by Payne, Lyla
“How can you always be so brave?” I asked.
This sexy pixie of a girl had stood brave in the face of my insults, the truth about who I am, to her father so she could live the life she wanted. She’d watched her little sister die. I wanted to understand.
Everything I’d tried since stepping off a tennis court terrified me.
“I’m scared all the time, Quinn.” Emilie’s bottomless eyes found mine, drew me under. “I promised Anabel—my sister—that I wouldn’t regret anything, not ever. She wanted to do so many things she’ll never get to do. Kiss a boy. Fall in love. Have the kind of mind-blowing sex we just had in that cottage. Grow up to do what she loves. I don’t know. If you think I’m brave, it’s only because the idea of being fifty years old and miserable about all the things I’d wished I done scares me more than taking a chance now.”
It made sense. She was afraid of regrets. I was nothing but a bundle of them. In that moment I knew, without a doubt, that Emilie would be one of mine. “How do you know you won’t regret telling me how you feel?”
“I’d have regretted it my entire life if I hadn’t.”
In the pause that followed I heard all the things I should say—I knew she was right, that I would regret letting this moment pass me by, but the fear of putting myself out there and having her decide one day that she didn’t care after all still made me sick.
Emilie’s presence in my life had helped me start to gather the pieces inside of me that should have been a whole. It’s as though my heart had spent the first twenty years of my life scattered in chunks, and every minute we spent together helped me find one more and paste it back in place.
I wasn’t sure if being put back together hurt more or less than being ripped apart again, but I didn’t want to find out. I was an asshole who let her give while I took, and maybe in the process I’d figure out how to become a human being. But I wouldn’t let her destroy me.
“I have an idea.” Her throaty voice, playful but also tinged with sadness, broke the rustling sounds of the night coming to life.
The air smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle. When I looked up in response to her statement, ready to ravish her in the bushes if she gave me a nod, the bright tennis court lights hit her like a spotlight and I wanted to remember this perfect moment for the rest of my life.
“Oh?” I winked, covering my response to her.
“Stop. I didn’t mean it like that. I assume you have money from tennis? And a trust fund of some kind from your father?”
If anyone else had asked such prying questions I would have laughed in their face. “Yes and yes. It’s enough to keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed.”
“You’re not a high-priced hooker, Quinn. Unless you want to be.”
“Just tell me what your plans are for all of my hard-earned cash.”
It was a lot of money for most people. Not by Rowland family standards, and probably not be the Swanson ones, either. About ten million altogether.
“What if you used your own cash to start up the business you pitched to your father? Once it’s built and succeeds, you can always sell to him, be absorbed into Rowland.” She paused, suddenly unsure of herself if the pink cheeks were any indication. “Is it dumb?”
“No.” It sank in over the next several seconds and became not only dumb, but potentially brilliant. I leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s the way to show my father that I’m my own man, to prove I’m good enough to make it on my own. It might finally make him respect me, even if he doesn’t care about me. It won’t matter. It will be business, not family.”
“I’m sure your father loves you, Quinn.”
“He doesn’t.” Her brow furrowed and I frowned. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me now, mi sopresita. I’m used to it.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “He blames me for my mother leaving before I was a day old. She never wanted kids, I guess.”
Her small hand covered mine, the heat and gritty dirt from the racket spreading familiarity and comfort through my blood. “It’s not your fault, Quinn. You don’t deserve to pay for her mistakes.”
I smiled to reassure her, but it never worked on me. My mother looked at my face the first time I took a breath and knew I wasn’t worth loving. How could anyone feel any differently when the woman who had given birth to me had seen nothing worthwhile in her infant?
Emilie would realize her feelings were nothing more than lust and take a hike, too.
My stomach tightened at the thought and I pulled my hand out from under hers. “It won’t matter. If I start my own business and try to prove my independence and initiative to my father, I’ll still be under Sebastian’s thumb. He’s got me either way. If I don’t do what he asks he’ll splash the pictures all over the internet, sell them to the highest trash-television-show bidder. It will ruin my chances to inherit Rowland—”
“And no one else will work with some kid with a history of drug abuse.” She bit her lip. “There has to be a way to make him see reason, Quinn. Your father will take care of him. It’s not like he needs the money.”
“He doesn’t do it for the money. He loves causing pain and wreaking havoc, toying with lives like people were puppets. To quote my father, he’s a sick little peckerwood. But he’s my brother.”
“You can’t let him control your life. We can figure out a way to deal with him, too.”
“Sebastian’s the only family I’ve got that wants anything to do with me, and he just wants his part of the pie. I guess I don’t mind bringing him along for the ride.”
Anger burned in her black eyes and she crossed her arms under her boobs, glaring at me.
“Or maybe you like it,” she snapped.
“Like what?”
“All of it. The games, the control, the fucking a different girl every time you turn around. The idea that you can prove you’re strong by exposing the weaknesses in others. Maybe the real reason you don’t care about getting rid of Sebastian is because without him you don’t have an excuse.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
But what if she wasn’t? Disgust burned in the back of my throat, acidic and sour.
Maybe I did like the game a little too much. Maybe I didn’t know who I was without it anymore. The truth was I didn’t give two shits about Sebastian; the guy was a menace. Why was I standing up for him? Did I really not want out from under his blackmail because it meant I would no longer have an excuse to hide from my life?
“Am I? Sebastian’s your excuse to give up, to keep everyone at arm’s length. But sooner or later you’re actually going to turn into the Quinn Rowland you pretend to be to seduce women—sad and broken beyond repair.” She reached for my hand again but I moved it out of the way.
This was it. My chance to save her from herself once and for all.
“You can believe whatever you’d like, but Sebastian’s my brother. You and I barely know each other. I’m not going to sit here and cook up schemes with you about how to toss him out of my life for good, leave him with no one.” I gave her my best cocky smile while my insides shriveled. “If you don’t like it, feel free to leave.”
Tears filled her eyes. Every one that slipped down her cheeks tore holes in my heart but I didn’t move. We stared at one another and whatever she glimpsed in my face pushed her to her feet.
“I am going to leave, Quinn. Not because I don’t care. Because I care too much to stand around and watch you self-destruct.” She paused. “You know, I never saw you retire during a match. Never. Not when you were really hurt and you probably should have. Not once.”
I never had. Not even when it hurt. And look where it had gotten me.
Emilie and her tennis skirt disappeared down the path to the cottage, but I stayed under the hot lights until the timer doused them hours later. Dried sweat left salty deposits my skin and chilled me in the late night air. The smell of my workout and the scent of Emilie’s body rose around me like a cloud an
d I breathed deep, pulling all of the good memories deep inside, burying them where they wouldn’t rise up to haunt me.
It was time to get over my father’s latest rejection and rejoin life. Sebastian was waiting and in a few days, a new top seed would be, too.
The French Open
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emilie
Ruby leapt on my bed, causing the mattress to squeak and my side to bang against her knees. My muscles were sore, inside and out, from the romp with Quinn, and every movement brought his face to memory.
Confusion dominated my emotions. He cared about me. Together we were amazing. But he let fear control his life—fear of failure, fear of…love? Of not being loved? I hadn’t quite figured it out but the truth was, it would kill me to be with him and watch every day as catering to Sebastian’s whims turned him into a shell of the charming, driven guy I’d fallen for.
“Look what I’ve got,” Ruby teased in a singsong voice.
I cracked open an eye to see her wide grin, her thick blonde hair mashed into a messy bun atop her head that didn’t come close to containing the pieces that curled around her face and down her neck. The sports bra and shorts, not to mention the sweaty reek, said she’d gone on a run without me.
“What?”
Her arms were behind her back and she moved them slowly. An envelope dangled in front of my nose, and I finally made out the return address. New York Foundation for the Arts.
The sight of it sat me straight up in bed, all thoughts of Quinn and his problems replaced by the opportunity that could make or break my future. When I went to take it from her, Ruby snatched it away.
“Nope. Not until you turn off the Taylor Swift.”
“It’s Adele.”
“Potato, Potahtoe. Whiny breakup music. Makes me want to vom.”
She had a point. Not about the vomiting, but about my maudlin mood. I reached over and hit pause on my iPod then held out my hand.
I’d applied for the summer fellowship after my paintings had sold at the museum opening. My father refused to accept my passion and promised to pull his financial support next semester, but I was determined to make my own way. I’d applied for four fellowships, but this was the big one. If I got it, it pretty much guaranteed that after graduation I’d be working with some of the most important up-and-coming artists, buyers, and critics roaming the world at present.
The envelope tore easily and I pulled out the single page with shaking hands. Tears pricked my eyes and my heart raced. “I got in.”
Ruby whooped and threw her arms around my neck in a hug, crushing the breath out of my throat. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered. The connections I made in a month could lead to a job as soon as I graduated. My father would never disinherit me; one day our family would heal. In the meantime, I could live the dream.
Like Anabel wanted. Like I wanted.
A quick flash of Quinn’s devastating eyes, trying and failing to hide hurt and pain and regret behind cruelty and indifference, hung in my mind. I pushed it aside. I cared about him, felt more strongly attracted to him than I might feel about anyone else in my entire life, but not more than I cared about me. I couldn’t stay and hope he could find the courage to admit he loved me back.
It would kill me to leave. Kill me to stay.
He had broken my heart like I’d always known he would. Silly me had assumed it would be a clean break, one I could get over and move on, but I’d lost some pieces along the way. It wouldn’t be easy, but what I’d told him three days ago remained true. I loved him too much to watch him throw his life away.
“Something else came in the mail,” Ruby said, crossing her legs and fixing me with a serious stare.
“Get off my pillow. You stink.” I wrinkled my nose.
In response, Ruby pulled the pillow out from under her butt and snuggled it in her armpits.
“Lovely.”
“Okay but seriously, I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Nothing can ruin my mood right now.”
“Not even Quinn Rowland?”
My heart stopped at the sound of his name hanging in the air between us. I swallowed and shrugged, but Ruby’s keen blue eyes said she wasn’t fooled. “What about him?”
“Green envelope. Addressed to you. No plus-one.”
The French Open started tonight. Or I suppose the matches were starting this morning, since Paris was seven hours ahead. I wondered if Alexandria would win another major. Or if Quinn would have been ranked number one if he were still playing.
“I’m not going to his party. He made it perfectly clear that while he’s certainly interested in rolling around naked with me, he’s not willing to admit any feelings, and he’s not interested in changing his life. I can’t keep going back.” The words sounded strangled. The lump in my throat burned.
“He does have feelings for you. He told me.”
“So what? Who cares how many people he tells if he doesn’t tell me, Rubes? And what about his not even trying to fight Sebastian’s blackmail?”
“You can’t expect him to change overnight. And you want him, too. I’ve never seen you like this—half the time you don’t even notice the guys panting after you at parties and in bars. I’m just saying maybe he’s not ready yet. Are you willing to give up on the possibility that one day he will be?” She kicked her armpit pillow onto the floor, avoiding my gaze.
“What are you saying? You like him?”
Ruby snorted. “Hell, no. But I love you. And this could really be it—the once in a lifetime chance to find the person who loves you and challenges you and makes you want to spend every spare moment in bed all wrapped up in one guy. What are the odds you’ll find that again?”
“When did you become a romantic? Are you a pod person? Are the aliens here?”
I tried to tease her out of her serious mood, but she was right. I’d never met anyone who made me feel every single emotion, every slide of a gaze or flick of a finger against my skin the way Quinn did. I knew that. I didn’t know if my heart could take another rejection. “What if he can never admit it, Rubes? What then? I keep waiting around like a kicked puppy?”
“No. No, Em. I’m saying he invited you to the party so he must want to see you. Maybe the idea of losing you for real changed his mind about everything. Give him another chance. One more.” She covered my hand with hers. “And then you walk away knowing you did absolutely everything you could, and that if anyone is going to feel regret in twenty years it’s going to fucking be him.”
The party invitation seemed like a peace offering. “That makes sense. Even if it is only to say goodbye.”
She smacked my hand. “Hey. Get that goofy-ass look off your face. You are not going to have sex with him again, do you understand me? It distracts you. No more Emilie vagina for Quinn Rowland until he breaks. Feelings or no lovin’.”
Breaking Quinn’s emotional barriers would be harder than breaking his service game. Which was saying something; ask any guy on the tour.
I laughed, rubbing my hand. “I’ll do my best, but you haven’t had that boy kiss you senseless. It’s not so easy to remember your name, never mind anything more complicated.”
“I’ve seen him. I can imagine.”
“Take whatever you’re thinking and multiply it by a thousand.”
“See what I mean? You’re never going to be able to forget him if you feel like you held something back or didn’t try your hardest. Go to the party tonight. Look sexy. Don’t sleep with him, unless he stares into your eyes and tells you he loves you. Then fuck his brains out.” Ruby nodded, slapping me one more time before getting off the bed.
She strolled over to the walk-in closet and started yanking dresses off hangers. “Now, let’s find you something to wear.”
I sat and watched her, a little unsure whether or not this was the right decision. Even if Quinn could admit he had feelings for me, would that change anything as far as Sebastian was concerned? I didn’t know. The way he talked on the tennis co
urt the other night, it didn’t seem like either was a possibility, but he had sent the invitation. Why would he want me at the party if not to square things between us?
I guess I could cross the bridges as the came up. Feelings first. If we never got across that one then what he chose to do with Sebastian was none of my business.
***
Most of my certainty had fled by the time I made it to the overflowing beach house. It was late; I’d changed my clothes fifty times and dawdled for an hour in the bathroom. The results were not bad, if I did say so myself, and the proof was in the way every guy’s head turned when I passed through the front door.
At least, I told myself they were staring because of my short purple dress and silver heels, and not because they couldn’t believe the girl Quinn had dumped so publicly had the balls to walk back into his house.
I took a deep breath, intent on finding Quinn and dragging him down to the beach for a quiet conversation before the unwanted attention made me bolt. It helped that I felt sexy and desirable. The plum-colored chiffon dress swirled against my bare thighs and the plunging neckline showed off my breasts—which I knew Quinn loved even though he’d never said so aloud. I’d pinned my hair up to showcase the equal dip on the back of the dress, too, although the stray curls tickling my skin said at least a few had escaped.
Quinn was nowhere to be seen—thankfully, neither was Sebastian—and I decided a drink might help calm my trembling nerves. At the bar in the living room I asked for a mojito. The fresh coolness of the soda and mint quenched the nervous flush heating my cheeks. Better yet, it didn’t taste at all like Quinn’s lips.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite DE.”
I turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was a boy I’d seen around, though it took me a moment to pinpoint where. It came to me finally and I smiled. “Hunter, right?”
“You look damn beautiful tonight, Emilie Swanson. Though I am surprised to see you here.” He smiled, white teeth flashing, and leaned across me to grab a drink.
