by Havana Scott
“I don’t get it. It’s like God, an angel, or somebody got in his ear and told him what he needed to do. He actually sounded fine. Can you believe it?”
“Hey. Sometimes people wake up with full clarity. Wow.” She got to her desk and put all her things down. “And how are you? Doing okay?”
I shook my head. “He hasn’t called. I don’t get it. One moment, he’s telling me how great I am, how much he loves me, and the next, he’s in Miami with God-knows-who.”
“Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe your surprise return was more than he could handle. Maybe he needed to end things properly with Tatianne and all the other women before admitting to himself that he loved you. I just think it sucks that you flew all the way over there to see him again, and he abandoned ship.”
“Literally.”
There had to be more. I hadn’t known Tristan that long, but would he do that?
It didn’t sit right with me.
What was he doing right now? Had he come back from Miami yet and was reading the manuscript I left him? I’d emailed it to him and Natasha too, just to have both formats. I really had written it from the heart. I didn’t want him to think I’d done it for money because I hadn’t.
Just in case, I logged onto my bank account. My balance had jumped thanks to a deposit last night for $15,000.
Ugh.
Either he’d seen the book I’d left behind, or Natasha informed him it was finished, and he’d gone and paid for it without going over it. Either way, I had money to hold me over for a few months. “Damn. He paid me for the book.”
“Is that bad?” Grace asked.
“Yes, I didn’t want his money. That wasn’t why I went back. I went back, because I loved the island—and him. Why was my heart breaking so hard? It wasn’t like I’d known him that long.
“I’ll be back.” I shot out of my chair, went to the bathroom, and proceeded to stare at a thin spider web in the corner while holding in tears. I didn’t want Grace to see them. I didn’t want her to see how pathetic I was and how shitty I felt.
I never thought having fifteen grand sitting in my bank account would make me feel this horrible. It was just money and could never replace the time I’d spent with Tristan. Even if it wasn’t meant to last, it had still been memorable.
When I returned to my desk, my phone rang. I saw the name Tristan and felt my nerves jumble in all my limbs. “Hello,” I answered.
“Can you go outside?”
“What for?”
“There’s a car waiting outside for you. Can you say goodbye and get into it?”
“What? You’re fucking kidding me. You don’t call me, you leave me a note—a note—telling me you’re flying off to Miami for a meeting, but then Tatianne tells me what you’re really up to, and now, I’m supposed to just drop everything and get into a car you sent? You are worse than I thought.”
Grace pumped her victorious fist in the air, while craning her neck to see if she could see the car waiting for me on the street.
“I told you Tatianne was a troublemaker. You believe her over me?”
“I don’t know what to believe. All I know is, you can’t just order me around whenever the hell you want. You may be used to having multiple women bend over backwards for you, but I’m not one of them. That won’t ever be me, because—”
“Paris, what are you talking about, multiple women? There’s only you. From the moment I met you, there’s only been you.”
“Really? Who’s in Miami that was so important, you had to go visit her? So goddamn important, you left your lucky business hat, the one you supposedly wear to evverrryy meeting because of its magical financial properties. Who, Tristan?”
“I don’t believe this.”
“Who, Tristan?” I demanded.
“You want to know who?”
“Yes, tell me.”
“Ben. That’s who. I came to Dayton to see Ben. I didn’t tell you, because I thought you’d be mad.”
The quiet that comes with shock is full of kinetic energy. There were two different ways to react, and I was never impulsive like Tristan. I always tried to give things time, see how things pan out. He came to see Ben, my ex? I stared outside at the car that pulled up. I couldn’t speak.
“I didn’t leave to see any women in Miami. My connecting flight was in Miami, same as yours on the way to Sorendi. Now can you go out to the car, please? Just trust me.”
Grace kept waving, wanting to know what Tristan was saying, why I was so quiet.
I covered the phone and whispered, “He’s here. He came to see Ben.”
Understanding dawned all over Grace’s face, as she pointed to the car parked outside. “Someone loves you to come all this way,” she said. Getting out of the car, flowers first as they appeared through the open doorway, connected to an arm, connected to broad shoulders was Tristan.
“What…the fuckmonkeys?” My eyeballs nearly fell out of my head.
“He came to get you. My God, this is so romantic,” Grace muttered under her breath. “If you don’t go out there right now, I will.”
Tristan hung to the car’s door frame in jeans and a T-shirt looking devilishly handsome holding the flowers with one hand and his phone pressed to his ear with the other.
“Paris, are you coming out?” Tristan sounded even sexier over the phone than in person.
“Why did you come to see Ben?” was all I could say.
“I’ll explain when you come out here, love.”
“I’m going to count to three,” Grace said, “and if you don’t go out there, I’m never talking to you again.”
“Ugh. Fine!” I got up and moved to the door. I didn’t care how adorable he looked right now holding those flowers, and—was that a bag from the French bakery downtown? Macarons. He bought me macarons. Like I was saying, I didn’t care how adorable he looked right now—
He put his phone down and pretended to collapse on the car roof. “Hi, love. I was worried there for a second.”
No words. Silence. He’d have to earn my words at this point.
“I know you’re mad at me, but can we go somewhere to talk? Like Sorendi Isle maybe?” He smiled that roguish smile of his that made my frown want to disappear. But it wasn’t happening. Charm and manipulation didn’t work anymore.
I wanted answers. “What do you mean you came to talk to Ben?”
He rested the flowers on the hood of the rental car, a BMW with a sunroof. Easily the nicest car I’d ever been picked up in. “There was something I needed to tell him. Come inside the car, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“You can tell me here.” Oh, I was adamant. But I wouldn’t stay mad for long. I was never any good at holding grudges.
“Fine. I visited him. I told him about you and me, and I talked to him about moving on.”
This was true. I didn’t know how I knew it, but this was absolutely true. Ben had called me not half an hour ago telling me the same. Still, who gave Tristan the right to do that without telling me? “Who told you could do that? He’s my ex. It’s between me and him.”
“I know, but he needed someone to talk to, Paris. Someone from the outside. It actually went really well. I’m going to help him get back on his feet for a couple of months, and then he’ll be on his own.”
“You what? What do you mean, Tristan?” I crossed my arms.
“See, this is what I was scared of—you being mad. I know I have to tell you the truth anyway, and I’m working on that.” He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m going to help pay a few of Ben’s bills. Enough for him to find a job, see a good psychiatrist, and maybe move back to Pittsburgh if that’s what he wants.”
“And he didn’t send you to hell?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This meeting actually turned out fine? The world didn’t end?
“He was good with it. We got along great. Love, I needed to help you, help him, help all of us move along, so please, please, don’t be upset. I liked the guy. He was really nice. Yo
u know how to choose them.” He smiled, his gaze shifting to something behind me.
Grace was breathing down my neck. “Hi. I’m Grace, her best friend. Available for all your travel service needs.”
“Hello, Paris has said great things about you.” Tristan motioned to the passenger seat while Grace blushed. He unlocked the door. “Come on, I’ll tell you the rest inside.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” I muttered. “For me. Nobody’s ever done anything for me like that before.” This—this was an act of love. Tristan had proven himself, while I felt like an utter fool for believing Tatianne, that little bitch.
“Nobody’s ever loved you like I do.” He circled around the front of the car and held the door open for me. “Macaron?” He handed me the bag, and Grace snatched it right out of my hand and fished around inside.
“God, I love these things.” She reached in and pulled a pink one out, taking a huge bite with no shame whatsoever. “I’ll leave you alone now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Giovanetti. I loved the pics I saw of Surrender Isle. I’m dying to go one day. Wink, wink.”
“I’m sure you will soon. And it’s Tristan.” He stood there under cloudy Dayton skies, as I gawked at the whole thing—the car, the flowers in hand, his sexy grin, the fact that he was here in my hometown, sticking out like a sore thumb, that he’d gone to see Ben at our old house, not some imaginary woman in Miami. So many amazing thoughts pummeled my brain, but nothing more amazing than knowing he’d gone through some serious trouble all for me.
“I think I owe you an apology,” I said. “I was feeling insecure, and Tatianne knew that. She used it against me. I believed her when I should’ve believed you. I’m sorry, Tristan.”
“Love, I’m sorry I felt I couldn’t tell you my plans to talk to Ben. We’ll work on this, okay?”
Grace’s knuckle dug into my lower back. “Say okay.”
“Okay.” And for the first time since two days ago, I smiled again.
“Paris? This one’s a keeper. Go,” she whispered behind my back. She pushed me out the door, handing me my purse, laptop bag, even my lunch bag. “And don’t ever come back.”
Chapter 24
If you’re ever in doubt as to whether or not you love a woman, try this simple test: Help her ex-husband rehabilitate for several months, then agree to bring home her slobbering cat “Cujo” and see how you feel. If you feel good about these two worries being wiped off the forefront of her mind, then you probably love her. If you feel like you’re the biggest idiot who ever lived, run and run fast.
Luckily, I felt good about my decision.
“This is my third time to Sorendi Isle in a ten-week span.” Paris stared out the window at the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea. I couldn’t wait to get home, couldn’t wait to nap, couldn’t wait to wake up in her arms.
“Third time’s a charm.” I squeezed her hand. “Except this time, the ticket is one way.”
We’d spent a few days finalizing her plans, wrapping things up at work, and saying goodbye to friends and her mother. Of course, she could go back anytime she wanted, but for now, this was a new chapter in the Book of Paris.
“I’m excited, Tristan,” she said, turning to me. The light filtering through the plane window illuminated light brown irises alive with enthusiasm and hope.
“Me, too.” Especially since I’d retained her a week in Dayton for another reason—so I could get her surprise ready.
We touch landed, and the old crew was there waiting for us. Natasha didn’t even care that I was back. She was all about Paris, engulfing her in hugs and leis, tight ponytail bouncing in happiness. Something told me those two were going to become thick as thieves.
Michel sported the smile of a father figure welcoming me home. “Welcome back, monsieur.” He clapped me on the back, then we all loaded his Jeep with Paris’s bags. She’d left all her furniture behind, opting only to bring her clothes and dearest belongings. Another reason to admire her, for the strength to start all over in a new home.
Though I’d offered to give her a room at my house, she’d been adamant about not moving in right away. She wanted to do things the right way, not rush into another marriage-like situation, and I totally respected that. So I did the next best thing. We arrived at the Paradise Bay beachhead right before a summer storm was about to hit, so the palms were all bendy in the wind. A perfect, blustery day to kick off this new beginning.
“Wait ‘til you see,” I told Paris. “Though I haven’t even seen it myself yet.”
“Seen what?” She craned her neck for a better view.
As we jumped out of the vehicle onto the wooden walkway extending into the sea, I could see my workers still there putting the final touches. “Let’s go check it out.” Taking her hand, we strolled across the deck and arrived at Paris’s villa. The writing villa. Because she’d told me she loved it there, I had my guys fix it up just for her.
“What are they doing, Tristan?” Paris eyed the workers crossing in and out of the villa carrying planks of wood on their shoulders.
“This is your place now.” I tugged her inside by the hand to have a look around.
Her eyes widened, a hand pressed to her chest. “Mine?”
The villa, as we knew it, remained mostly the same, though they’d installed permanent French doors, so she could have the option of closing or opening up to the elements. They’d installed a small central air conditioner unit, in case she preferred cold air to the West Indies breezes. On the walls were photos I’d snapped in her apartment turned into framed displays—of her and Grace, of Cujo, of her as a little girl with her parents, one in particular of her and her father before he died, and a few of us from her first month here.
“Where did you get all these?” She touched each photo lovingly.
“I have my ways.” I smiled. “There’s one of you and Ben too, in case you want to put it up. It’s in the drawer, so you can decide. I won’t mind if you do. But look, look at this one…” I showed her the photo I’d taken of her two months ago, when she sat facing the ocean cross-legged out on the dock in her white bikini, laptop in her lap. It was a poignant photo, highlighting her silhouette, and it looked amazing on her wall.
I led her to the hubbub of the action happening on the other side of the kitchen. Now, a doorway led to another room—a wide wooden room with shutter doors that opened and closed to the Caribbean. A new writing desk in white shabby chic style. A daybed. A cat bed on the daybed. A small salt water fish tank, just because fish tanks were cool as shit. And on top of the writing desk—my favorite—a new laptop. Not cracked.
“Tristan?” Paris’s voice warned. “What is all this?”
“It’s your new writing room.”
“But I said I didn’t want you supporting my life. I’m going to pay my own way.”
“I know, but you needed a new laptop. So consider this my gift to you, a welcome to Surrender Isle gift. That okay?” I knew this woman was full of pride, but I hoped she’d at least accept this starter package. “Please? Nothing would make me happier than if you accepted it.”
Her arms wrapped around my middle and she sighed, laying her head on my chest. I took that as a yes. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to.” Pulling her back, so I could see those honey eyes, I said, “Paris, I want to make sure you’re happy here, and if you’re ever, ever not happy, let’s talk about it, okay? I’m not trying to buy your love. In fact, I want you to have all the space you need, but a guy likes his girl to have things and be happy. Besides, I owe you a thanks.”
“For what?”
“We’re booked for the rest of the year and a third-way into the next. We’re booked because your article’s gone viral. We’re booked because you made this island out to be an accessible paradise—close but not too close, pricey but not too pricey, a dream but not unrealistic. And once we get the travel book out there, Surrender Isle will be on the map. I have you to thank for th
at.”
“Well, fiiiiinne,” she drawled. Sitting down at the desk, she ran her hands over the finished, smooth wood, opening the new laptop and tapping at the keys just for fun. “Then I accept your thanks and my very own villa by the sea. I guess I’ll take it.”
“That’s my girl.” I stood behind her and hugged her tight. Her hands held onto my arms. Tilting her head back, I gave her an upside-down kiss, as a beehive of activity swirled around us. We’d probably have to spend the first night on my boat while they finished up this place, but from the way Paris kissed me, ringing her arms around my shoulders and pulling me in close, I knew we’d likely be christening this room right away.
“Do these guys have to be here right now?” she whispered.
“Let me think about that. Caballeros, I’ll need you to clear out,” I told the nearest worker. “Ahora, por favor.” The man nodded and signaled to the others to get out, then gave me a wink.
Paris had the power to do that—clear a room. I wanted her to know it, so she would feel it forever. If I had to mark the day we officially became a couple, it would have to be that day. Not just because she became a resident of Sorendi Isle and we’d be spending more time together, but because I saw her stress and old school worries melt away that afternoon. As we made love leaning against the desk, lying in the new daybed, up against the shutters facing the ocean, she gave me everything inside her soul.
And I had this startling realization—a woman can’t really be yours wholeheartedly until you’ve blasted away her worries. It was my job as her man to do that. Sure, new worries would come up, because let’s face it—life wasn’t perfect—but I wasn’t about creating problems, I was about solving them. I wasn’t about creating drama, I was about purging it. I never regretted going to talk to Ben. Paris’s heart and mind needed to clear the space he’d held, so new memories could be made. That was how life worked.
So, really, Paris’s arrival on our island set everybody’s life into new directions. New adventures for everyone, even Tatianne, who wrote to say she would be overseeing the construction of a new resort in the Maldives. I couldn’t say I was happy for her. After the shit she’d pulled while I was in the States, in her lame attempt to get rid of Paris? Hell the fuck no. I would always be grateful to her for the start she gave me in business, but that was one tree I would never be barking up again.
