Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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My time is up.
I have to give Vogue an answer, and I'm no closer to deciding than I was two days ago.
There are hundreds of people who would jump at this opportunity without thinking twice. They probably already have backups lined up if I say no – or if I take too long to say anything at all. I'm one person in a sea of incredibly talented writers and editors, and every hour I let pass makes me wonder if Rebecca is going to decide I'm not interested before I even hear their offer.
Ever since she called, I've been waiting for something to make the decision for me. An epiphany. A sign. A moment where everything suddenly clicks into place and I know exactly what I'm supposed to do.
It hasn't happened.
All I've managed to do is think myself in circles until every possible future feels equally impossible.
But it's going to be okay. I'm going to talk to Greyson.
That's the difference this time.
When I was eighteen, I made the biggest decision of my life without giving him the chance to be part of it. I convinced myself I was doing what was best for both of us, and in the process I broke both our hearts. I spent the next ten years wondering what would've happened if I'd trusted him enough to have the conversation instead of making it alone.
I'm not making that mistake again.
The truth is, I know what I want. I want to go to New York. I want to work for Vogue. I want to spend every day doing the job I've dreamed about since I was a teenager.
I also want Greyson.
I want him to come with me. Better yet, I want Vogue to tell me I can split my time between Manhattan and South Grove so I don't have to choose between the career I've always wanted and the people who've finally made this town feel like home again.
Maybe that's asking for too much.
Maybe it isn't.
Either way, I don't have to figure it out by myself. Greyson and I will figure it out together.
Everything is going to be fine.
If I really believe that though, then why am I laying in bed like a corpse, watching the shadows from the ceiling fan crawl across my ceiling while my body breaks out in a cold sweat and my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest?
If everything is going to be okay, why am I so terrified to talk to Greyson?
I suddenly feel eighteen years old again.
I groan as I untangle myself from my comforter and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Looking down at my cherry-red toenails, I dig my matching fingernails into the edge of the mattress, curling my toes into the cream-colored carpet while I let my chin fall to my chest.
