Chapter 38 Separate Paths, Day one
Ariella woke up in her childhood bed and immediately reached for her phone.
Two texts from Aiden, sent at 3:47 a.m.
“Can't sleep without you in the chair.”
“That sounds needier than I meant it.”
She typed back: “Miss you too. Did you try melatonin?”
“Tried everything. My brain won't shut off.”
“What's it saying?”
“That I made a mistake letting you leave, that a week is too long. That I should just tell you how I feel instead of playing it cool.”
Ariella's heart raced. “And what do you feel?”
The typing indicator appeared and disappeared. Appeared and disappeared.
Finally: “Ask me in six days.”
“Coward.”
“Absolutely. But we made a deal. No heavy stuff for a week.”
“You started it.”
“I know. I'm bad at this. At giving you space when all I want is to close the distance.”
Ariella stared at her phone, torn between the urge to say "forget the week, I'm coming back" and the knowledge that they both needed this. Needed to figure out who they were separately before they could be together.
“We can do six more days, she typed. We've survived worse.”
“Have we though?”
“We buried your father yesterday. I think we can handle some time apart.”
“You're right. I'm being dramatic.”
“You're being human. It's allowed.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Working at the bakery. The renovations are almost done. Mom needs help setting up the new equipment.”
“Tell her I said hi. And that I'm sorry about the dust. The contractors swore they'd minimize disruption.”
“They lied. There's dust everywhere.”
“Contractors always lie. It's in their nature
Ariella smiled at her phone. This was easier, texting about nothing, maintaining connection without drowning in feelings.
“I should go. Mom's making breakfast.”
“Lucky. Marie's on vacation this week. We're surviving on cereal and denial.”
“There's a whole chef's kitchen in that mansion and you're eating cereal?”
“Neither of us knows how to cook. It's tragic.”
“I'll teach you. When I get back.”
“When you get back. I like the sound of that.”
“Six days, Aiden.”
“Six days.”
“”Ariella helped her mother in the bakery all morning.
The renovations were stunning, Aiden's designs had transformed the cramped, outdated space into something that honored the past while embracing the future. The exposed brick was still there, cleaned and sealed. Her grandmother's recipe cards were displayed in custom shadow boxes. But now there was light, space, efficiency.
And in the corner, barely visible unless you knew to look for it, a small brass plaque:
In memory of E.H. and C.M.F.
Those we love don't go away, they walk beside us every day.
Ariella touched it with shaking fingers. "He put this in. Without asking. Without making a show of it."
Her mother came to stand beside her. "He's a good man, Ari. Whatever happens between you two, he's good."
"I know."
"So why are you here instead of there?"
"Because I need to remember who I am without him. Without the mansion. Without the performance." Ariella turned to face her mother. "I've spent three weeks being whoever the situation needed me to be. Contract wife. Media darling. Grieving daughter-in-law. I don't even know who the real me is anymore."
"Then figure it out. You have a week."
"That's not enough time."
"It never is, but it's what you've got."
They spent the afternoon training on the new equipment, ovens that actually heated evenly, mixers that didn't sound like they were dying, a proofer that would change everything about their production schedule.
"We could triple our output," Claire said, awe in her voice. "With this equipment, we could actually hire staff. Expand the menu. Maybe even…"
She stopped, but Ariella knew what she wanted to say: Maybe even become the kind of bakery that could have survived without Richard Frost's money.
"It's okay to be grateful," Ariella said. "Even if we hate how we got here."
"I don't hate how we got here. I hate that you had to sacrifice so much for it."
"What if I didn't sacrifice anything? What if I gained something instead?"
Her mother looked at her carefully. "Like what?"
"Like learning I'm stronger than I thought. Finding someone who sees me and doesn't look away, like maybe having a chance at something real for the first time in my life."
"You're talking about Aiden."
"I'm talking about Aiden."
"Are you in love with him?"
The question hung in the flour-dusted air.
"I don't know," Ariella said honestly. "I don't know what love is supposed to feel like. All I know is that when I'm with him, I feel less alone. When I'm not with him, I miss him. And when I think about the contract ending, about him not being in my life,I can't breathe."
"That sounds like love to me."
"Or trauma bonding. Or…"
"Or love, Ari. Sometimes it's just love."
Ariella's phone buzzed.
“Lily made me watch her practice piano for two hours. I think she's punishing me for letting you leave. Send help.”
Ariella laughed.
“You could always say no.”
“Have you met Lily? Saying no to her is impossible.”
“She learned from the best. Your father never met a manipulation he couldn't execute.”
“Too soon.”
“Sorry.”
“It's okay. You're right. Dad would be proud of how well she's weaponizing guilt.”
“Tell her I miss her too.”
“She says you should come back early.”
“She knows that's not how deals work.”
“She knows. She's just being fourteen.”
“How are you? Really?”
The typing indicator appeared for a long time.
“Surviving. The house is too quiet without him. Without you. Marcus is handling the company. I'm just trying to keep Lily from falling apart.”
“And who's keeping you from falling apart?”
No one, but I'm getting really good at falling apart quietly.”
“Aiden.”
“I know. I should talk to someone. My therapist wants me to come in but I keep canceling. It feels like if I talk about it, I'll make it real. And I'm not ready for it to be real yet.”
“Your father is dead. It's already real.”
“But if I don't talk about it, I can pretend he's just out of town. On a business trip. Coming back eventually.”
“That's not healthy.”
“I know, but it's all I've got right now.”
Ariella wanted to drive back to the mansion immediately, to sit with him in his grief, hold him through it, be the person who kept him from falling apart.
But that was the problem. She couldn't be his only support system. Couldn't be the thing that held him together. That wasn't partnership.
“Please go to therapy, she typed. For me. If not for yourself.”
“Emotional manipulation. I thought we agreed no heavy stuff.”
“This isn't heavy. This is me caring about you.”
“Fine. I'll go. But only because you asked nicely.”
“I didn't ask nicely. I begged.”
“Even better, I'm weak for begging.”
“Noted.”
“That sounded dirtier than I meant it.”
“AIDEN.”
“Sorry, grief makes me inappropriate. Add it to my list of problems.”
“Your list of problems is getting really long.”
“I know. Are you sure you want to come back to this mess?”
Ariella stared at that message for a long time.
“I'm sure.”