Chapter 33 - Victoria

Victoria

M y condo is pretty big. Spacious. Lots of windows and light and high ceilings.

Right now, it felt like the tiniest prison cell buried deep underground.

Hannah stood in my kitchen talking to Bennet on the phone. She kept sneaking worried glances in my direction.

“He wants to talk to you.” She held out the phone.

Yay.

A conversation with Bennet. Just what I’ve been dreaming of these last three weeks.

I took her phone. “Hi,” I said, not even trying to hide my exhaustion.

“I’m sorry.” Bennet’s voice sounded small, almost defeated.

“For what?”

“Putting you through this. Convincing Maddox this was the safest option. I thought we could—”

“You thought you could what, Bennet? Control the situation by playing chess with an unhinged asshole? Jordan was always going to find me.” My tone sharpened. “It’s not like I live in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I’m in fucking Manhattan. I’m an executive at the most successful football team in the nation. Jesus Christ, my name is listed on the stadium website. I’m not hidden. What exactly were you trying to prevent?”

A heavy sigh. The lack of response pissed me off even more.

“I know you mean well. I know you and Xavier did what you thought was best. But it’s done now.” I paused, fighting back tears. “I miss him. He won’t talk to me because he thinks he’s doing the right thing and it’s killing me.”

Another heavy sigh.

“I swear to God, Bennet, if you keep sighing I’m getting on the next flight to London to handcuff you to a fire hydrant.”

He laughed. A genuine, relaxed laugh. “Wow. You sound like your boyfriend.”

“I want to talk to him,” I demanded. “You’re all at the same hotel, right? Please go knock on his door so I can hear his voice.”

“No,” he replied. “If he finds out what happened just now, he’ll lose his mind.”

“Please, Bennet,” I begged, playing with Xavier’s ring. “If you don’t, I’ll just call him myself.”

“Victoria.” His stern tone gave me pause. “This is going to sound harsh and shallow and I apologize because you’re upset but right now, his focus has to be on tomorrow’s match. I think you would understand that more than anyone else.”

Fuck. “I don’t want to be a distraction,” I muttered.

“You’re not,” he assured me. “We both know how impulsive he is and I don’t doubt for a minute if you were to call him right now and tell him everything, he’d be on the next flight to see you.”

Double fuck. “You’re making too much sense,” I complained.

“Well, yes. I am the club’s president so I’m sort of invested in wanting the best goalkeeper in the league to help us win the final game of the season.”

“And the logic continues.”

Silence. And then, “I know I’m not the one you want to be talking to. I know I’m not the one who can say the right things or help you understand. He’s trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to keep him out of trouble. We’re all protecting one another as best we can.”

The cavernous hole in my chest expanded.

“Good luck tomorrow.” I ended the call.

League champions.

I sat cross-legged on the floor with the biggest smile on my face and tears streaming down my cheeks. An older gentleman presented Royal City Athletic with the trophy and announced Xavier as the Goalkeeper of the Year. Apparently, he hadn’t conceded a goal since coming back from suspension, bringing his clean sheet tally to twenty for the entire season.

Honestly, that’s impressive.

His teammates crowded and jumped around him, encircling him in a jubilant, bouncing huddle. He looked thrilled. And maybe a little embarrassed?

Nah.

Xavier Maddox does not get embarrassed. I can tell he loves every moment. The cheering. The fawning. The adoration.

I stroked the ring hanging from my necklace.

The camera paused in front of him when the huddle of teammates dispersed. His eyes searched the crowd for something and then focused on the camera.

It took my breath.

Those eyes stared right at me. Right through me. And yes, I know he’s only looking at a camera lens but in this moment, for the first time in weeks, it felt like he was looking at me. Only me.

And then he smiled.

My smile.

The one that’s too wide and too crooked and shows too much dimple. It filled the gaping abyss residing in my chest. I felt whole, if only for a few seconds.

The camera cut away to a wide-shot of the field.

The announcers kept babbling.

The team gathered together on the stage, all wearing their medals. Cade carried the trophy and took his place in the middle, next to Xavier. On a joyful count to three, Cade hoisted the trophy as they all yelled and cheered while royal blue streamers shot into the air.

On an impulse, I grabbed my phone and took a picture of them celebrating on TV. I sent the picture to Xavier with the message I’m so proud of you .

My phone rang immediately, giving me heart palpitations.

“Killian,” I answered.

“Tori,” he replied. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I have a date with some mint chocolate chip ice cream and season two of You .”

“Lame. Well, not the ice cream. But anyway. Max and I were invited last minute to some fundraiser and we’re taking you with us.”

“Last minute?” I stood up and put my empty coffee mug in the sink. “Who invites someone last minute to a fundraiser?”

“Christ,” he grumbled. “You get way too caught up in the minutia of situations. It’s the influencer Max planned the birthday party for. Her dad’s foundation is hosting a big who’s-who event. It’ll be a networking extravaganza. No more questions. Grab a dress and be ready at eight. We’ll pick you up.”

“How fancy?”

“Fundraiser fancy. ”

I sighed. “So, like, cocktail dress or full length?”

“Surprise us.”

The amount of money walking around this room draped in designer couture and tailored suits could sustain a small nation for at least a decade. I realize I sound like a hypocrite since my family amassed a rather impressive fortune, but still. Seeing it flaunted around like this was nauseating.

I smiled at the young woman working the complimentary bar when she handed a dirty martini to me. We’d chatted while she prepared my drink. I learned she went to NYU and wanted to become a prosecutor. And then possibly the state Attorney General. She’s probably the most interesting and real person in here. I made sure to leave a generous tip in the glass she’d set up next to the napkins.

Killian and Maxim were somewhere in the crowd, schmoozing and impressing and networking. I’m glad I came with them but I wasn’t quite in the mood to talk about myself or my job or oh-my-god-where-did-you-get-those-heels.

So, I took my martini and went out on the terrace.

The night air drenched me in a cool, calm quiet. I walked farther out until I found a hightop table hidden from view. Very few people were out here so I was able to claim this space just for me.

I sipped on my drink, pulling out the skewer of olives and sliding one off with my teeth. The late spring breeze played with my full length silk dress, brushing it against my skin and teasing the skirt. Killian had gushed over the high slit that climbed up my left thigh.

“You’re going to give some bloated sixty-five year old millionaire a painful hard on in that,” he’d said on the ride over.

Probably.

Not really my problem though .

My hand instinctually went to my neck. A brief moment of panic sliced through me when I didn’t feel Xavier’s ring. Then I remembered I put it on a longer chain, so it nestled closer to my cleavage. Or my heart.

Soft peals of laughter sounded behind me. I heard footsteps shuffling off toward a section of the terrace filled with small trees, shrubs, and other seasonal plants. In front of me, Manhattan shimmered and sparkled like the global superstar it is.

More footsteps, more muffled conversations.

My shoulders slumped, knowing this meant guests were starting to wander out here and my precious solitude would end. I lifted the skewer of olives from the martini again, sliding another off with my teeth.

Another set of footsteps slowed and stopped behind me. I closed my eyes, wishing whoever it was would go away.

“So, Victoria is it?”

The sound of a rich, elegant baritone voice stole my breath. I opened my eyes and turned, fully expecting this to be some sort of prank.

Striking cobalt irises framed dark pools that focused solely on me. Tousled brown hair rustled in the breeze. Light spilling down from the top of the building illuminated his handsome face and sultry, pouty mouth.

My lips parted in silence as I drank in every tuxedo clad inch of him.

A tuxedo.

Xavier Maddox, the tattooed, smoldering goalkeeper who likes to talk dirty was standing in front of me in a tuxedo. Or as he’s more commonly known these days, Xavier Maddox, the Guy Who Ghosted His Girlfriend.

His hands were tucked casually in his pants pockets. An expression of absolute amusement spread across his face .

“Is that not your name?” he inquired. “Could have sworn it was.”

I blinked. It took me a second before I replied, “Depends on who’s asking.”

He sauntered closer, standing in front of me. Now that I could smell him, this became much too real. Much too immediate and insistent and consuming.

And then he smiled and I lost it.

Three weeks worth of suppressed sadness and anger and confusion seeped out of me in the form of tears. Way too many tears.

His expression fell.

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling me into a hug. “Oh, Tori. I’m so sorry.”

I cried into his shoulder.

I cried in my fancy silk dress at this stupid, fancy fundraiser.

I cried and hugged him and let him comfort me.

I held him so tight. So goddam tight. He’d never leave again if I held him like this, right?

I cried until I had nothing left. But even after my breathing evened out and I stopped sniffling, he still held me. He still kept me wrapped in his muscular grip so I could inhale his scent and hear his heart beating.

Whispered words floated around me like a solemn prayer.

I love you.

I need you.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.

The gentle touch of his fingers sifting through my hair made me shudder. I backed away, finding it difficult to look directly at him. Of course, he could sense it and tipped my chin up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, wiping what I could only imagine was my smudged mascara off my cheeks.

I swallowed, shaking my head. “I am a hot mess right now.”

“Yeah but you’re my hot mess,” he teased.

“Asshole,” I muttered, shooting him an incredulous look before moving over to the high-top table to grab my clutch. I pulled out my phone, held it up and looked into the camera.

Woof.

Hot mess was too kind.

“Can you hand me the napkin under my glass?” I asked.

Once he did, I wiped the black mascara streaks and dabbed at the dark smudges under my eyes. Fortunately, I was able to blend and salvage my make up so it looked like I either failed miserably at doing a smoky eye or I was mildly drunk. The epitome of sophistication.

Xavier watched me the whole time, fidgeting with his cufflinks.

Cufflinks .

The man wore a tuxedo and cufflinks and a BOW TIE .

And he’s here. This morning he was on my television smiling and looking into cameras and winning championships and now he’s right here.

And he didn’t answer my text.

Or tell me he was coming to New York.

Or tell me he’d be at this bloated fundraiser.

Or, or, or…

UGH.

I should be angry. I should be rip-roaring mad. I should break up with him for real.

But I can’t. I can’t because I’m in-fucking-love with him and I’d be miserable without him.

“Come here,” he ordered quietly.

I went to him because how does a moth not go to a flame or a bee not seek out nectar?

“Tori,” he rumbled, pulling me flush to his body, so my soft curves pressed into his hard muscles. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.” His fingers dug into the small of my back. “I won’t blame you if you want to dump my arse.”

I slid my hands under his jacket, circling his waist. “Nobody’s breaking up with anyone.” Even though I legit had this thought a mere ten seconds ago.

Some of the tension melted from his body. Some. I could tell he was guarded.

“However,” I continued, pulling his shirt out so I could put my hands on his skin. God, I missed touching him. Feeling how his body reacts to me. “You have three weeks worth of apologizing waiting for you.”

“I know. I’ll do anything.” He tilted his head so our lips almost touched. “Anything you want.”

Explanations. I want explanations and reasons and assurances this won’t happen again. And then I want to make Jordan McKennie’s life a living hell.

“Did Bennet tell you?” I asked.

“Yes.” His grip on me tightened. “What did Jordan say to you?”

“A lot of really shitty things,” I seethed. “He must think I’m a complete moron to believe the story he spun.”

“Tell me.”

I recounted the conversation I had with fake-Wes-from-Missouri who wound up being real-Jordan-from-England. Xavier’s expression soured. Unbridled rage flashed behind his eyes.

“What a narcissist,” I groused.

“I vote we don’t talk about him anymore tonight.”

Great idea but I had so many questions. And avoiding what happened really won’t help the situation.

I sighed, pulling out of his embrace. “We have to talk about him.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, you fucking ghosted me because of this guy,” I blurted out.

“I didn’t ghost you.”

“Semantics, Maddox. Anyway. We have to talk about this because…” I blew out a breath, sending a few strands of my hair up in to the air. “We just have to.”

“Okay.”

I grabbed his hand and put it over my heart. “Will you be one hundred percent honest with me?”

“Always.”

“Even if you don’t like what I’m asking?”

He closed his eyes and inhaled slow. When his eyes met mine again he said, “Even if I don’t like what you’re asking.”

“Why would he say you stole his fiancée?”

“Shit,” he grumbled, scrubbing his face with his hands. “She was cheating on him with me.”

“Xavier,” I exclaimed. “What the hell?”

“Not that this will make it sound any better,” he continued, “but she was also shagging the striker on United at the same time.”

I just stared at him in shock. I mean, I figured he got around but wow. The Jordan thing was becoming an actual thing.

“Okay that’s…a lot.” I suppressed an urge to pace around the table. “But you didn’t actually steal her from him, right?”

“No.”

“Honest?” I blinked up at him.

Xavier’s dimple appeared. “Honest. She ended up with the striker.”

“Oh.” I chewed on my lip. “So why did he say—”

“Because he’s an entitled piece of shit who stirs up trouble.” Xavier’s voice rose in frustration. “Everything he told you is a half-truth wrapped in a lie. Yes, my so-called girlfriend at the time shagged him. No, I did not almost break his jaw. I wanted to, trust me. But I did give him a bloody nose because he was forcing himself on your sister’s friend Millie.”

Stunned silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. I started to say something and stopped. Xavier swore under his breath and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Millie,” I repeated. “You two were close? ”

Xavier folded and unfolded his arms, put his hands in his pockets, took them out, and finally settled on fidgeting with the cufflinks again.

“We were good friends all through school. And we dated on and off. After what happened with Jordan, I felt an obligation to protect her. She was really shaken by it.”

I nodded and asked, “Did she ever talk about Charlotte with you?”

“She only mentioned she had an American friend who used to visit in the summer. That’s all I knew.” He reached for my hand and placed it over his heart. “Honest.”

Exhaustion draped itself over me. A heavy, three-week-pound weight hung from my shoulders. And now I don’t want to play the honesty game anymore. I don’t want to ask questions. I don’t want any more answers.

But I need answers.

“Did you even miss me?” I asked, keenly aware I was poking a hornet’s nest.

Xavier staggered backward like I’d sucker punched him. Real pain twisted through his handsome features.

“Did I miss you?” The question sounded incredulous coming out of his mouth.

“Did I miss you?” he repeated it, tasting the bitterness of the words on his tongue.

I shrank away from him slightly when he approached. Not out of fear. Hell, no. I shrank away out of embarrassment. How selfish was I to think I was the only one who suffered through this?

My lip trembled when he brushed his thumb over it. Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he trailed his finger down my neck to the ring hanging there.

“Did I miss you,” he said softly, sliding the ring onto his thumb and dragging it up my neck to my mouth. The cool metal pressed into my lips. “I thought of nothing but you. The sound of your laugh, the radiance of your smile, your boldness, your compassion, your playfulness…” He faltered. “My God, Victoria, not a day passed when I didn’t miss you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?”

He removed the ring from his thumb so he could pull me close again. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and slid my hands under his shirt. “Bennet?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Killian.” He grinned.

“Killian?” I repeated, shocked. “When did my best friend become a double agent?”

The sound of Xavier’s deep, throaty laugh lifted the mood in an instant.

“When I texted him at halftime and told him I was flying here after the match.” He rested his forehead to mine. “He told me all about this last minute fundraiser he’d been invited to. So, we thought it would be a good idea to get you out here so I could see you. Actually, Max was in on it as well. We had a three-way text group going on.”

“A three-way. Sexy,” I teased.

He smiled, reaching for my face and slanting his head. I anticipated his kiss, anticipated the feel of his mouth and breath and tongue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.