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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March
"Babe, if you come tonight, I promise I'll make it worth your while," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
I don't bother looking up from my laptop. "I can't."
"You didn't even think about it."
"Because I don't have to." I finish typing the sentence in front of me before reaching for my coffee. "I just signed that cosmetics sponsorship, Amazon sent another clothing haul, I still have videos to film, a blog post that should've gone up yesterday, and a Vogue deadline that's getting way too close for comfort. There aren't enough hours in the day."
"So that's a no."
"That was a no before you even asked."
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Delaney, I'm running out of ways to lure you out of this apartment."
"I leave."
"You go to work."
"I also go to the pharmacy."
"To pick up your birth control." He points at me. "Which, let's call a spade a spade, feels a little unnecessary these days."
Despite myself, I laugh.
He takes the small victory and drops onto the couch beside me. "I'm serious, sprout." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You've been back in New York for seven months, and outside of Vogue, grocery trips, and an extremely thrilling trip to CVS once a month, you haven't done anything. "You come home, open that laptop, work until you fall asleep, wake up, and do it all over again."
I close the document on my screen and finally look at him.
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do." His voice is softer now. "I know this transition hasn't been easy. I know you miss home, but you're living in the city you've dreamed about since you were a young girl flipping through fashion magazines, and somehow you've managed to make Manhattan feel smaller than this penthouse apartment."
I don't argue with him. I can't argue with him.
Because he's right.
Things moved quickly once I accepted the job at Vogue.
I met with Rebecca, and forty-eight hours later I was setting up my own office, introducing myself to my assistant, and promising my intern, Chloe, that I'd never make her feel the way my supervisors made me feel during my internship. Somewhere between my first deadline and my third cup of coffee, I realized I wasn't pretending to work at Vogue anymore. I actually worked there.
When I told Nico I needed a place to stay until I found an apartment, he laughed and told me to stop looking. Sven months later, I'm still living with him and Sloane.
