Rich People Problems

xxxxvii | stars above

**warning: you know what it is...**

KIMBERLY

BEING BORN TWO days before Valentine's Day had its perks, especially for someone like me.

Everything around was either of my two favorite colors, candy—more importantly, chocolate—was on sale everywhere you went, and the size of teddy bears was frighteningly adorable and rivaled my husband's ability to cuddle.

In previous years, it was difficult to find the amusement in all that, considering how lonely I felt. I mean, how was one supposed to celebrate love when they thought they were incapable of it? But this year was so obviously different.

For the first time, the way things have been going so well didn't have me anticipating the worst.

In the past month, I've stayed clean and sober, I had two photoshoots to indicate the end of my early retirement, I've adjusted to my new position as COO, the Vivas Cancer Center had a major medical publication in the neuro-oncology department, Laurent and Farrell were finally convicted for multiple charges of sexual assault and being accessories to murder, and I've been going to therapy.

Therapy was an odd feeling, to say the least. Opening up to a stranger about all your fucked up problems sounded like a recipe for disaster. Ashton tried convincing me that opening up to Camelia back when they were still strangers was the best thing he ever did.

I told him he was crazy.

But I eventually realized that it was less about talking to a stranger and more about admitting things about myself that I would never say aloud to the people I loved.

I wasn't lying when I told Jace that my mind went to dark places, and I couldn't bear to have my family know just how bad it got. Jace was supportive, but I didn't want him to hear the extent of those things either.

The stubborn girl in me used to hate the idea of going to therapy.

I knew I had problems, but I didn't think an outside force would ever be able to help me work through them.

After all, my failed attempts at rehab in the past deterred me from placing faith in the idea that someone else could help me. But I realized that I needed to want help and accept help for help to even work.

I was by no means perfect, no matter how much I joked that I was.

I was fucked up and, now, I'm trying to be a little less fucked up.

There were certain parts of me that needed... polishing and certain parts that would never change, including my incessant curiosity.

Working in the same office as Jace was both a blessing and a curse. For one, I wasn't lonely and we worked well together. On the other hand, we drove each other insane—mentally and physically—and would spend days doing nothing but each other.

So, he knew how to get me distracted.

This time the object of my focus being the wrapped box staring at me next to his desk.

"Tell me," I whined, frowning at him.

I've spent the last hour trying to figure out the contents of the box. It had to be a gift for me—if it wasn't, I was going to kill my husband—but I had no clue what he could get me.

The angel earrings Jace got me still adorned my ears, and I couldn't potentially think of how he would be able to top that.

With money not being an issue for us, it's easy to choose the most expensive gifts, which is why we enforced sentimental gifts or nothing at all.