

She leans forward eagerly and whispers, "We have this prototype you can wear…you can be our beta tester, and I think he will go crazy over you. Absolutely insane. Let's bulldoze over those mental hurdles he has. Have him lead the march with his brain down there for once."

Curiosity sifts through me, and I clutch the hot chocolate tighter in my hands, finally feeling its warmth spread from my skin to my insides.

"Tell me more."