Chapter 3

That night, Oliver didn't leave with Michelle.

He chased me down to the parking lot and cornered me against my car door.

"Why won't you take it?"

"Too heavy."

"A garden trowel is heavy?"

"Yes."

"Tilda."

He caught my wrist.

"What is it you actually want?"

The question left me blank.

He was the one getting married, and somehow he'd twisted it around like I was the one cheating in a marriage.

"Oliver."

I told him, dead serious.

"I'm the one breaking up with you."

"I never agreed to it."

"Since when does dating need both parties to sign off before it ends?"

"You could at least not walk out without explaining."

"Then what do you want?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, out of nowhere: "Is thirty million really that important?"

"It is."

"More important than me?"

There it was.

The classic no-win question every rich man loves to ask.

If I said the money mattered more, he'd decide four years of feeling had been thrown to the dogs.

If I said he mattered more, he'd never bring himself to hand over the money.

I thought it over for three seconds.

"Why do you and the money have to be an either-or?"

Oliver let out a furious laugh.

"Well. You're not greedy, at least."

I nodded, in complete earnest.

After that he didn't want to say another word.

The next day, I started packing.

The apartment I lived in was Oliver's.

When we first got together he'd wanted me to move in, and to keep up the act, I turned him down a full four times.

I only moved in on the fifth.

Looking back now, I was young.

If I'd known, I'd have asked four years ago whether he could just sign the deed over.

I was halfway through packing when the call came from the studio.

The landlord said he wasn't renting the building out anymore. I had one week to clear out.

I froze.

I'd rented that old mansion for five years, and there were still two years left on the lease.

"Why?"

The landlord hemmed and hawed, and finally told me.

"The building's been bought."

"By who?"

"The Stephens family."

I was silent for a few seconds, then called Oliver directly.

He picked up fast.

"So you finally deigned to reach out to me?"

There was something almost pleased in his voice.

I didn't bother with it.

"You bought the building my studio's in?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Michelle likes it."

My grip on the phone tightened.

Oliver didn't notice.

"She's planning a private art gallery. That whole row of buildings is getting redone together."

"So you'll relocate."

"I'll find you a place."

It came back to me all at once, three years ago, when the studio had just opened and he came for the first time.

Back then I'd painted the walls myself, my hands smeared with white paint.

He stood in the doorway, frowning.

Said a place like that leaked drafts in winter and rain in summer.

I snapped at him.

"Don't you dare look down on it. This is the first place in my whole life that's mine."

After that he really did stop looking down on it. He even nailed together the flower stand in the back garden with his own hands.

Now he said it so lightly.

Relocate.

I asked, "When did you decide to buy it?"

"Last month."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You've never liked getting involved in my business, have you?"

The moment it was out, he must have realized how it sounded.

He paused.

"Tilda, it's just a studio."

Just a studio.

"Fine. How much are you paying me for it?"

Oliver went completely silent.

A few seconds later, his voice turned cold.

"When you talk to me now, is there ever anything but money?"

"There is."

"Then when does it hit my account?"

He hung up.

But at ten that night he showed up, carrying a bowl of the soup I liked.

His face was black as thunder.

I took it.

"Thanks."

"I've found a good spot for the new studio. It's twice the size of the old one."

"No need."

"What are you kicking up a fuss about now?"

"I'm planning to close the studio."

His expression changed in an instant.

"Why?"

I took a sip of the soup.

"I'm tired."

"Five years of it, and you'll just quit like that?"

I looked up at him.

"Four years together, and you'll just get married like that, won't you?"

Oliver's voice cut off all at once.