Billionaire Novelist 4 : Every Romance is a Revenge Fantasy(14)

"And you remember now?"

"I do. And the weird thing is, Smith was trying to tell me, but I was still in denial. We were writing part of the book-well, I was typing it and he was pacing around behind me-and we got to this one part about this girl, named Sheri. She's Detective Dunham's new girlfriend in the novel. There was a teacher in her school who showed a lot of interest in her. She was his special student." I looked down at my hands, remembering everything now through the filter of writing about it. "When we were in that part of the story, Smith was only dictating parts of it, to keep me going, but I wrote it. I wrote it from memory, everything that happened. And now it's not a black hole anymore."

My mother got up from her chair and came to stand behind me, her arms around my shoulders. "You're so brave to talk about this. Not many women do."




 

 

I crossed my arms over hers. "I'm okay, Mom! I swear. I had a bad dream last night, when the rest of it came back to me, but I think I'm going to be fine. A shitty thing happened to me, but shitty things happen, and we keep going."

"So long as we have each other, yes. We keep going."

I turned and kissed her hand. "Good. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

"You sure?"

"Yes! I'm hungry. Let's eat."

She sat down and blew her nose, her tears stopped.

I poked at my food, wondering what Smith was doing at that moment.

My mother broke off a little chunk of bacon and put it in her mouth. "See, I can hardly taste this bacon," she said. "That's emotional trauma for you. Shuts off your senses." She chewed some more. "Ah, good, it's coming back."

"Don't be upset, Mom. This is a good thing, that I have a clear memory and a clear head."

Her mouth twisted up in a grin. "Oh, that?" She took another bite of bacon. "Obviously, I'm traumatized because Detective Dunham has some new girlfriend named Sheri, and I honestly thought he was going to settle down with that nice girl, Hannah, from the last novel."

She winked at me, and I had to laugh.

Part 6: Sweeping Up

Smith Wittingham

Montreal - Hotel Le St. James

As he'd expected, Tori was gone from the hotel penthouse. Gone, and no note-not that the situation had required one.

He looked at the broken lamp on the floor, and the mess he'd made, and he imagined himself ranting and raving like a lunatic-he saw himself through Tori's eyes, and he didn't like what he saw.

He searched through the penthouse and found a dustpan, then set to work cleaning up the broken glass of the lamp. What would Detective Dunham do in this situation? He wouldn't go after the girl, that was for sure. The phone would ring, and he'd have a new case, a new mystery to solve. He'd find some new love interest to lose himself in.

Smith Wittingham did not write romance novels. He did not enjoy that particular brand of revenge fantasy. Revenge fantasy? Yes, that was how he saw them:

The man treats the woman like shit.

But she loves him, and keeps on giving him chance after chance to redeem himself.

He forgets to leave one night, and he wakes up in her arms and something clicks in his brain.

Now he's in love with her, under her spell. The scent of her makes him lose his will to fight. She's got him right where she wants him, gelded, and the poor sap will be pu**y-whipped for the rest of his days and nights. It'll be his comeuppance for being such a dick, and all the women in all the world will be so happy, and the man will never be happy or free again. 

Brynn's hair was curly again when she finally left the facility. Smith had renovated their penthouse again, removing any hint of a nursery by putting a custom-built pool table into that room. He didn't even play pool, but he liked the sound of the balls knocking around on the slate.

They were legally separated, and she said she wanted to reconcile with him, but that she'd feel "safer" if she had her own space. They bought another apartment, this one with an even better view of Central Park, though the ancient plumbing was a nightmare, and Brynn moved in there.

The two of them saw each other for date nights once or twice a week, but kept their lives mostly separate. She had found a guru of some type and had incense and soy-based candles everywhere at her place. She hadn't worked in years, but she treated her wellness like a new job, and Smith was happy for her.

She would laugh now, which was probably the biggest change. He couldn't remember what her laugh used to sound like, or if she even had laughed before. How had he not noticed? What kind of monster was he?

His second and third novels both hit the New York Times Bestseller list and reached Number One, without any paid manipulation. The world had spoken, and they loved Smith. Detective Smith.