by Lia Lee
“That was incredible.” Her voice came out raspy. “Can we have sex hanging off the edge of this balcony every time?”
“Yes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Just as long as you don’t fall off in the throes of ecstasy.”
“I’m glad your railing is stronger than my dresser.” She nuzzled her nose against his and adjusted her skirt, drifting back into the penthouse. “Now, where did my wine go?”
He hoisted his pants, mind making lazy circles around the fact that they’d had sex without a condom. The drying drizzle on the patio made him laugh.
“What’s so funny?” She reappeared on the patio with their wineglasses. She handed him his, sipping contemplatively.
“I get around you and I lose my mind.” He tucked in part of his shirt and then grabbed his glass from her. “My bodily excretions are forever part of this penthouse now.”
She glanced down at the stain, lifting a brow. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t come all over the floor of every room in this house.”
“I really haven’t. You bring out a new side of me.”
She laughed, eyes sparkling. “Well that’s something every girl loves to hear. These are our penthouse secrets, after all.”
“You bring out a lot in me, actually.” The words tumbled out of him before he could think better of it. “You know what I love about you?”
She grew shy, avoiding his gaze. “No, I don’t.”
“You make me feel like myself.” He cupped her cheek, grazing his thumb against her lips. “You make me feel like a regular person. Someone who I forgot was even in there.”
Their eyes locked and something heavy passed between them. After a few moments, she took a deep breath, looking away. “I’m glad.”
He sipped at his wine, surveying the night sky, wondering how many people had witnessed them in the heights of passion. As his mind began to resume regular, clear-headed activity, he remembered something that had been on his mind all day.
“I have some news from today.”
“Oh yeah?” She eased down into the low, boxy sofa hugging the outer wall of the penthouse. “Did you elope one of your blind dates without telling me?”
He laughed, sitting down next to her. Across from them, the ceramic-tiled fountain gurgled pleasantly. “You’d have heard about that. I would have made you flower girl, you know.”
“So sweet.” She knocked his chin. “What is it?”
“I have a business trip.” He sipped again at his wine. His partners had approached him today about a last-minute trip to China to investigate a new vendor for their group investment. The three of them would fly there for a week-long meet-and-greet. The timing was bad, but it was an important business gesture. He’d wrestled all day with the thought of cancelling it.
“Oh. Where ya going?”
“China.”
Her face darkened. “For how long?”
“A little over a week.” He watched her carefully, curious if she’d be upset, or maybe hesitant to part. God knew he’d been dreading the Clara detox the entire day. “And I have to leave tomorrow evening.”
“Oh.” Her face fell further. “Man.”
“We can resume the dates when I get back. Just try to reschedule them if you can.”
“Sure, sure. It’s just…” She sat up, face perplexed. “You’re losing an entire week when your deadline is only three weeks away.
“I know.” He fingered the stem of the wineglass. “I’ll have to make a decision the week after I get back, no matter what.”
“Right.”
A heavy silence passed between them. He reached for her hand, struggling to clarify the sinuous thought in his head, the thought that refused to leave him: that he was dreading being away from her and was desperate to express this to her, to let her know that he already missed her, as though that were possible.
“Well, sounds like it’ll be fun.” She smiled, but it looked strained.
He shrugged. “It’s work.”
“It’s China.” She leveled him with her gaze. “Maybe that’s normal to you, but to someone like me, that might as well be the moon.”
“Want to go sometime?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Seriously?”
“Sure. Not this time, but next. It’s on me.” He nipped at her chin with his thumb. “You have your passport, right?”
“No.”
“It’s easy to get one.”
She watched him suspiciously. “Won’t the future Mrs. LaCroix be a little miffed?”
He bit his tongue. Not if you’re her. “We’ll figure that out when the time comes, won’t we?”
Clara nestled into the crook of his arm, turning toward the skyline of the Financial District. “Fine. Now tell me some fairy tales from your childhood, prince. I want to hear it all.”
Laughter erupted from him, effortless and joyful. This woman was a surprise he hadn’t counted in on in life…had been scared to even hope for. “Okay, okay. So, once upon a time…in a land far, far away…there grew a little boy named Adrien…”
Chapter Thirteen
Clara awoke the next morning far earlier than normal. She’d gone to bed half drunk, nursing a kernel of discord that threatened to blossom into something dark and dangerous. But after staring at the ceiling of the bedroom for ten minutes, listening to the soft breathing of Adrien at her side, it became clear the seed had sprouted anyway.
You’re being a fucking fool.
She slipped out of bed quietly, unsure how to placate herself. Coffee? The balcony? A bath? Nothing seemed right. Since last night, she’d been on a fast path to emotional ruin, and this morning the tears were already quivering at the brink.
She’d been an idiot to prolong this thing, whatever it was, between them. To go along with Adrien like they could have some happy little affair without any consequences or mess to clean up. Haven’t you learned anything after twenty-six years of being a woman? She hunted down her clothes, slipping into the dress from the night before and gathering whatever she could spot of her things.
It was time to leave. Permanently. To begin the painful transition back to singledom, back to her studio apartment, and back to her life that didn’t include Adrien or luxury or romantic nights on the balcony.
His sudden business trip was like a sign from heaven. They were getting in too deep, too fast, with no happy ending on the horizon. Better to rip him away like a scab now than to let the situation fester into gangrene down the road.
So he’d leave for China; she’d go back to her place to finish working for him professionally until she completed her duties, and then they’d continue on their separate, merry ways.
Just perfect.
In the living room, she packed up her things as quickly as she could. Leaving before he woke up seemed wisest. She could explain later—she just needed to get to a space where she could lose her shit in peace.
After almost two weeks in his pad, she’d amassed a fair amount of crap. Each new sweep turned up something else she’d forgotten—a pair of socks, the Chilean rock salt she’d insisted he use for a particular dish one night, her laptop, the kid’s game Guess Who she’d brought over sometime during the first week as an introduction to the American childhood he’d never had.
Too much shit for one trip. But oh well. He’d probably mail it over, or send Mr. Pike to deliver it. Snapping her backpack shut, she slipped it on, surprised by its heft. Laptop and Guess Who in her arms, she made a final check before heading toward the elevator.
“Where are you doing?”
She spun on her heels. Adrien stood on the far side of the living room in his boxer briefs, bleary-eyed, hair tousled.
“Home.”
“Without saying good-bye? Why?”
Her throat tightened. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just…have to leave.”
He creased his brow, coming nearer. “Why would you do that? You know I leave tonight.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She stepped away from him when he reached o
ut for her. “This needs to end. We’ve known all along there’s a deadline, and that includes this thing we have, whatever it is. I’m making the decision for the both of us.”
His hand dropped to his side, confusion etched across his face. “What?”
“It’s going to be too hard later.” She gulped back a knot of emotion, tears pressing at her eyes. If just a few weeks with this guy could affect her like this, she should have ended it sooner. “You know this is the smart thing to do.”
He clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“See? My point exactly.” She headed for the elevator. “I thought it would be easier to just disappear. I’ll finish working on the dates for you, don’t worry. We can still speak in a professional context.”
“Don’t do this.”
She steeled herself as she waited for the elevator. “Why not? We’re living in a fantasy, Adrien. It’s time we came back down to earth.”
“Is this because I’m leaving for China?” He stormed into her line of vision, eyes wild. “Or are you just afraid of what’s been going on?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said, knowing the second the words left her lips it was the biggest lie of her life. “I’m just being realistic. Which is a characteristic I thought you’d possess, as well.”
“Oh, I’m not being realistic? Is it such a crime to enjoy some time with a gorgeous woman? Please, forgive me for being so absurd.”
She narrowed her eyes, staring hard at the elevator doors. “I don’t like feeling like an idiot. And that’s the only thing I’ll be if I stay in this situation any longer.”
“But why?”
She snapped her eyes to meet his. “Because I know what’s coming.”
The elevator door slid open and she hurried on, jabbing at the door-close button. Adrien watched her, looking pitiful, his hands clasped behind his head.
“Stay,” he said, voice breaking. “At least see me off.”
She shook her head, studying the floor. “We’ve been living together for two weeks. This is not normal. We have to cut it at the throat.”
The doors slid shut and she leaned her forehead against the wall, her skin sweaty and prickly as she rode down from the penthouse and away from Adrien.
Chapter Fourteen
“Mr. LaCroix, can I interest you in a beverage?” The airline stewardess smiled sweetly at him, offering him a napkin.
“Whiskey.” He barely glanced at her as she prepared him a tumbler, setting it down on the wide side table in his first-class perch. Off to his right, his business partner was ordering something similar from a different stewardess.
He didn’t normally drink on the long-haul flights, but today, there was so much swirling in his mind that he needed a respite. Even if it was alcohol induced.
Every five minutes his mind returned to Clara’s departure that morning, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, rationalize it, accept it, or get over it. He’d called her a few times later on in the day, with no answer. Pike had reported a safe return to her apartment, and that the stairwell latch Adrien had ordered replaced was still in working condition. But he couldn’t accept that was the last time they’d see each other.
Already he was dying to see her again. So maybe that meant she was right—they were too deep, too fast. Getting used to being apart was probably for the best.
But damn it, anyway. He sipped at his whiskey, jaw clenching as the cool liquid calmed him. He didn’t want to get used to being apart from her. He only wanted more of her. All the time.
He whipped out his phone, pulling up his messages with Clara. He shot off a message before he could think twice. I miss you.
It was the truth. But it was attached to another truth, one that was much bigger, scarier, and potentially more painful.
He was falling in love with Clara. The revelation was banging around inside him like a child desperate to have his temper tantrum acknowledged. “I love you” had nearly slipped out the night before as they were lying in bed.
And maybe he should have said something then. Maybe she would have returned the words. Maybe they could have avoided the scene in his penthouse after all.
Or maybe he was just in too deep with the only woman he could even conceive of spending forever with. Her surprising departure that morning put a lot into focus for him. She was the only lady he wanted to see. But the timing, as always, was the spear in the gut.
He tossed back half of his whiskey, and then finished it off for good measure. Wiping at his upper lip, he stared at the chunky ice cubes, glinting in the tumbler, the roar of the plane somewhere above the Atlantic a pleasant monotone for his thoughts.
His phone vibrated. He snatched it out of his business jacket as fast as he could, heart in his throat.
Five new e-mails. He scowled, flipping through them. All work related.
Clara wouldn’t text; he knew it deep in his gut, a heavy knot that had been with him since she walked out that morning. And the only thing that made sense in the face of the confusion was to not give up—to show her, until the last possible moment, that there was something intense and worthwhile here, something that demanded as much attention and time as they could muster.
Chapter Fifteen
A week later, Clara had only left the apartment for a handful of food runs and her job interview, both of which had been bright spots in an otherwise sad and pitiful week. The interview had only been slated for forty minutes, but she and the director hit it off so well that she’d stayed an extra half hour chatting and talking about lesson plans. They said they’d call within a week, but Clara had a gut feeling the job was already hers. She’d knocked it out of the park—which knocked her back to reality when the first person she wanted to share the news with was Adrien.
But that was part of learning to live without him. It stung at first—and sucked, really—but armed with snacks, Netflix, and her vibrator, she at least had a chance at emerging from the cloud of despair of losing Adrien.
Even though you pushed him out of your life. You didn’t lose him.
Crumpled tissues lined the couch from the latest sappy rom com. Adrien wasn’t helping matters by sending constant sweet text messages from across the world. Her phone vibrated with a new arrival. She looked at it glumly. I hope you’re reading these. I want to see you when I get back. Two more days.
God, she wanted to see him, too. She wanted that more than almost anything. The week apart from him had been physically painful, like being deprived of a necessary organ.
Just marry him. You want to be with him. You two are in love.
The thought jarred something lose inside of her. Excitement mingled with fear. Three weeks in and she was in love? Was that even possible? She blew her nose. According to the rom coms, it was. But that doesn’t happen in real life.
Except it felt like it happened in real life. She swiped a tortilla chip through the guacamole, then into a jar of hot sauce. She’d been craving hot sauce recently, which was odd, since it wasn’t entirely her favorite condiment. She’d gotten the organic exotic brand from Southern Mexico when she stopped by Whole Foods—just because she could, for now. Until the money dried up again, that was.
Parting ways with Adrien had been killer. More difficult than breaking up with her college boyfriend of three years, even, which was saying something. So what was different about him? Why was she being so damn emotional about it?
She reached for another tissue just in case. It would pass in time; it had to. There was no way a three-week fling with a billionaire prince could ruin her for life…right?
She squinted at the calendar hanging on the wall above her desk. Two more days meant he’d be home on Wednesday. Necessary information for planning the remainder of his blind date schedule. That, at least, was sanctioned communication. After making a few updates to the spreadsheet, she prepared a draft e-mail listing his upcoming dates.
She sniffed, clutching at a breast. Her boobs had been hurting recently. Way more than her pre-period n
orm. Between the hot sauce and the crying and the boob pain, she almost thought…
Her eyes widened, sliding back to the calendar. When the fuck was my last period? She shoved the laptop aside, stumbling over to the couch, legs clumsy from the sedentary week behind her. She flipped to the previous month, counted the days since her last period.
And then she counted again. And again.
Each time, the result was the same.
Five days late.
She stood staring into space for what felt like an hour. Could it really be true? Her period was usually like a timepiece, more reliable than the moon. She’d never been late in her adult life by more than one day. Ever.
Pregnant? The word drifted, foreign and strange, through the recesses of her mind. It couldn’t be. They’d used protection, every time except the last time, which couldn’t possibly have impregnated her. It was too recent. And other than that, there had been no slips, no foibles.
She wandered the studio gape-mouthed, eyes sliding from floor to ceiling to couch to wall. This was…she struggled to settle on any one emotion. It seemed they were all inside her, crowding around, vying for attention.
Newsworthy. That was the only word that finally emerged from the tumult. Worthy of sharing, worthy of telling Adrien. But first, she had to verify it. Maybe she was just late after all. Maybe it wasn’t a baby in there, but just a very angry, startled menstrual cycle that refused to come out.
Grabbing her purse, she toed her shoes on and hurried out the front door to the pharmacy down the street. Incredulity mingled with confusion. What would she do if she was pregnant? What about her job? What about Adrien?
Solutions leapt from the shadows of her mind. You’ll be fine. He’ll take care of us. You’ll go on maternity leave. You’ll marry him. You’ll raise a loving, well-adjusted, half-royal child.
Her hand drifted to her low belly, wondering what a baby might feel like in there, if it really was in there. Could she tell, if she concentrated hard enough? She bit back a smile.
In the pharmacy, she deliberated for a while over which pregnancy test looked the most reliable. Several options were eliminated because of lazy packaging; one was a maybe due to detailed descriptions but slightly intimidating instructions; and then there were a handful that looked reputable and top of the line, as far as these things went. She ended up closing her eyes and pointing.
