Page 1 of One Week
Prologue
Dear Eli,
First, I just want to tell you how much you mean to me. And that’s the problem… you mean more to me than you should. I keep telling myself that we’re just friends, but I think we both know we’re more than that. I’m not exactly sure what I am to you, but you are everything to me. I think about you all the time, every hour of every day. It’s a little ridiculous, to be honest. I am a happily married mother of two, and I should start acting like it.
I’ve really enjoyed our conversations about art and life, but it’s time for me to end this. For a bachelor like you, this is just a fun distraction I’m sure. But for me, it’s so much more, and it really shouldn’t be. What I’m doing with you is not right. I love my husband and my children, so it’s because of them that I need to say goodbye.
I’ll always remember you. : ) And I’ll smile every time I do.
Your friend,
Gabriella
It’s just one or two paragraphs, but I’ve second-guessed every word, have pored over every single sentence, debating whether the right sentiments were expressed. I’ve spent over an hour going over it. Over and over. I’ve read the message more times than I can count. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. He just doesn’t fit into the picture. My picture; John and me, and the kids, and the white picket fence, the perfect life. He should have never been in it. Some days, I wish I’d never met him. Others, I’m so glad I did. For the brief time that I knew him, he truly was one of the best things in my life.
My heart is hammering, threatening to burst as I swallow hard, and finally press on the ‘Send’ arrow. As soon as I do, I feel sick. A heavy weight presses down at the center of my chest, threatening to crush me. I’ve never felt so horrible, so lost.
But it had to be done. I tell myself I’ve done the right thing. For my family. For me. For him.
Our relationship flashes before my eyes — the laughs, the jokes, every single conversation, every wink, every little skip of my heart, his beautiful eyes, and his sweet smile. Damn… his smile.
It all started innocently enough, as these things often do…
Part One
Chapter One
“WAKEY, WAKEY, LAZY,” I whisper in her ear.
A mess of tousled dark hair hides her pretty face as she turns to me. “Nooooo,” she whines, eyes squeezed shut.
I hate this. It breaks my heart every morning. I brush the hair out of her face.
She winces. “I don’t want to go to school.”
I smile. She says that every single morning. Yet, every night at dinner, she entertains us with stories of her day at school – she loves it. She just doesn’t enjoy getting up in the morning. She takes that from me. I have a hard time too. I typically press the snooze button about three times, all the while cursing my alarm clock.
“C’mon, Emma. It’s time to get up,” I tell her. “And it’s Friday!”
Her little brother is the complete opposite. I’m not sure where he gets that from. He’s always up early, raring to go and take on the day.
“I’m going to go wake up Theo,” I tell her, “and when I come back, if you’re up and putting on your clothes, I’ll give you a Kiss.”
By Kiss, I mean the chocolate, not one of my kisses. A mom’s kiss is nowhere near as powerful as candy. I know it’s kind of bad to give your kid chocolate first thing in the morning, but it’s called ‘motivation.’ If it gets her up in the morning, it can’t be that bad.
Theo is all smiles when I wake him up. His spiky blond hair is a mess, and he squints at me like he does every morning. “Love you,” he says, first thing every single morning. He grabs his glasses off his nightstand, and slips them on over his adorable nose.
The morning routine runs smoothly — a quick breakfast, teeth brushed, bags packed, a kiss goodbye on Daddy’s cheek (lucky Daddy, he’s still sleeping), and a short walk down the street to school.
Back to my day; I have breakfast and clean the kitchen, I return emails, and then head up to my studio in the attic, where I typically spend a few hours working on one of my latest paintings. I usually don’t notice when John gets up. He typically grabs a quick breakfast, which always includes a whey protein enhanced smoothie. That stuff tastes horrible — I don’t know how he manages to drink it. He’ll be on his office sofa for the next few hours, typing away. Then in the afternoon, he’ll pop by the gym. And then, more writing. And even more at night, late into the wee hours.
Some would say he lives a life of leisure, but he works pretty hard. He’s one of the lucky ones. A New York Times Bestseller, his crime fiction novels are devoured by masses of adoring fans.
We often try to have lunch together. He kisses my cheek as I whip up some tuna on toast and a fruit salad. “How about spaghetti tonight?” he asks.
I smile. As long as I don’t have to cook, I’m happy. “Sounds great.”
John cooks every Friday night, and on Saturdays, we either order in, or go out. I only need to cook five nights a week – not too bad.
