Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlotte
The drive back to the airport was already a long one, but through the tears, pain, and sadness, it felt like it was a million times longer. Sign after sign showed the miles tick away, and yet I felt like it would never end. When I stopped for gas and food about midway through, I texted Graham to let him know my progress and that I was on my way.
I was angry and hurt, rejected in such a way that I felt guilty for taking the advice he’d given, yet without another option. Jesse wasn’t ready for a relationship, if he was ever going to be ready at all. He was too hurt by the past, and the timing of Graham’s call couldn’t have been worse.
I wondered if it would ever change. If there would be a time when I could see him again and we could start fresh, or at least from a different place. Or if this had been my one chance to finally get back with Jesse.
Tamara called twice during my drive, the first time to remind me that I’d left a couple of items at the Millers’ place, and then again with Mom on the phone. I hadn’t gone to visit her while I’d been down, and I felt terrible about it, but she understood. She was as one-track-minded as I was and often forgot to eat, much less check in with loved ones. She and my stepfather were busy with their own work and didn’t even know I was in town to begin with until Tamara told them.
I wished I could confide in her about all this. My relationship with my mother had never been great, and though I knew she loved me, and she knew I loved her, we didn’t have much in common other than our drive to succeed. Most of my childhood, she was distant, working constantly and spending what little time she had off with my stepfather, who craved adventure and wanted to travel. I’d ended up raising Tamara for much of her life as the built-in babysitter.
It was why the Millers were so important to me, even though Amber was Tamara’s best friend. They’d acted like a loving aunt and uncle to me, and I was always welcome in their home. Often, I would bring Tamara over after school and go sit in the guest room, just so I could have a little bit of time without the responsibility of being the babysitter. They always seemed to understand, and I appreciated them for that.
By the time I finally reached the airport, the tears had dried, and I felt empty. Parking the car and walking across the tarmac felt surreal. I was boarding a private jet to fly to Paris, a city I’d always wanted to visit and never had, to go to an event with a wealthy, handsome man who adored me. Yet all I really wanted was to be in a cheap motel, somewhere far away in the Texas desert, with a cowboy who had trouble with the law.
I boarded the plane and took a seat, greeting the pilot who knew me from a couple of short flights across Texas I’d taken with Graham, and checked my phone. Graham had sent me a text an hour before, and I hadn’t gotten it until now. I opened it to see a picture of a gorgeous black dress, laid out on a bed along with a box containing a necklace and a pair of earrings. The message with the text read:
Will this work for tomorrow?
I wanted to say no, to tell him that I wasn’t coming and that I was going to get off the plane and head back to Foley, but…
But I didn’t. I said yes, that it would work and let my head fall back into the cushioned seat as the plane began to taxi.
I’m glad you said yes. I hope to hear that again later.
Oh no.
The plan was already airborne, and there was no turning back, but I knew what that meant. My worst suspicions were true. He clearly saw us as much more than I thought we were and planned on making it official. This wasn’t just some even trip to Paris.
This was so much more.
Tortured and unable to do anything about it, I put the phone down and tried to close my eyes. The only escape I could find would be to sleep. Even for just a little while.
When I awoke, we were over the Atlantic Ocean, about halfway there. I’d slept for quite some time and was stiff and groggy. I opened my phone and texted my sister, spilling about everything that had happened so far and asking for her advice. It felt weird to ask my little sister what she would do, but she was the only person who knew. The only person I could trust.
Unfortunately, she also seemed to either be busy or asleep. It was the middle of the night in Texas, so I couldn’t blame her, but it meant I was alone in this. For now, anyway.
The sun was up, and I watched it for a long while, glittering its reflection in the waters below. My thoughts kept going back to Jesse, and how I wished I could have done things differently. How I wanted to make things right. How much of a mistake it was to even be on that plane.
Around four in the afternoon, Paris time, we landed, and I got off the plane to find a limo waiting for me. It took me to a Bethel hotel in Paris, and I knew Graham was likely somewhere in there as well. I checked in and was taken to a suite, one with a view of the city below, though not the same as every television version of Paris. This one overlooked a sea of buildings and markets, restaurants and cafés littering the distance. A patisserie and a cheese shop looked enticing and quaint, and the city felt alive in mid-day.
I wanted to go explore it, to live that dream I’d had to see Paris, but I had no heart for it. And no time. The event was at nine, and I needed to be ready at eight. The dress was lying across the bed when I arrived, along with the box of jewelry, and I went to them, touching them gently. It was sweet of Graham to get them for me, but I knew I couldn’t wear them. I never would.
Because I was going to have to tell him. Tonight.
I went into the bathroom and started a shower. As I slid inside, the hot water raining down over my face, I felt the clouds clear in my mind. I knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted. And I knew how I was going to go about getting it.
My mind slowly turned to Jesse and the night we’d spent together in Oklahoma. How his body had hardened under me as I straddled him. How he’d brought me to an ecstasy I’d never known, and how I craved that experience again. How intense the sensation was as I stared into his eyes while the climax rolled through me, shaking me to my very core.
My fingers slid between my thighs as I envisioned that night again, the hard drops of water from the showerhead pelting my skin and making my nipples stand on end. I let myself go into the fantasy, the memory, and soon, I was clenched against the wall, doubling over as I brought myself to climax.
But it really wasn’t me. It was Jesse. In my visions, it was Jesse bringing me there, eagerly, and not stopping until I was writhing, begging him for a moment to breathe.