Dating Games

by T. K. Leigh

  “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, his own voice showing signs of strain. “This was always how it was going to end. Nothing will change that. You deserve more than I can give you, Guinevere.”

  I lift my head and peer into his eyes. “How do you know?”

  He brings his thumbs up to my eyes, wiping at them. “It’s the truth. I am not a good man. I won’t bring you down with me. You deserve the sun and moon and stars.” He brings his forehead to mine. “I can’t give that to you.”

  I cup his face, relishing in the scruff of his unshaven jaw. “What if you already have?”

  He swallows hard as his eyes lock with mine. I can see the internal struggle through those vibrant blue orbs, ones I’ve seen look at me in a way I never thought another man would. So much admiration. So much devotion. So much…love?

  Before I can react, he swallows me in his embrace, crushing his lips to mine, his kiss ravenous, desperate, needy, as tears slide down my cheeks. I arch into him, returning his kiss with the same intensity, wanting to remember every groan, every circle of his hips, every swipe of his tongue before the candle is extinguished.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  They say time seems to drag when you’re excited about something. The opposite is true, as well, because my final weekend with Julian flies by, time rushing when I’d love nothing more than for it to slow down.

  The myriad of events I attend on Julian’s arm are marked with a celebratory atmosphere reminiscent of the last days of school. I hate lying to all these people as I make plans to get together with several of them in the city. But that won’t happen, not once word of our breakup gets out. I’ll be back to my normal life, and my summer with Julian will be nothing but a distant memory. In my heart, I know that will never be the case. Not for me. And not for Julian. He’s struggling with this, too. I can see it in his eyes as he looks upon me with a hint of longing, feel it in his arms as he holds me a little tighter, taste it in his lips as he presses them against me with a bit more desperation.

  As I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror as Camille helps zip up the stunning charcoal-colored ballgown I’m to wear to the final gala, it’s bittersweet. I’ve kept my emotions at bay all weekend in front of everyone, only allowing Julian to see them in the hopes he’d change his mind. Now that it’s almost over, a tear escapes at the knowledge that this is it, my last night by his side. It’s not about the glitz and glamor. What’s killing me is never experiencing the same adoration, devotion, or affection I have this summer. Even if it’s not real. In my heart, it is. It has been since the beginning.

  “It’ll be okay.” Camille fetches a tissue and holds it out when she notices the tear sliding down my cheek. I offer her a smile as I bring it to my eyes, grateful I’d worn waterproof mascara. “He’s struggling, too.”

  “Right,” I scoff. All weekend, Julian’s been his usual charming self. Yes, there’s a hint of sadness surrounding him, but not enough to make a change.

  “Trust me, sweetie. I’ve known Mr. Gage a long time. I’ve never seen him this...unsure.”

  “Then why doesn’t he say something? Why does he insist he can’t give me what I deserve? Who is he to make that determination?”

  Camille clasps my hands in hers as she leads me toward the sitting area, both of us lowering ourselves onto the couch. “Did you know that Mr. Gage spent his younger years in the foster care system?”

  Swallowing hard, I shake my head. After those first few days, I tried to steer clear of all articles about him, mainly because I was mentioned in a lot of them. The last thing I wanted was to read gossip about myself, something Julian had warned me against earlier in the summer.

  “How did he end up there?” I lower my voice. “Does it have something to do with the scars?”

  She pinches her lips in contemplation. “That’s not my story to tell, but being in the foster system can change you. The system failed him, didn’t get him the help he needed after what he went through… Didn’t give him the love he needed. That boy spent his most impressionable years desperate for love, only to never have it bestowed on him. It’s my belief he gave up and decided he’s undeserving of love.”

  I stare straight ahead, absorbing her words. Julian never spoke of his childhood much. Whenever I asked, he closed up, saying it was unimportant. Now I understand why. The scars have never fully healed. Physically and emotionally.

  “Maybe if you show him he’s deserving of love, if you tell him how much you love him—”

  Whipping my eyes toward hers, I inhale a sharp breath. “I never said I loved him.”

  She pats my hand affectionally. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over you, dear. You love that man, probably more than you’ve loved any other person in your life.”

  “I—”

  “And he loves you, but refuses to admit it…to himself or anyone else. Yes, he’s a grown man, but at times, he’s still that lost little boy desperate for even the slightest show of love, the one who cries himself to sleep because he doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. Prove him wrong. Show him he is.” She holds my gaze a moment longer, her eyes pleading with me to love Julian like he deserves. Do I love him? I don’t want to admit the answer. It will only make tonight more difficult than it already is.

  “Come on, Cinderella. Let’s get you to the ball,” she says, ripping me out of my thoughts.

  “Except Prince Charming won’t be hunting me down afterward to see if the glass slipper fits.”

  “Cinderella didn’t think that would happen, either, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying herself. Don’t let the knowledge of what tomorrow brings stop you.”

  With a nod, I silently follow her out of my room, walking this path for the final time. Earlier in the summer, I’d given myself the same pep talk Camille just did. It was easier then, back when we still had time.

  As I round the corner into the formal living room, my Christian Louboutin heels clicking on the wood flooring, a figure in a black tuxedo turns from peering out the windows, Julian’s gaze settling on me. On a hard swallow, I blink back a new wave of tears. My throat constricts over the idea that this is the last time he’ll ever look at me in amazement as he soaks in the dress Dana selected for the evening’s festivities. Even when we were just scheduled to attend a casual barbecue or beach bonfire, he still had a way of admiring me as if I were bathed in priceless diamonds.

  “Hey,” I say with a smile, cutting through the silence.

  “Guinevere…” His voice catches as he says my name. He clears his throat, taking slow steps toward me. Just like all those weeks ago, he grabs my hand in his, spinning me around to get a better view from every angle before tugging my body against his. He places his free hand on the small of my back, and I drape my arm over his shoulder, toying with a few tendrils of hair that hang over his jacket collar. We remain still for what feels like an eternity, but in reality is only a second. Our eyes lock, midnight blue to my emerald green. Neither one of us utters a single word. There’s no need. In this silence, in this moment, in this space, we say everything we want to.

  A low hum cuts through the quiet. It’s a familiar song that will always remind me of the moment I finally succumbed to my desire and kissed him. He squeezes my hand, then leads me around the room. Unlike our first weekend together, when dancing with him felt stilted and awkward, we move with practiced grace.

  Julian begins to sing the lyrics to “Moon River”, husky and deep, and it takes every bit of willpower I possess not to burst into tears. I’ve never truly paid attention to the words before. It was just a song that reminded me of one of my favorite movies about two drifters who were wrong for each other, but so right at the same time. Just like Julian and me. But we weren’t meant to see the world together. Our rainbows’ end isn’t the same, and I’m not sure anything can change that.

  We slow our steps as the song comes to an untimely end and we stand in place, our hands still clasped together, our bodies a breath away. If this is our last
private moment together, I want to savor it. The way he holds me, admires me, cares for me.

  Too soon, he releases me from his hold. “Guinevere, I…”

  “Yes?” I respond, hope building in my voice.

  “I…”

  “Yes?” I rest my hand on his cheek, his clean-shaven skin soft against mine. I wish I knew he planned to shave. I would have loved one last kiss with his scruff scraping against my lips, jarring and bruising, yet making me feel more alive than anything else in my life. Never again. The thought rips at my heartstrings.

  “I, uh…” He licks his lips, blinking rapidly. “I got you something.”

  “You didn’t have to get me anything.” I drop my hold on him. “You already bought me a wardrobe that could probably pay for the first year’s rent at the apartment of my choosing in the city,” I joke.

  “You’re not going to sell it, are you?” he asks frantically. “Because if that’s what it takes for you to afford your own place, I’ll buy you an apartment. I—”

  “It’s a lovely gesture,” I interrupt. “But not necessary. Now that I’ve had the opportunity to revamp my piece on August Laurent, at least I have a decent shot at that promotion. It’ll be nice to have my own bathroom again.”

  “And a door.”

  “Yes. And a door,” I laugh, grateful for the short reprieve of tension. “It’s amazing how we take those little things for granted until we no longer have them. I’ll never take doors for granted again.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “So…”

  “Right.” He spins, heading toward the wet bar. After retrieving a square white box, he walks back to me with a smile on his lips. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?” Taking it from his outstretched hand, I feel the weight, knowing it must contain more than just a t-shirt, as the size of the box would normally indicate.

  “Open it.”

  Eyeing him suspiciously, my heart thumps in my chest. With trembling fingers, I pull at the red ribbon. When I lift the cover, I gasp at what I see inside. It’s another box, but that’s not what surprises me. It’s the Tiffany’s blue shade that steals my breath.

  “I was planning on getting you something from Cartier, but I figured Tiffany’s would have more meaning.”

  “It could be an empty box and it would be infinitely better than even the most expensive piece you could get from Cartier,” I gush.

  “Phew,” he exhales, swiping at his brow. “That’s a relief, because it really is just an empty box.”

  Laughing, I shake my head and pull out the square blue box, placing the other one on a nearby table. “No, it’s not.”

  “You’re right.” His expression turns serious, his eyes trained on me. “It’s not,” he admits in a soft voice. “Open it.”

  I hold his gaze for a moment, then shift it to the box. Butterflies flap their relentless wings in my stomach as I slowly raise the lid. When I set my eyes on what’s contained within, all the wind is knocked from my lungs. An exact replica of the necklace Audrey Hepburn’s character admires during the scene when she takes Paul to Tiffany’s for the first time. The light reflects against the stunning yellow-colored diamond in the center, the intricate latticework of diamonds along the neckline like a vine surrounding a lone flower.

  “Julian…” I cover my mouth with my hand, speechless.

  This isn’t the first piece of jewelry he’s purchased for me. I have an entire jewelry box in the dressing room filled with pieces to accent the various outfits I’ve worn over the course of the summer. This one is different. It’s something he’s given to me because he wanted to, not as a complement to my wardrobe.

  “Now I know why Camille insisted I not wear the necklace Dana had paired with this dress.”

  He grins a devious smile. “It’s good to have her on my side.” He winks, then extends his hand toward the box. “May I?”

  I remain motionless as he takes it. He removes the stunning necklace, then stands behind me. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror hanging over the fireplace, watching as he brings it to my neck, securing it. When he’s finished, his hands stay on my shoulders. I touch my fingers to the stones. I’ve never worn such a weighty piece of jewelry in my life.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “I’m not sure I want to know how much this cost, or how many carats I’m currently wearing around my neck.”

  “The large stone is a forty-carat yellow diamond. A rarity. Ten carats in white diamonds accent the neckline.”

  “So fifty carats worth of stones.” My breathing becomes labored as I try to grasp onto the concept. “Please don’t tell me what this cost you.”

  “It’s not about the money. Not to me—”

  “Because you have money.”

  “All the more reason for me to do this for you, to give you something to show how appreciative I am for everything you’ve done for me this summer. This is the least I could do.”

  I practically choke on my saliva. “I could understand giving me a Starbuck’s gift card or something, but this?” I spin around to face him. “I don’t feel right accepting.”

  “You will accept it.” He grabs my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. He places a gentle kiss on each. “Please. Let me do this for you. Let me give you something to remember our time together.”

  “I’ll never forget.” I lock eyes with him, silently pleading for him to acknowledge that our time together doesn’t have to end, that we don’t have to end. Why should it have to? Why should we walk away from each other because the summer’s over? Yes, that was the original plan — an end date so I could have my life back, so I could plan the rest of my life. Now I want nothing more than to deviate from the plan, to throw the planner out the window and see where this could take us.

  “It doesn’t have to end,” I say, one last attempt as I touch my mouth to his. He kisses me softly, gently, but in his tenderness is more emotion than any of Trevor’s kisses could even hope to contain.

  “It does, Guinevere. You deserve to be happy.” He pulls back, his fingers digging into the skin of my cheeks as he cups my face. “I can’t give that to you. I can’t give you more than this.”

  I’ve heard the same thing all weekend whenever my emotions got the better of me in his presence. I want to push it more, but not at the risk of marring our last few hours together. Instead, I simply nod, my lips finding his once more.

  The sound of the ocean waves fills the room from the open windows and we melt into each other, our kiss passionate, yet restrained, two words that describe Julian Gage perfectly. Despite how much I can tell he wants me, he’ll never admit it. To me, or himself.

  When he pulls away, a hint of moisture dots his own eyes. “We’ll always have Tiffany’s.”

  I pull my lips between my teeth as I struggle to swallow through the pain in my throat. “We’ll always have Tiffany’s.”

  The Farewell Gala is exactly as I expect it to be — filled with glamour, pretension, and bravado, yet another display of extreme wealth amongst the country’s upper crust. But tonight, as opposed to the previous few weeks, Julian doesn’t leave my side to talk business with someone interested in investing in his project. Whenever anyone approaches, he requests they reach out to his assistant to set up a time for a meeting or a phone conference when he returns to the city on Tuesday.

  The entire evening, he’s the perfect date, doting on me, making sure I have everything I need. More than once, part of me considers the possibility he’s acting like this because Ethan Ludlow seems to circle like a hawk, although to anyone else, he’s no more harmful than a parrot. Not to me, not after the story Sonia shared. And not to Julian, either. Despite that, I truly believe he stays with me because he doesn’t want to waste a second of the little time we have left.

  Before I know it, Julian and I are dancing to the final song of the night, then saying our goodbyes to the friends I’ve made over the summer, some of them women who turned their noses up at me during that
first pool party. It’s amazing how much can change in just a few months.

  After a silent limo ride back to Julian’s house, we head through the dimly-lit living room and toward the staircase for the last time. His hand finds mine, our fingers interlocking as we walk those final steps toward my room. When we reach the door, he drops his hold, turning to face me. Our eyes meet, neither one of us saying a single word.

  I’ve been dreading this for weeks. It’s not just good night. This is goodbye. I’d insisted it be a term of our arrangement. As did Julian. A clean break.

  There’s nothing clean about this.

  I open my mouth, about to make one final plea for him to reconsider his position, that he can give me what he believes I deserve, but before I have a chance, his lips are on mine, stealing my words. His touch is so light, it’s akin to kissing a ghost. And tomorrow, that’s precisely what Julian Gage will be.

  Desperation takes over and I wrap my arms around him, curving my body into his as I deepen the kiss. He’s more than eager to match my intensity, pressing me against the wall. He kisses me as if he needs it to breathe, as if his lips were made just for mine, as if it’s the last time he’ll ever taste me. Because it is.

  He releases his hold on my face, his hands traveling down my frame, exploring, needing, wanting. When he brushes against my breast, I moan as he hardens, grinding against me. There’s so much longing, so much yearning, so much despair in this kiss, electrifying and satisfying me in a way I fear no one else will ever be able to do. Pulling him closer, I claw at his back, drawing everything out of him I possibly can. And I give him everything I have. My devotion. My respect. My love. I don’t need to tell him exactly how I feel. I show it in the way I worship him, hold him, cherish him.

  He moves his lips from mine, kissing a hot trail along my jawline, his hands teasing and torturing as he tries to imprint everything about me to his memory. I throw back my head, savoring in the warmth of his mouth on my skin as he nibbles on my neck. Our heavy breathing fills the hallway, my heart racing. Regardless of what tomorrow may bring, I know one thing… I need this man. His kisses. His touch. His soul.