Page 113 of The Ring
I hope so.
I want to.
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
Chapter 68
Cornelia
Lately, I’ve been going down memory lane.
After the conversation with TJ, when he asked,Do you think we’ll ever get back to what we once were?I knew what he was really asking. Between the lines, it was,Do you think we’ll ever get back together?
I’ve thought about it a lot. And it stirred up plenty of questions of my own.
Can I really move past what happened?
Could I ever fully forgive him?
Does doing it make me weak?
How much was I also responsible for breaking our relationship—maybe beyond repair—by throwing the ring, by saying and doing things I now regret? I had a right to be angry, but still… I drew blood just the same.
How much do I wish who you love was something you could choose? But also… maybe it’s better that I can’t. If you could choose, I don’t even know what my decision would be.
It would probably be him.
And that scares me.
All that has brought me here today, standing in front of this house on Wilton Crescent, Belgravia.
Our house.TJ’s and mine.
We never lived here, but we intended to once the renovations were finished.
One of my core memories is the day TJ told me he had bought it for us.
It was a little less than two years ago. He’d told me he’d pick me up at noon because he had a surprise to show me. When he arrived, he sent me a message to come outside, and I did.
I was expecting to see a new car parked out front—that’s what I assumed the surprise was. He’d been talking about replacing his car for a while. But when I stepped outside, his old Audi was there, and no new car was in sight.
I walked up to him. He was leaning against his car. I greeted him with a quick kiss. Then I glanced around. “Where’s the surprise? Is it here?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “No, we have to drive to get there.”
I frowned—I hate surprises.
“So, let’s get on with it then,” I said, reaching for the car door. The sooner I got in, the sooner we’d get to the surprise, and the sooner it would all be over.
But TJ stopped me, placing a hand on it.
“First things first,” he said, pulling a Hermès scarf from his jeans pocket.
My eyes widened as I knew what the scarf was for. “No, no, andno.” I shook my head.
His smile grew wider. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“For who?”
