Chapter 17

17

A week has gone by, and it's been easy. Light. What happened in the park never became an issue. By the time I woke up the next morning after a restless night of sleep, it was as if nothing had happened. Monday started the way all the rest have, and each day progressed into the next.

There were no more tabloid reports about me or Rory, though there was a photographer parked not too far from her school who snapped a few pictures of us as I picked her up. Other than that, it was all normal and fine until today.

"You're sure you won't come out with me and my friends tonight?" Billy asks, walking me to my car. He's been on my ass to meet his boyfriend and a few of his other friends, and I've been pushing him off. I don't even know why, but I have been.

"Not tonight."

"Girl, that's your favorite line."

He's right. It is.

"Maybe next weekend."

"That's your second. Does Mr. Hot Billionaire Boss man not allow you free time? "

I sigh. "He does." But I like being home with him and Rory. I know it's lame. I'm almost twenty-three, and I have no social life to speak of. I'm out of practice. Or maybe just hesitant. I didn't go out at all in London, but I chalked that up to healing and still being a bit mentally shaky.

Now I don't know what's holding me back, other than I don't have a lot of interest. I'd rather spend my Friday night on the couch with Owen and Rory watching a movie than going out and meeting someone, and I know that's a problem. I know it is.

He's my boss, and there is no being with him—not for real—so I need to stop this bullshit and start living again.

"Next weekend," I promise as I unlock the car and open the door. "I mean it. For real. And the following weekend I'm going out for a girls' night with some friends." It's something the girls like to do once a month, and it meant a lot that they invited me for another round.

"I'm totally impressed," he deadpans.

"Don't pick on me. I'm a work in progress." I give him a peck on the cheek. "Have fun tonight. I can't wait to see the pictures on Monday."

He steps back, and I climb in, but he stops me by knocking on my window. I press the button and lower it.

"We're all works in progress. But there can be no progress made if you're hiding from life."

Fuck if he isn't right.

He walks off, leaving me with that, and I head off for Rory's school. I pull up in front and hop out, going up to the back door and waiting along with the rest of the parents and nannies who pick up since we're not allowed to enter the school for safety reasons. A few minutes later, Rory comes bursting out of the doors, holding up a painting with a blue ribbon attached to it.

"I got first place!" she screams, only to immediately jump straight up into my arms .

I catch her with an oomph, staggering back a step to accommodate her weight and size. Adjusting her in my arms, I look down at the painting. "You got first place on your art project?"

"Yes!" she squeals, bouncing in my arms. "I won most creative."

I'm pretty sure every kid in the class gets a blue ribbon for something, but who gives a flippity fuck? "That is awesome! I'm so proud of you."

She jumps down and shows me her art, which is a self-portrait made out of different squares, all with a different color or pattern in them. It's seriously very cool.

"This is amazing, and your prize is well deserved. We should celebrate."

Her eyes widen to epic proportions. "Ice cream?" she hedges.

I laugh. "A small cone, Gingerbread. Small."

She groans but doesn't fight it. This girl's eyes are bigger than her stomach, and her sweet tooth is by far her largest. But she gets sick fast when she overdoes it.

I drive us across town to her favorite ice cream spot, and after both of us order, we sit down and discuss her work as we lick our cones.

"What made you go with squares?" I ask, taking a swipe at my mint chocolate chip.

She shrugs like she honestly has no clue. "We had to add a pattern and a shape, so I went with squares. My friend, Ilsa did triangles for hers, and my other friend, Jenny made a bat out of rectangles. It was weird. Who makes a bat?"

"Art is art. We never judge another's creativity."

She makes a noise. "Isn't that what critics do?"

I snort out a laugh. "Where did you hear that term?"

"In class. Our teacher told us that all art is judged by critics, but we have to make it for ourselves regardless. "

A shiver runs over me. I wish someone had told that to Claude.

"That's very wise and very true. But it's still not nice to judge your friend's work. That can hurt feelings."

"I didn't tell her anyway." She continues to eat her ice cream. "Daddy asked if I wanted to go see Uncle Mason play football on Sunday or go see him play hockey."

"Which one did you decide?"

"Football is so boring, and it takes forever."

"You don't like football?"

"I don't know. I like the snacks in the box we sit in. Do you want to come too?"

"I'm not sure I'm invited."

"Daddy said you could come. Katy and Bennett might bring baby Willow. I might want to go to hockey instead, though."

"I'll ask your dad about it tonight. Speaking of, we should finish up and get home."

After we finish our ice cream, we head outside, still chatting away, only for me to stop dead in my tracks and my voice to cut off mid-word. It's as if my thoughts conjured him out of thin air. Icy venom fills my veins as hatred slithers through me like a nightmare.

He looks the same. Tall, handsome, and suave in that European way Americans can never pull off. His eyes rake me in, noting every detail he's missed for the last nine months, and when his eyes finally find mine again, he offers me a hesitant smile.

"How did you find me?" I ask before I can stop the words. I pull Rory close to my side, and he watches me do it, his pale green eyes missing nothing. Not my vitriol. Not my instinct to protect her from him. Nothing.

"I saw you online," he says in French. His English was never very good, and he never cared to make it better. "I have been searching for you for months, but to no avail. I have a Google name alert for you, and it led me here. It's luck that I saw you now. I was walking by and caught you in the window. I had planned to come see you tomorrow at your home."

Jesus fuck. So he was alerted to my name being in the tabloids, and he tracked me down?

"Estlin?" Rory asks, nerves and uncertainty coloring her words.

"It's okay, Gingerbread." I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just stay behind me, okay? He's an old friend from Paris. That's all."

He frowns, his hands going to his hips and his chin dipping down in regret. "I won't hurt her. Or you. I hate myself for ever making you doubt that about me."

I shake my head, speaking to him in French, so Rory can't understand me. "Don't. Don't feed me lines. We were both there that night. We both know what happened."

He clears his throat and glances around at the busy sidewalk around us, filled with the Friday night traffic of people just getting off work. "I was in a bad place, and what I did was wrong. But I was never going to hurt you. I came to talk to you. I couldn't find your new number, and I didn't think you'd talk to me even if I had tried to call."

"You're right. I wouldn't have. You flew to Boston just to talk to me?"

"No, my sweet. I was already in New York, as luck would have it. I was there for fashion week and to meet with some gallery owners there. It was fate and perfect timing that brought me to you."

"Oh, a gallery owner?"

His eyes narrow, and in them, I see the resentment. The still-burning enmity. "It was a mistake. Everything that night was."

I'm going to be sick. "A mistake?" I bark incredulously. "You slept with another woman in our bed, bashed me and my work to her, lied about my work and yours, and then destroyed every piece of mine before you came after me and I ran out. You betrayed me in the worst of ways." I shake my head. "You were wrong to come here." I start to walk Rory toward the car again when he shifts in front of me, stopping us.

"Please don't go. I need to talk to you."

"Talk?" I burst out. "No. That part of us is done."

"Estlin, my darling, my love. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. So sorry. I've missed you so much."

I can't even with that. I'm not even sad right now. Just angry. "I don't miss you. I haven't missed you. I left for a reason."

Pain strikes his features. "We can go back in time. Together we can rebuild what I broke. With your love and mine, it'll be like nothing was lost."

Is he kidding? "No. Not ever. Go away and never come back."

"I can't." He reaches for me, and I jump back. I don't want him near Rory. "These months without you have been the worst of my life. Please. Allow me to explain."

"There is no explanation for what you did. I heard your words and saw your aftermath."

I move us around him, heading for the car. Rory is starting to get upset. She can hear it in my voice, and I don't want this for her.

"I hurt you and I'm sorry. I was selfish and prideful. I lost control of myself. I know this. That's why I'm here. To tell you I'm sorry. To beg for forgiveness. To ask you to take me back."

Is he for real? "No," I snap. "And that's final." I reach the car when he stops me again with his words.

"I know where you're living. What you're doing with Dr. Owen Fritz."

My heart races faster with every word, anxious to get Rory out of here .

"Estlin? What's going on?" Rory's shaky voice hits my ears, and I crumble, hating that I'm doing this to her.

"It's nothing. He's nothing."

"I want to go home. My tummy isn't feeling well."

I spin around and pick her up, drawing her into my chest. "I've got you, Gingerbread." I fake a smile and kiss her forehead. "Let's go home."

I stare at Claude as I get Rory in the car, begging him not to engage. Not with her around. He looks helpless and lost, as if he didn't expect this reaction from me.

I buckle her into her seat and then race around to the front, driver's side when he calls out to me. "I know you're upset with me, and I know you have every right to be. But I'm a patient man, and I'll wait forever for you. I've come this far and waited this long. I'll see you soon, my love. Now that I know where to find you, I won't be far."

Bile climbs up the back of my throat, and my hands tremble terribly. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and after I buckle myself in and start the car, I pull away from the curb, wanting to get home fast.

Doing a quick check of the rearview mirror, he's still there, watching us drive away. "Are you okay?" I ask, willing a stillness to my voice I don't feel. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I didn't like him."

I practically scoff. "I don't like him either. But don't worry, I won't let him bother us again. I promise. Do you want some music? Should we sing this out?"

She nods her head, and I catch it in the rearview.

I turn on her playlist and pump it out loud for us as I start to sing along, hoping this relaxes her. My phone rings when I'm not even a block away. Owen. God. Worst goddamn timing, Owen!

I clear my throat and chirp through the car. "Hello? "

"Hey," he says. "I'm finishing up here…" He pauses. "Are you okay? Your voice sounds funny?"

How on earth can he tell that from one word? Do I sound that bad? Dammit!

"I'm okay," I push out, coming to a stoplight. I suck in a deep breath and then another, glancing back to find Rory, who looks pale and out of sorts.

"Estlin, take me off speaker and put music on for Rory."

I do as he says, turning up Taylor's newest album for her to sing along to like I just was. Bringing the phone up to my ear, I whisper, "How can you tell I'm not okay?"

"Because I know you. I know your voice. What happened? Another paparazzi?"

"No." I clear my throat again and lick my impossibly dry lips. I shake out my hand and then ball it up, but I can't stop my chin from trembling, and I hate— fucking hate —how weak and vulnerable I feel right now. "I… I'm sorry, Owen."

"What, baby? What is it?"

Baby? He's never called me that before. Not once. And he had to do it now when I needed to be strong? It unravels me, and the first of the tears start. Furiously, I wipe them away and drag in a deep, composed breath.

"My, um, my ex, the one I lived with in Paris. He, uh, he found me."

" Found you? "

His voice slashes through me at my word choice.

I shouldn't be this shaken up. I shouldn't be like this. It's been nine months since I left him.

"I…" I suck in my sob. "I'm sorry. Rory was with me. He saw my picture on the internet. He had a Google name tracker for me. I left with her as fast as I could. But he knows, Owen. He knows that I work for you, and he knows where I live."

"Estlin, where are you?" His urgency rings through my ear.

I sniffle and keep my voice low. "We're on our way home. "

"No. I want you to pull over somewhere. You're in no condition to drive. I'll look you up on the app and be there as soon as I can."

"I just want to get her home," I plead. "She's upset, Owen. It's my fault, and I don't want it to be like this for her."

"Fuck," he growls in my ear. "I can't stand this. I should have put security with you. I should have?—"

"I never told you about him because I wanted to keep it in the past. You had no clue. This is my fault."

"I knew something wasn't right," he throws back at me. "I knew you were hiding something."

"I'm sorry I kept it from you. I didn't expect him to show up like this, and I didn't react well. I understand if you want to get rid of me. That's twice in two weeks?—"

"Stop it. You're not leaving us, and that's final. Did he hurt you?"

"No, and I don't think he would have. He's never physically hurt me. But I still have stuff I need to tell you."

"We'll talk about it when I get home. Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

I take a deep inhale and blow it out slowly. "Yes. I'm fine. I was just rattled, but I'm good now." The light turns green, and I lift my foot off the brake and press down on the gas, wanting to get us as far from Claude as I can. "I should have?—"

"Estlin, look out!" Rory cries, followed by a blood-curdling scream that slices through the air. My head whips right just in time to see a car come plowing through the red and straight into us.