Wife Or Mistress? The Shocking Truth About My Marriage - Chapter 97: Chapter 97

After a few seconds of silence, Reynolds finally answered, sounding shocked but pumped: "What made you change your mind? Last week you were all 'I can't leave the States because of this guy I'm crazy about'..."
"He doesn't need me anymore," I cut him off, my voice weirdly calm. "And I don't need him either."
Reynolds took the hint and backed off. "Cool, just get your paperwork done and get over here. The orchestra's dying to have someone with your skills!"
I hung up and stared out the window as daylight crept in.
A month ago when that invitation landed in my inbox, I was so amped I pulled an all-nighter.
I'd been playing violin since forever. Getting into the London Symphony was like winning the lottery for music nerds like me.
But when I went to Blake's place and saw him smoking alone on his couch looking all broody, I couldn't bring myself to say "Hey, I'm bouncing to London."
When we were sixteen, Blake's parents died in a plane crash.
I was at some violin competition two cities over and raced back the second I heard.
At the funeral, Blake stood there looking totally lost. When he spotted me, he just said: "Liv, I'm all alone now."
I hugged him, bawling my eyes out: "No way. You've got me. As long as you need me, I'm staying right here."
Growing up, girls lined up for Blake like he was giving away free concert tickets.
But I was the only one who actually knew him.
I'd seen him hiding in the music room with red eyes. I knew he hated rain because it reminded him of his parents' funeral...
So I stuck around. Every day. Every year.
Now we were going our separate ways.
After sunrise, I started gathering all my Blake stuff.
We'd grown up joined at the hip. Shared milk. Read the same comics. Napped in the same bed...
I'd kept everything like some crazy stalker shrine.
Now I dumped it all in a cardboard box.
The hair clip from when I turned eighteen. The cake mold he made for my twentieth. The hand warmers from last winter when he bitched about my cold hands...
Everything, including my feelings, packed up like I was moving out of Heartbreak Hotel.
At his house, his butler Carl answered the door. He looked at my box and his face dropped.
"Miss Olivia, Mr. Parker took Miss Sophia shopping."
I froze for a sec, then forced a smile. "Just give him this, would you?"
Carl took the box, looking all awkward. "Miss Olivia, you and Master Blake... is it really done? After all this time..."
"It's done," I said. "He found his dream girl. I'll find my dream guy too."
Then I walked away without looking back like I was in some dramatic movie scene.
After getting my visa sorted, I remembered London's crappy weather and decided to grab some warmer clothes.
I hit up this fancy store and spotted a killer beige trench. Just as I was about to claim it, I heard a voice behind me—
"I like this one too, Liv. Guess we have the same taste—in clothes and men."
I turned around to see Sophia standing there with that perfect smile.
Before I could say anything, Blake's voice cut in: "Same taste doesn't matter. The clothes and the man only belong to you."
He strutted up, flashed his black card, and told the clerk, "I'll pay ten times for this coat. And wrap up everything new in my girlfriend's size."
The clerk practically had dollar signs in her eyes, totally forgetting I saw the coat first, and scrambled off.
"Blake, you're spending way too much!" Sophia squealed, grabbing his arm.
Blake gazed at her like she was the last slice of pizza: "Where my money goes shows where my heart is. When you spend it, it makes me happy."
Sophia looked up with those big eyes. "Will you always be this good to me?"
Blake pinched her cheek. "Absolutely. This lifetime, next lifetime, and whatever comes after that."