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Me Vs. Me
Sarah Mlynowski
MILLS & BOON
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For Sylvia Harris and Dora Stein,
grandmas extraordinaire
Many, many thanks to:
My fab new editor, Selina McLemore, my fab former editor, Farrin Jacobs, Tara Kelly, Margaret Marbury, Sarah Rundle and the rest of the RDI team, my awesome agent Laura Dail and superb publicist Gail Brussel.
For their brilliant insights and edits: Elissa Ambrose (thanks again, Mom; you’re the best), Robert Ambrose, Lynda Curnyn, Alison Pace, Lisa Callamaro, Jessica Braun, Melissa Senate, Kristin Harmel, Dari Alexander and Chad Ruble.
For their never-ending love and support:
Larry Mlynowski, Louisa Weiss, Aviva Mlynowski, Jen Dalven, Gary Swidler, Darren Swidler, John Swidler, Bonnie Altro, Robin Afrasiabi, Jess Davidman, Ronit Avni. Special thanks to Vicki Swidler for being a dream mother-in-law, and luckily for me, nothing like Alice. And of course, Todd Swidler, the one for me no matter which road I would have taken.
Contents
BEFORE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
AFTER
BEFORE
“Close your eyes, Gabby,” Cam said.
“Now? I’m watching.” Closing your eyes during a meteor shower was like wearing a bikini when taking a bath. You were definitely going to miss the important parts.
We were lying in the back of his Ford pickup, admiring the desert sky exploding above, drunk on merlot sipped straight from the bottle (with cork remnants to spice it up—I could never open a bottle properly), while the light rained down on us from every direction.
“Come on, just close them,” he said.
As usual, I did as I was told. “Happy?”
I heard the metal creak. He squeezed my left hand and then slipped something cold and hard around my fourth finger.
Was that…did he…My eyes shot open. Holy shit.
Cam was no longer lying next to me, but crouched in an awkward wannabe-knight kneel. “Will you marry me?” he asked. A massive Cheshire-cat smile stretched across his normally serious face, making him look off-kilter.
Sparkle, twinkle, glitter. Ohhh. I had my very own meteor shower on my finger. At closer glance I could see it was a pear-shaped diamond (one carat or two?) set on a thin platinum band.
The man I loved had just proposed marriage.
The blood rushed to my head and my face felt hot. I wanted to say yes. Yes. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees! This was the moment I’d been waiting for my entire life. The moment I’d been romanticizing about since I first saw Cinderella when I was six and imagined my own glass carriage ready to roll me toward my happily-ever-after castle. A castle I later decided would be filled with thousand-thread-count bed linen and Italian-marble Jacuzzis. All I had to do was respond. To give some sort of affirmative response. Like yes. Or okay, let’s. And I was going to say yes. The word was at my lips, begging to be released. Yes! An orgasmic, hallelujah, couldn’t-be-happier yes. Yes!
All I had to do was open my mouth. Unfortunately, my lips were swollen and sticky, like I’d spent the day licking envelopes. They wouldn’t let me say yes. They knew I couldn’t say yes, because I was moving to New York on Sunday. In thirty-six hours. At least, that had been the plan until the will-you-marry-me curveball. Two weeks ago, when I had told Cam of the offer and my decision to take the job at TRSN in New York (the twenty-four-hour news network owned by the TRS network), he had agreed to try long distance. I had to take the job—it was the chance of a lifetime. It was national. It was cable. It paid a six-figure salary. I’d be producing legendary Ron Grighton’s show, which in any lifetime could not compare to my small-fry executive producer’s job in Phoenix. I’d invited Cam to come, to make the move with me across the country, but I knew he wouldn’t. I loved him, but this was my career. I had to go for it. And it wasn’t like the move was a surprise; I’d always told him what my dream was—apartment in Manhattan, jogging in the park (not that I jog, but I’ve always wanted to), snowflakes on my nose. Hadn’t I?
“Perfect, huh? This way you don’t have to go to New York,” he said, nodding. “We both know long-distance relationships never work out.”
We did? I wanted to ask since when, but my mouth was still annoyingly uncooperative. I smiled, no easy feat with frozen lips.
“And I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, oblivious to my condition. “I want to marry you.”
So he’d said. I smiled (sort of) again. I never would have pegged Cam as one of those lame-ass romantic-comedy run-to-the-airport-gate-with-flowers-to-catch-the-girl-before-she-flies-out-of-his-life guys, but what did I know? I yanked my eyes away from the sparkling
