The One Thing That's Better Than S#x

Once it was clear that I wasn't going to say yes to Vic's proposal, things wrapped up quickly. Carter's parents beat it back to the Upper East Side, their chauffeured Mercedes practically laying down skid marks. Vic left with an irritated scowl, a diamond ring in his pocket that could have paid my college debt and my rent for a year. The crowd dispersed, someone turned off the Chloe light show, and the gawkers found something else interesting. Carter and I just stared at each other: two awkward people with no clear direction.

"So." He finally said.

"Yeah." That was my brilliant response. Honestly, I was too tired to apologize. Too emotional. I was still upset about his lies, or omissions — the fact that he never told me that his parents owned the building we lived in, that he'd grown up just as pampered as I had. Along with being tired, I was vulnerable, rubbed raw by a heartfelt public display of affection from a man I had once loved deeply.

"I'm gonna go to my apartment." I finally said.

He didn't like that. His mouth tightened, his hand came up and yanked through his hair, a sigh hard off his lips. "Chloe," he said, and it was the end of the sentence, neither of us eloquent.

"I'm going to bed." I opened my apartment's door and hoped he'd stop me. Rolled the strap of my purse over my shoulder and gave him a moment of opening, plenty of time for speech. But he said nothing and I stepped outside and then the door was shut and I was alone.

I wondered if, after tonight, Vic would finally be gone. Maybe this was it, the straw that broke our relationship fully off. It felt that way, when his shoulders had sagged, when he finally understood that I wasn't his responsibility anymore.  Funny that he'd gotten excited over the idea of a baby. Planned that big proposal over the chance that we could start a family — a life — together. Six months ago, it would have made my heart sing. Of course, he'd assumed it was a Worth child. That's the type of man he is. Confident that, in the race of sperm, his would always win. Something had died between us, out on the street. Maybe it took the public humiliation of my snub, maybe it was seeing me turning to Carter and physically choosing between the two of them — I don't know what it was but something changed, there was the clear Before and After and in the After, I don't think I'll ever see him again.

It makes me a little nostalgic. I'm glad it's over, looking forward to a Vic-free existence, but it's a big chapter of my life to close, a chapter in which I changed a lot, grew up a lot.

I skipped a shower, changing right into pajamas and crawling into bed, all the lights off, the television dark. I lay there for a long time, waiting for sleep, trying to drown out my thoughts, so many what ifs floating through my head, trying to find places to settle.

I had hoped the knock was coming, my body tense with expectation, and when it came, I was out of the bed and ready, swinging open the door, my voice quiet considering the screaming of my heart.

Carter stood there, pajama pants low on his hips, his shirt off, every muscle on his torso tensed as he stopped mid-knock. He looked at me and said nothing.

I stepped back and waved him in.

That night was one of our first without s#x. He pulled back the covers and climbed in, gestured me beside him and pulled me close to his chest. Hugged me tight, his arm around my chest, his legs hooked through mine and said only one thing, his breath against my neck, his heart beating a hard rhythm against my back.

"I love you."

"I love you too." It was my first time saying the words out loud, the first time testing them on my tongue. His arms tightened a little around me, one gentle squeeze and then, with the murmur of the city our soundtrack, we both fell asleep.

On the floor, my phone, still in the purse where I carelessly dropped it, vibrated with each new tweet and Instagram post that mentioned me. As Carter and I slept, social media exploded.