Page 99 of Only and Forever
“We should definitely talk about it.” I hold his eyes, hoping he sees what I mean. “Just... not yet, please?”
Viggo searches my eyes. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand again, then draw it back, tugging the paper from the envelope. I unfold it, then spin it around. And then I blink at the number I’m staring at.
My royalty check forIsochron... it’s massive.
“What’s wrong?” Viggo asks, his gaze darting frantically over my face as he tries to decipher my expression.
Good luck to him. I have no idea what my face looks like, no idea what I’m feeling, either. Shocked? Stunned?
Holy shit.
I’ve always had the privilege of living with financial security, thanks to my wealthy film-star parents, which, with a disease like diabetes, has been an immense relief. Both my parents’ insurance, which covered me when I was younger, and the insurance I then bought on the marketplace have periodically denied coverage of my CGM, my pod, the type of insulin I use until my doctors get through to my insurance, but thanks to that financial security, I’ve been able to afford what I need to stay alive—a luxury many with my disease don’t have.
I’ve never lacked what I need. College was paid for, my parents gave each kid an obscene amount of money upon graduating, and then my book broke out, so I didn’t have to wait long for a royalty check. The first few checks were solid. But this check... as cliché as it sounds, it’s a whole new world.
“Tallulah, you’re scaring me.”
Viggo’s voice wrenches me from my trance. I fold the papertight, then slip it back into the envelope. “Good publishing news that I wasn’t expecting.”
His expression morphs from deep concern to a wide, beaming smile. “Lu, that’s great!” He wraps me in his arms, and I hug him back hard, squeezing tight, scrunching my eyes shut. Happy tears. The first time I can remember ever crying them. I hope it’s not the last.
Pulling away, I peer up at him, a smile lifting my mouth.
Happiness.
I feel it, lighting me up. Yes, I’m grateful for this check, the success it signals, the even greater financial security it brings me, but what makes me smile, what fills me with this fizzy, sparkling warmth, is the joy of sharing this moment with him.
Viggo brushes back a hair stuck to my tear-wet cheek, his eyes holding mine. “I really am proud of you. I admire your hard work, your success. But most of all... I’m happy to see you happy.”
My smile deepens. “Thank you.”
“That smile,” he whispers. His gaze fixes on my mouth. “That is a beautiful thing.”
His head dips. Mine tips up. Our noses brush as I press on tiptoe. This unspoken no-kissing agreement is about to go out the window.
But then his phone rings, startling us both.
I clutch my chest, heart pounding.
“Sorry,” Viggo says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. “Freya’s not due for eight more weeks, but I worry—”
“Take it, please.”
Viggo peers at his screen, his expression blanking.
Now it’s my turn to be worried, to be wringing my hands, trying to read his expression. “Viggo? What’s wrong?”
He swallows. “It’s Donnie. He’s... calling. He normally just texts.”
Six weeks ago, I’d probably have made some snarky dig about how serious he was treating an update on his car in the shop. But now I know that over the past month, while Viggo’s waited for word from Donnie on what parts could be found, what could be done to save his car, his worry has built the longer he’s gone not hearing news. I now know that Ashbury is much more than just a car he’s sentimental about. This is the car that drove him up and down from Escondido while he built a dream in that beautiful brain, while he delivered orders from his baking hustle, to odd jobs during the day, to his parents’ late at night and early in the morning to bake some more, so he could save and save, working steadily toward making his dream come true.
“Answer it,” I tell him. “I can give you space, if you want.”
I’m already backing away when Viggo grabs my wrist, holding it tight. “Stay, please.”
I freeze, then take a slow step toward him. “Okay.”