by Monroe, Max
Dear God, what have I done? Why in the hell did I end things with him?
I have to fix this.
All of a sudden, my head isn’t fogged up with hot garbage thoughts.
No. It’s solely focused on Theo and what I need to do.
“Then what the bloody hell are you doing talking to me? Call him.”
Call him. It could be that easy, but that’s not how it should be.
After everything I’ve done, he deserves more from me than a fucking phone call.
“I can’t do that,” I say, and she starts to bitch at me again, but I quickly cut her off. “No, you don’t understand what I’m saying. I can’t call him. I need to go to him. I need to tell him how I feel in person.”
“Then go to his place!”
“He’s in Paris, remember?”
“Then bloody go to Paris! Surely, your uber-rich dad or brother can help you get that arranged!” she exclaims. “For crike’s sake, it can’t be that hard to figure out!”
Go to Paris? For Theo?
It sounds crazy.
But it also sounds right. He deserves that much from me.
And just like that, my previous uncertainty turns to decisive urgency, like I need to get the fuck out of the States right now.
“I gotta go, Pip!”
“Tell me you’re doing it!”
“I’m doing it! I gotta go! I’ll call you later!”
“Oh, thank fuck!” she shouts into my ear before I promptly hit end on the call.
I send Loro a long ramble of a text explaining that I actually do need those days off because I’m an idiot and I need to tell Theo how I really feel about him. I also beg him to not hate me or fire me.
He responds a minute later.
Loro: It’s about fucking time you realized you were being stupid! Good luck, lovely, and I’ll see you when you get back! Also, I’ll only hate you if I don’t get a full report with all of the juicy details!
And then, I call the one person who can help me get to Paris.
He answers on the second ring.
“Lena, honey, how are you?” my father asks, his voice kind and full of love.
“Daddy, I have a bit of a favor to ask.”
“Okay…”
“It’s a big favor.”
“Yeah…”
“I need to borrow a plane.”
Lena
Jared Hawkins—my doting, loving, far too willing to spoil me father—came through.
After I asked the outrageous favor of borrowing a plane, by that night, a HawCom jet was chartered and waiting for me at Teterboro Airport. Definitely not the norm for most people, but hell’s bells, I’m a woman on an I-love-you mission, and I will shamelessly use every advantage I can.
And a little over seven hours after boarding the plane, I find myself in the back seat of a sleek, black Audi sedan while a man by the name of Louis drives me through the streets of Paris.
I’m in Paris, my favorite city in the whole wide world, but I might as well be cruising through Cincinnati, Ohio for as much as I’m paying attention to it.
Because I’m here to find Theo.
I’m here to tell him I’m sorry for being such a fucking moron.
I’m here to tell him how I really feel.
I’m here to tell him I’m in love with him.
To say there’s a little bit of pressure surrounding this impulsive trip across the globe would be the understatement of the century.
I mean, what if he doesn’t forgive me?
What if he doesn’t love me back?
What if he’s already decided to move on?
What if on his Paris trip he found a new rendezvous that has the potential for something more? One that doesn’t involve a woman with the emotional depth of a seventeen-year-old girl.
Fuck. Obviously, a seven-hour flight did nothing for the nerves that have become a constant inside my belly since I decided to call my father and borrow one of his private jets.
Sure, it was a cushy flight.
Sure, I had ample legroom and a staff that was willing to cater to my every need.
Sure, the pilots were so good, I barely felt the takeoff and landing.
But that’s neither here nor there when you’re a woman who is ready to put it all on the line and tell the man of her freaking dreams—because he is—that she loves him.
There is no amount of five-star service that can help with that monumental task.
But goddammit, I will not be a coward.
I will not hide from my feelings.
I will not get in my own fucking way.
The ride from the airport to the hotel that I know Theo is staying at—because yeah, I should’ve fucking been here with him—feels like it takes forever, even though I’m certain only twenty minutes have passed.
And we’ve driven by all of the sights—the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, gorgeous cafés, tempting patisseries, and the freaking Arc de Triomphe.
But who cares about any of it when a life with the man of your dreams is on the line?
Not me.
Once my driver pulls up to the front, I don’t waste any time. I offer Louis a quick thank-you, grab my measly suitcase that I haphazardly packed in about ten minutes, and stride right in through the front doors.
The hotel is Richie Rich, poppin’ bottles kind of nice—probably because it’s the Four fucking Seasons.
I should probably be mesmerized by the ornate furniture and impressive archways and lush roses and sparkling marble floors, but truthfully, I don’t care about any of it.
I just need to get to Theo.
Right to the front desk I go, and I’m greeted by a stern-faced man with a name tag that reads Luc.
He looks up from his computer and says something to me in French.
Shit. Shit. Shit. For someone who loves Paris as much as I do, you’d think I’d speak the language, but I don’t. The only French I know is from high school, and I barely paid any fucking attention.
Luc stares at me, waiting for my response, and I search my brain for what I can remember from Mrs. Langley’s class twelve fucking years ago.
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “Je m’appelle Lena.” Sweet Lunacy. My name is Lena? You really think an introduction is going to help you right now?
What are you doing? Just get to the point!
“Uh…” I search my brain for more French words. “Je suis…Theo Cruz.”
You literally just said I am Theo Cruz, you idiot! You are making zero sense!
“Shit, fuck,” I mutter, and the guy behind the desk goes from stern face to hiding a smile. “So, you wouldn’t happen to speak English, would ya, Luc?”
“Yes.” He lets the rest of his guard down and his smile free. “I do.”
“Oh, thank God,” I say and rest my elbows on the top of the front desk counter. “I am looking for someone. He is staying here. His name is Theo Cruz. Could you tell me what room he’s in? Or at least let him know someone is here to see him?”
“Of course.” Luc taps around on his computer until he finds what he’s looking for. “It looks like he already checked out.”
My heart hits the floor. “What do you mean, he checked out?”
“He left. Yesterday,” he elaborates.
“He’s not here?”
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. But Mr. Cruz is no longer a guest here.” Luc shakes his head. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“No.” I blink past the irrational tears forming in my eyes. “But thanks for your help.”
Shiiiiiiit!
Completely deflated by Luc’s news of Theo’s departure from the hotel, I drag my pathetic ass and suitcase back out of the hotel and just kind of stand there in utter shock.
How in the hell did I miss him? I thought he was going to be here all weekend?
I move back and forth across the sidewalk outside of the hotel like a maniac, but I’m too panicked to care what people think of me right now.
What do I do
now? My big I-love-you mission is totally fucked!
Just calm down, Lena, I coach myself. Calm down, take a breath, and think.
Okay, how can I track Theo down without him knowing that I’m trying to track him down?
Instantly, my brother comes to mind, and I let my head fall back as I stare up toward the crystal-blue sky. Do I really want to involve Cap in this?
Pretty sure you don’t have a choice at this point…
On a frustrated sigh, I pull my cell out of my purse and call Chatty Cappy.
“It’s four in the fucking morning, sis,” he says by way of greeting.
Ah fuck. I forgot about the time difference.
“Wait…are you okay?” he adds before I can say anything, and his voice rises with anxiety. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine. Promise,” I reassure. “And I’m in Paris.”
“Paris? What in the fuck are you doing in Paris?” he shouts into the receiver, and Ruby’s groggy voice fills the background.
“What the hell, Cap? Why are you yelling right now?”
“Because Lena is in fucking Paris!”
“What?” Ruby responds. “Why is she there?”
“That’s what I’d like to fucking know!”
Jesus. I press the palm of my hand to my forehead.
“Cap.” I try to grab his attention, but he’s too far gone.
“What the hell, Lena? Paris? Fucking Paris? What—”
“Cap!”
“What?”
“I’m in Paris because of Theo,” I explain. “I’m here because I need to tell him I’m in love with him.”
The line goes quiet for about two seconds, and then, the words “So, basically, what you’re saying is that I was right?” fill my ears.
I groan. “I’ve flown all the way to Paris to track Theo down and he’s not fucking here, and you want to focus on that right now? Seriously, Cap?”
“I’m sorry,” he says through a chuckle. “Sometimes, I can’t help myself.”
“You’re a real prick,” I add, and he laughs again. “So, are you going to help me, or should I just hang up on you now?”
Thankfully, Cap reins in his inner asshole long enough for me to explain my current dilemma. He listens intently as I give him the bare-bones rundown—I borrowed a HawCom jet, came to the hotel I knew Theo was going to be at all weekend but he checked out early, and now I’m trying to figure out where he went.
“And you don’t just want to call him?” he asks.
“Have you listened to anything I just said?” I spit in irritation. “I refuse to tell him how I feel over the phone, Cap. After everything I’ve put him through, he deserves at least this much from me.”
“Damn,” he says through a long sigh. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters more to himself than to me. “Of course, my baby sister had to fall in love with one of my fucking friends.”
“Cap?”
“What?”
“Can you save the fucking ramble for after this call?” I question. “Because I don’t really have time for it right now.”
“Yeah, okay,” he responds. “I get it, and even though I kind of fucking hate this, I also love it too. You know I just want you to be happy, right?”
“I do.”
Two minutes later, we’re off the phone and I have the cell number to Theo’s assistant, Carey. And I know enough about him to know that he is the one person who keeps Theo’s crazy schedule in order.
If anyone knows where Theo is, it’s him.
And even though it’s not even five in the morning on the East Coast, I throw caution to the Parisian wind and dial Carey’s number.
“Hello?” His voice is equal parts annoyed and half asleep.
“Is this…uh…Theo’s assistant? Carey Matthews?”
“Yes,” he replies. “May I ask who the hell is calling me at four-fucking-thirty in the morning?”
“Hi…uh…my name is Lena, and I’m trying to track Theo down.”
“Track him down?” Carey responds on a sleepy but maniacal laugh. “Does he want you to track him down?”
“I hope so.”
“Honey, while I do appreciate a good vaguebooking on Facebook every now and then, I’m not a big fan of it when it comes to my job or phone calls at four in the morning about my boss. So, you’re going to have to be a little more specific in order for me to decide if I should let you track Mr. Cruz down.”
“I…uh…” I pause and think of everything that would let Carey know just how well I know Theo. “I was the girl who made him miss all those meetings when he was in Italy.” I start to rattle off every little thing I can think of. “He took me on his yacht and to his villa, and I even met his crazy brother, Brogan. And I know that you read all of his book club books for him. And—”
“Oh shit,” he jumps in before I can finish. “You’re Lena. The Lena.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The one who broke his fucking heart.”
Oh no.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I admit. “But I’m also currently the one trying to fix that.”
“And by fix it, you mean…?” His question hangs in the fucking wind, and I don’t hesitate to tell him exactly what I’m trying to do.
“I’m trying to find him so I can tell him that I was an idiot,” I explain. “And that I’m crazy in love with him.”
“Well, hell, girl!” His voice rises an octave. “Why didn’t you start with that?”
“So, you’ll help me?” I ask and cross my fingers and toes.
“I’ll help you.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” I exclaim. “Because I am currently a desperate woman pacing the sidewalks of Paris, trying to figure out why in the fuck he’s not here.”
“No desperation needed, honey.” Carey chuckles. “And he’s not there because he’s in Venice.”
“What?”
“He went there a few days early because his grandpa decided to make the long trip. So, he’s at Merl’s villa, helping him get all settled in, before he needs to be at the nightclub opening next weekend.”
Shit. I really did miss him.
“And,” Carey adds, “if you can get yourself to Venice, I can get you to his grandpa’s villa.”
Oh yes, motherfucking please!
“Uh…so…you wouldn’t happen to know how far Paris is from Venice, would you?”
“It’s about a two-hour flight.”
What’s another two-hour trip on my dad’s plane?
I mean, he’ll be fine with it, I’m sure…
And if he’s not, I’ll apologize after the fact.
“I can get to Venice.”
And just like that, I’m back in the game.
Theo
I stare out the large kitchen windows of my grandfather’s Venetian villa and watch the way the sun bounces off the water, sparkling and shimmering against the soft waves that lap through the Grand Canal.
And I take in the iconic ambiance that is Venice.
Sleek, wooden boats moving gently through the canal.
Tourists enjoying an afternoon gondola ride while a gondolier in a black-and-white striped shirt serenades them with Italian opera.
The historic Venetian buildings and bridges everywhere you look.
For most people, this is probably one of the most beautiful, exciting sights in the world.
But my mind is elsewhere.
Elsewhere? More like, your mind is still fixated on her…
“Yo! Theodore!” my grandpa Merl shouts from the outside balcony that rests just off the kitchen, and it promptly pulls me from my thoughts. “Why don’t you call Brogan and see if he’s still in Italy? Maybe he could bring some friends over for a little party?”
This man, I swear. He sure keeps shit interesting.
While I was in Paris handling Club Noir’s grand opening, Merl up-and-decided he wanted to spend a few weeks in Venice.
Ninety years old and the man still wants to act like a fucking globe-trotter.
Within forty-eight hours, he convinced my father to help him with his impulsive plan and got his cranky ass here.
Once I knew he was in Venice, it didn’t take long for me to make the decision to leave Paris and head here a few days earlier than I planned to make sure he was all settled in with the staff and his nurses.
And, if I’m being honest with myself, I also left Paris early because it was more painful than anything else. Everywhere I went, everything I did, it was a stark reminder of who was missing from the trip.
“Theo!” Merl shouts again. “Did you hear me?”
“I did.” I shake my head and sigh. “And no, Grandpa, I’m not calling Brogan to see if he’ll bring girls over to entertain you.”
“Buzzkill,” he mutters, but it’s loud enough for my ears. “You’re starting to become my least favorite grandson.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I can still hear you, you know.”
“I wanted you to hear me!”
“He’s a handful today,” his nurse Jackie says, and I glance over my shoulder to find her preparing his medicine with an amused smile on her lips.
“Pretty sure he’s a handful every day.”
She laughs at that. “Ain’t that the truth.”
A few minutes later, Jackie picks up the tray she just arranged for grumpy Merl, filled with his afternoon pills and a light snack of fruit and cheese and bread, but I shake my head and gently take it from her hands.
“You take a break. I’ll deal with him for a bit.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I nod and carry the tray through the large doors that leads to the balcony where Mr. Cranky currently resides in a cozy armchair.
“Here you go,” I say, and he looks up at me from beneath furrowed brows.
“You sure Brogan can’t come over for a bit?”
“I don’t even know where Brogan is, Grandpa.”
“Goddamn, that boy, he’s wild, ain’t he?”
“Nearly too wild for his own good,” I say and point toward the tray. “Now, take your pills.”
“Take your pills.” He mimics my voice and groans. “You’re a real kick in the balls sometimes, you know that?”
“Love you too, Grandpa.” I grin, and once I’m sure he’s taken his pills and is getting some food in his stomach, I head back into the kitchen to fix myself some lunch.
