Chapter 82 Eighty-one

• The launch of his novel was a resounding success, which was nothing new to him. Fame, glory, money and recognition never had great meaning, much less relevance. Still, he had to be honest (because he had dedicated every minute of his time to write that story) and knowing that that story, that novel, was in the hands of hundreds of people made him happy. Maybe because it was a different work, maybe because he had become so attached to his characters, or maybe for the simple reason that he loved writing it. The feeling was completely different from how he felt every time one of his works hit the bookstores. He actually missed writing about certain characters.
• He allowed himself to lose himself in thought, taking advantage of the solitude of the four walls of the living room. He watched Mávros sleep and smiled. Who would have told him that his cat would be the main protagonist of his own romantic story, maybe he would laugh until his stomach ached. He had to be honest with himself and admit that the ebony fur ball got more attention and affection from a certain curly boy every time he visited.
• Everything in his life was in perfect balance, or so he wanted to assume. The relationship with Dominic came naturally as long as they didn't meet in the work environment. If I had to be realistic, I would say that when William took the reins there was no one to stop him. Did he suffer from a split personality? Possibly. One of the things that pleased him most knew how to separate things. In parts he owed Dominic, and he wouldn't take credit away from his boy. Jesus! She started referring to the curly one as "her boy". And why deny it? It felt more than pleasurable and somewhat self-centered. However, everything changed when the innate writer emerged; encompassing every pore of her body, and not even her editor was spared the tantrums and whims.