THIS AFTERNOON’S crumpet-baking class is Nico’s seven-hundred-and-fifty- second distraction from the impending communication from Villa Printers’ legal team. It also checks off the final item on our app idea list from when we first got to London.
Nico blends the dry ingredients as we stand over our chef’s stations in the golden-yellow kitchen. Our instructor chats on the phone in the corner of the room, her knot of blonde hair bouncing on top of her head.
“Do you think they’ll let us keep all the crumpets so we can take them on the plane when we leave for the Azores?” Nico grins. Clotted cream— more like glorified butter—is smeared over the tip of his nose.
“You have to admit they taste like nothing,” I say with a forced smile. “True, and the jam’s no help.”
Nico’s transformed into a different person over the past few days. Well, not really.
But there’s something concrete about him now. A sort of protective barrier he’s put up around us.
Even still, my mind is scattered across a million different dimensions, with no time to shuffle through the sandbox of feelings I have for him.
My eyes shift to my phone.
Why are there still no messages? How long does it take to prove that some jerk plagiarized my work? Weeks? Months? Years?
Returning to New York, finding a job, starting classes, and handling a legal case alone sounds like a nightmare.
Because it’s what I’ll be…alone.
Maybe not totally by myself—Avery and Molly will be around. But Nico won’t be.
It’s fine.
He needs to move on anyway. His life in California is near his job, near his parents. Far, far away from me and my mess.
I turn toward Nico and catch him watching me intently.
“You know, you don’t have to suffer in that mind of yours all on your own.”
Ugh. He’s a full-blown CIA agent, isn’t he?
“I just—” My teeth sharply click over my thumbnail—a ridiculous habit I broke years ago has had a fun resurgence over the past few days. I’ve chewed my fingers to shreds. “I want to know who did this. A random nobody? How would they even have my manuscript? Maybe someone retyped the entire book, word for word.”
The amount of effort that would take boggles me.
“Maybe your computer got hacked?” Nico offers. “Do you have an assistant? An editor?”
“I edit all my own work. It’s a one-woman show.” I sigh, wondering if it’s the source of the issue. Was I too careless somewhere? “Before this month, I couldn’t even afford to hire someone to help out.”
“Any estranged friends or jilted hookups who may have vendettas against you?”
“Most of the guys I got with could barely make me come. I doubt they’d be able to figure out that”—I lower my voice—“I’m Zoe Mona.”
“I’m glad I’m not in that category.” He lets out a gruff laugh. “What about the ex-boyfriend you mentioned? The asshole?”
“I doubt you want those details.”
“You’re right. I probably don’t wanna know the full play-by-play, but is there anything that could relate to a vendetta?” Nico shifts uncomfortably, and the pastry in his hand crumbles beyond saving.
“Oh, no. I’m sure he doesn’t even think about me.” The random string of messages from him that I haven’t responded to tells another story.
My heart drops into my stomach at the words, and nausea sours my throat. What’s going on?
There’s absolutely no fucking way I actually miss Chuck.
Do I? No. Fuck no.
He was my first love. The only one I’ve ever had. Maybe that’s how first love is—a deep cut that never stops aching.
A broken record player screeches in my mind.
The only love I’ve ever had?
I turn to Nico.
He smiles. “His loss. My win.”
It was Chuck’s loss. If I can manage to get myself on some steady ground, I may win the chance to have something real with Nico.
My phone screen blinks to life, and I abandon the mixing bowl in my hand. I check my email.
“Anything?”
I shake my head. “An email from college with a final reminder to register for fall classes next week.”
Something else to add to my overflowing plate.
I stare at my school email, zoning out on the random announcements until something clicks together.
“Wait.” My heart races like a rabbit’s as I swipe across the screen until I find what I’m looking for. “I sent my manuscript to someone.”
“Who?”
“Last semester, I was running out of time for a creative writing assignment after picking up extra shifts at the Mademoiselle.” The final draft of Coastal Fling fills the screen, and I immediately spot my mistake. Instead of the name Lily Rodin in the author’s place, it’s Zoe Mona. I show it to Nico. “I submitted my book on a whim, not wanting to get a failing grade for one of the requirements, but I left my pseudonym there.”
“You submitted erotica to your professor? You’re a fucking legend.”
“The asshole was ready to fail me after I missed an exam at the beginning of term. Then the novella only seemed to piss him off. He said romance wasn’t real writing.”
“He’s a piece of shit.” Nico makes his way over to my side of the station, splatters of flour and butter coating his apron. “What’s his name?”
“Professor Miller.”
“It’s gotta be him.” He pulls out his phone and furiously types away until an image of my creative writing professor is staring right at me. “TI Miller. Is this the guy?”
“Yeah, but it’s a terrible lead; he hated my story.”
“It’s still a lead. Besides, your author name is right here. It makes perfect sense.” Nico dials a number. “I’m going to ask Klaus to have his private investigator dig up some dirt on this fucker.” He walks off toward the commercial-sized refrigerator to take the call.
An hour later, we’re back at our suite, waiting for any communication to help resolve the nonsense around us.
Nico’s phone is the first to ping. “It’s him. TI Miller is the owner of MIT Inc. Fucking dickwad didn’t even try to be less obvious. His own initials? Amateur.”
The ongoing tirade doesn’t sound past the ringing in my ears. My fist pounds against a nearby wall. “Fuck.”
Him.
The bastard. Loathsome, garbage scumbag.
Nico detaches my hand from the plaster, pulling me into a suffocating hug. “I think we should call Luca or my dad and ask them for advice. They’re lawyers. I’m sure they’ll be able to help—”
“No.” I scramble out of his grasp. “We can’t tell anyone. I haven’t even told Avery anything about Zoe Mona yet. It will kill me if this is how she finds out.”
“If I propose a hypothetical, they won’t even have to know.”
“I said no.” My throat clears as I struggle to regain a semblance of calm. “Villa Printers will have to take it down. I have enough proof now.”
I stalk over to my laptop before pulling up my case number from the Villa Printers email.
Nico leans over the counter, stretching his arms. “But what about all the money this guy stole from you? You’ve got to get him back, Lil. He has to pay.”
“If there’s a lawsuit, I’ll probably have to use my real name, permanently linking Lily Rodin to Zoe Mona. That damn blog and the novellas will be tied to me forever. Try getting a good job when all the people on the hiring committee know you write erotica on the side.”
That specific hypothetical may be a bit of a stretch, but planning for the worst-case scenario is how I’ve always functioned. The number of fail-safes I created to keep distance between my two different lives won’t collapse around me because some middle-of-the-road creative writing teacher stole my work.
“What are you talking about?” He palms my laptop screen shut, and I’m ready to bare my teeth at him. “Why are you hypothetically interviewing for a job? You love writing. Why would you stop?”
“I haven’t written in weeks,” I admit. “It’s time for me to move on from that part of my life anyway.”
I’ve been ruminating on the decision since I saw my book at that bookstore. I know I’m starting to gain sales momentum, and the amount of money I’ve made could do so much for me. But my mind can’t seem to navigate from one thing: I don’t want to be Zoe Mona anymore. Despite all of the positives it has brought me recently.
I want to write—maybe in the future, after the violation of this dissipates—but I can’t just drop my plans and goals for a degree, to dream up smut stories all day. I don’t want to continue lying about this other life.
All the guilt and deception have been weighing so heavily on my conscience that I think it’s time to put Zoe Mona to bed. No pun intended.
“Move on?” Nico swipes his hand against the crease forming on his forehead.
“Yes. Move on. Who’s to say this won’t happen every time I write something new? Am I really going to let my life be consumed by lawsuits?”
In my heart of hearts, beneath the rusted metal chains creaking around my chest, I don’t know how I’ll ever return to being Zoe Mona again.
Zoe Mona wasn’t the kind of woman who felt love. Her heart didn’t flutter every single time a man she admired looked at her, the way mine does with Nico.
“There has to be a system to fix this, Lily. If not, I’ll build an app that can help. Let me do this. It could be my own saving grace. A solution for an industry that needs it.”
“It’s too late. I just wanna get the book taken down. I need to be done.” “I’m going to build it—”
The melody of my ringtone bursts through the room. I answer my phone. “Hello, this is a representative from Villa Printers. Can we speak to Zoe Mona?”
“Speaking.”
It’s bizarre acknowledging myself as my alter ego after all these years.
“Your request to remove Coastal Fling from our archives has been received. After consulting the original party, we’ve come to understand they own the international copyright.”
“That’s impossible, my company owns all the copyright.” The tremor of a headache breaches my skull once again.
“If that’s the case, we’ll need to escalate this to our head department.
Please have your legal team touch base with our lawyers.” “What?”
No.
“An email with the next steps should be hitting your inbox soon. Enjoy your day.”
The line goes blank. My mind follows right after.
 |
“ARE THOSE SQUARE PANCAKES?” I sit at the dining table, inhaling the smell of blueberry batter filling our suite.
Nico turns to face me, flipping one of the cakes on the griddle. “You betcha. Why aren’t there more different-shaped pancakes in the world? Not everything needs to be a circle.”
Nico’s breakfast-for-dinner tradition was odd at first. But after two months of not needing to lift a finger in the kitchen, I’ve started craving eggs, French toast, bagels, parfaits, and oatmeal at eight o’clock in the evening.
My willpower has struggled to work up the courage to talk about the plan for the next few days. Since we’ll be leaving for the Azores tomorrow, Nico and I need to be on the same page.
I couldn’t sleep last night, grappling with the possibilities of how everything could play out during this conversation.
The fabric of my mind brims with doomsday what-ifs.
What if Avery gets mad and doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if TI has the nerve to sue me for US rights?
What if Nico builds the app he mentioned last night, only for it to fail? What if I go back to New York alone?
The rational solutions to these plaguing questions are simple—except for the last one. Avery’s the most understanding person in the world; even in the worst-case scenario, I would never lose my best friend—my sister. Maybe it’ll involve some serious groveling, but I’ll do anything it takes.
I have proof of my assignment submission for Professor Miller’s class and the failing grade he gave me. Maybe the college will even let me pass my class since these are dire circumstances. I’ll have to get some more information on the lawyer debacle.
Nico’s app idea sounds great in theory, but it’s unconscionable for him to waste his time on something silly for me.
Finally, there’s writing.
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, throbbing violently. No.
There’s no use spiraling again.
I clear my throat. “I was thinking, and I’ve decided to tell Luca and Avery about everything. I can’t keep Zoe Mona a secret anymore. Maybe they can help me understand what recourse I have to get the international copyright back in my name.”
Nico turns off the stove, abandoning the square pancakes to sit beside me at the small dining table next to the kitchen. “Good. My brother should be able to help. He doesn’t specialize in copyright, but I’m certain he has some friends he can call from his law school days.”
Asking my best friend’s new husband for such an overwhelming favor makes me want to shrivel into a ball and kick myself back to New York. My best friend. “Do you think Ave’s going to forgive me?”
Nico shrugs. “She’s family, Lil, even if the truth hurts. I doubt there’s anything you could do to make her stay mad at you.”
I’ve been trying to convince myself of the same thing for days.
He brushes a loose strand of hair out of my face. I haven’t styled or tended to my hair since this disaster began. I glance down at my chipped and broken fingernails.
My whole person is practically falling apart.
“If we’re revealing secrets,” Nico begins, “I think we should also tell them about us.”
His words are a slap to my face. “What about us?” “There are no more rules—”
“Of course there are,” I say defensively, failing to convince myself there’s even a shred of truth to what I’m about to say. “We may have bent some things in our agreement, but we promised whatever this is would be done at the end of summer.”
His eyes glance at me solemnly. “But, Lily, I’m—”
“Please, Nico,” I interrupt him, afraid of the next syllables about to fall from his lips.
They’re words I know any woman who has ever spent time with him would beg to hear. But here I am, summoning every ounce of willpower to stop them.
“Let’s not make this more complicated than it already is,” I say. “We clearly messed up our rules, and digging ourselves deeper with feelings will only make this harder. After we’re done touring Cyprus, you’re off to California, and I’m going home to New York. I need to sort out the mess that’s become my life.”
“I don’t have to go back to California.” The truth falls between us, leisurely stretching each second like a ripple in a lake. “There are some meetings I’ll need to take in person at the Viggle headquarters, but I can easily move back to the city. I only relocated to California ’cause Luca and Avery moved in together.”
“And what happens if you move back to New York? When you begin getting antsy after being in the same place for six months? Maybe, eventually, you’ll even get tired of me.” My voice trembles in my throat.
Nico blinks at me through his tired eyes as if he’s a puppy I’ve left out in the rain.
“Then,” I continue, “when you do set off on one of your lengthy adventures, maybe you’ll just forget to charge your phone, and we’ll simply cease to exist in each other’s lives. No contact. No calls. Nothing.”
“Hey, I’ve gotten better with my phone.”
There’s a reflection of hope in his eyes, but my heart feels about a hundred miles from my head. I can’t let this happen yet. I’m barely able to sort through the rational thoughts in my mind. There’s no space for feelings right now.
“Besides, I could never tire of you, Lily. You’re you. And not everything needs to be so black and white. If I start to feel restless, we could take another trip. We can figure it out together.”
I do my best to ignore the building blocks he’s put before me, a peace offering of sorts meant to say, Hey, we got this, even if it’ll take some work.
But together is as absent from my vocabulary as a particular four-letter word hanging potently between us, I’m not quite ready to fold and admit the truth.
“How often have you called Luca since we got here?”
“Once, but it’s different with my family.” Nico tries reaching for my hand, but I pull away. “I don’t exactly want to be lectured every single day by my brother, and my parents know I’ll always check in when I get back.”
“Any relationship needs more than just one call every few weeks. It wouldn’t work, Nico.”
There’s no use in being oblivious. He would pluck stars from the sky if I asked him to. And he has changed. He made a plan for the summer, kept up with my carefully structured morning routine, and even started preventing his phone battery from falling below 50 percent since we landed in London.
But it’s temporary. This summer has not been rooted in reality.
In the real world, with a sea of temptations and obligations, where Nico and I aren’t spending every second of every day around each other, the foundation we built this summer will turn to dust.
He abandons the table, the chair scraping against the floor. A shiver runs up my spine as he returns to the griddle. “I get it.”
“We agreed to this as friends.”
“You’re right, Lil. Let’s just stick to the original agreement until the end of summer. Just friends.”
 |
July 22nd
HELLO, lovers,
It’s been a minute.
I’m fucked and not in a way I particularly enjoy. My novella Coastal Fling has been illegally uploaded for international print distribution without my consent or knowledge. I urge all my international fans to not purchase copies of the fake version of my book.
I want to thank you all for your support as I work through this difficult time.
Kisses from me to you, Zoe Mona
