Page 121 of Perfect Satisfaction

To whom it may concern:

Months ago, I let the best part of my life walk out the door without a fight. It’s as simple and as stupid as that.

The best part of my life was Ursula Kayla Moore.

Actually, let’s finally get it right. Her name is Ursula Kayla Ronan.

Then a gift was dropped into my lap by a man who had no idea how to give them. For that, I suppose, I need to thank West Moore. But it isn’t his money I’m grateful for, it’s time.

Time was something he so carelessly threw away.

For a while I did as well.

I refuse to now.

I’ve spent the last few months paying close attention to my Sula. She’s brilliant, driven, and caring. She has so much to offer this world. Go ahead—ask me the question: Am I really doing what you think I am? The answer is a resounding yes. I willingly am refusing one hundred and fifty million dollars to spend time with her.

I’d do it for a minute.

An hour.

A year.

In that time, I hope Sula finds the answers to what she’s searching for. I pray she learns what I already know—she is so much more than she gives herself credit for. I’ve told her I love her, but I don’t know if she believes me.

This isn’t a grand gesture, this is a gesture of fairness. Why should I be paid for doing something I should be paying someone for the right to do? All I want in the whole world is to be with my wife.

I’ve made mistakes. I, too, have been afraid to be completely open.

What a fool I was.

She may never believe this, but she is my Moore. And that means more to me than money.

Love, at least the kind I have for Sula, is without value.

Arek Ronan

Carys stops reading. I let go of JB’s hand and reach for the letter. And there it is.

The words he hasn’t said but he wrote down for a roomful of strangers to hear—my Moore.

I begin to weep.

“Ursula?” Heythrop frets. “You are the only one who can make this decision. This man has nothing to gain by living with you now.”

I stand and face Carys. Her expression gives away nothing but her eyes...everything. She’s recanting every bit of advice about being careful around Arek. I agree with my father’s solicitor. “From your perspective, that might be considered true.”

“From my perspective? How do you see it?”

“He just got Moore.” With that, I grab my briefcase from the table and race for the door without looking back at anyone.

Not the solicitors.

Not Carys.

Not my brothers.

I’m looking in exactly one direction—toward my husband.