14. Winnie

14

WINNIE

O n the last day of the conference, I paired my favorite deep-purple button-down with my houndstooth trousers, rolled up the cuffs to show off the adorable boots I’d crammed into my suitcase, and topped off the look with the hat I’d insisted was a Parisian must. Clothes didn’t make a man, but I felt more like myself and that was a positive.

The professor took the stage in the afternoon to discuss the religious artifacts he’d been researching for months. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. They didn’t seem to care that his blue sweater had made its third appearance or that he was wearing a white sock on one foot and a beige one on the other because I’d forgotten to do a double check. They were entranced by him. And damn it, so was I.

I stood off to the side, my back against the conference wall, cheering him on, my heart full to capacity yet hollow somehow—as if I had everything and nothing all at once.

A burst of applause broke my reverie. I shoved my cell into my pocket as Alistair bowed graciously, waving to the conference goers and stepping aside. The moderator motioned for him to stay onstage, then introduced Gerard Poitier .

You’d have thought she’d announced Beyoncé as the surprise guest. Everyone was on their feet again, clapping loudly.

I fumbled through the program in confusion, mumbling to myself. “Gerard’s not on the schedule.”

“Dr. Poitier headed the team responsible for finding the tomb.”

I glanced over at the golden-haired man standing closer than expected on my left. “Oh. Right. I?—”

“Hello, I’m Colin Farrington. I believe you’ve met my husband, but I haven’t had the honor,” he said in a smooth British accent that was sexier than it should have been.

“Winnie Rodriguez. I’m Professor Creighton’s…assistant. Enchanté .”

Colin inclined his chin, cool and detached. Of course, he was even more appealing up close in his designer suit, tastefully tousled curls, and the lightest sheen of gloss on his lips.

The epitome of casual elegance with a side order of snooty.

He wasn’t rude—more like friendly but unfriendly, if you know what I mean. Pretty much what I’d expect from a prominent professor of antiquities, a scholar, and a scientist. Geez, he probably played electric guitar in a band on the side too.

“I heard Raine is on holiday.”

“Yes, I’m filling in for him. I’m actually a stylist,” I blurted for no reason whatsoever. “Mostly hair, but I dabble in couture.”

“You must be responsible for the jumper.”

“Alistair’s azure sweater? I am. Chic, isn’t it?” I tipped my hat and gave a friendly nod, but he kept his gaze forward, a slight sneer on his lips.

Unless I was mistaken, I’d been judged and found lacking.

To be fair, I’d been thinking the same thing for a few days, so I sort of agreed with him, but also…fuck Colin Farrington. I inched away from the posh turd to avoid stomping on his Prada lo afer and tuned into Gerard, who was pointing at a projected image of a shard of pottery with writing on it.

“…demotic ostracon recording tax payments for grand monuments are of interest.” Gerard clicked a button and the image changed to the sexy queer-themed rock he’d showed Alistair at the hotel a few weeks ago. “But ‘grievances’ for other favors were also recorded. The image is reminiscent of a better-known ostracon currently at the British Museum, however, this one is unmistakably homosexual. Dr. Creighton wanted a chance to translate the demotic script, so perhaps he can shed light on the subject.”

All eyes zoned in on Alistair.

For the first time in days, he looked unsure.

Alistair cleared his throat and faked a smile. “I haven’t had the opportunity to delve into this particular one, but?—”

“Oh, my mistake,” Gerard said. “I assumed you’d done the research, but that’s okay. Perhaps you can speculate on the subject?”

“Speculation isn’t research,” the professor replied, launching into a speech about the better-known naughty artwork at the British Museum.

As he warmed up to the topic, he seemed to regain his footing. Phew .

“I have a strong feeling A-lee didn’t do his research,” Colin tsked.

His comment was addressed to the person on his right, but I bristled ’cause if I’d overheard him, so had everyone in our little section, and that was not okay.

“Not like Dr. Creighton at all,” the faceless man hummed in disapproval. “He’s compulsively organized.”

I pushed away from the wall and glowered. “That wasn’t his research. It was a favor. ”

Colin and the man next to him regarded me with the mild surprise reserved for spiders that show up out of nowhere.

“A favor? I don’t think so. It’s an important piece of LGBTQ art that should have been prioritized,” Colin huffed under his breath.

“He didn’t have time,” I argued.

For the first time since he’d joined me on the wall, Colin turned to face me. “I wonder why. Too busy with extracurricular pursuits? That’s not like A-lee at all.”

His gaze burned a hole through my forehead before raking a slow trail down my body. I gasped in dismay. This fucker was throwing shade and he was doing it so well, it almost sounded like a compliment. It wasn’t.

I pushed off the wall, fists clenched and jaw set in a straight line. “Extracurricular my ass, honey.”

Three hundred people turned on cue.

Oh, shoot. That wasn’t my inside voice.

“What are you doing?” Colin hissed.

“Nothing.” I waved sheepishly and tried again in a softer tone. “I was there. I know what happened. The omnipositron is brand-new and there wasn’t time for?—”

“Lower your voice,” Colin snapped.

“What is he talking about? What’s an omnipositron?” the other man asked as a twitter of curiosity buzzed throughout the room.

Heads were craning to see what was going on. Nothing good.

“Sir, please.” The moderator took the microphone and pointed menacingly at me. “You must find a seat at once.”

“But I?—”

“Sit down.” Colin grabbed my elbow.

I shook him off and collided with someone behind me.

“Sorry,” I muttered, overcorrecting as I stepped forward and landed on Colin’s foot .

He lost his balance and toppled backward on his ass, taking me with him.

Yep, I lay sprawled on top of my lover’s ex in the middle of an international conference attended by intellects from every galaxy in the universe.

No, this wasn’t a brawl, but my uncoordinated attempt to untangle myself was compounded with a helping of misplaced animosity…on my end, anyway.

I took my time standing up, and when Colin’s knee almost connected with my nuts, I pushed him down again…harder than necessary. Unfortunately, I had an audience and yes, I looked guilty as fuck.

Half the auditorium gasped in dismay. I supposed it was only natural that all hell would break loose too.

“Sir, you must leave at once,” the moderator demanded. “ Gardes !”

A serious-looking guard pulled me off Colin and unceremoniously escorted my ass out of the room, deposited me on the steps outside the conference center, and yelled at me in French.

I fixed my hat, straightened my collar, and held my hands up. “I’m going, I’m going.”

Mortified, check.

Humiliated, check.

Ashamed, check.

I was too stunned to think straight.

What had I done?

I walked a block or two in a daze, shaken and confused.

Geez, Raine was going to kill me, and Alistair…oh, my fucking God, I’d let him down. I’d embarrassed him. I’d asserted myself in all the wrong ways and had let petty jealousy take over. This wasn’t a tacky reality show where exes and new lovers duked it out for ratings. This was top-tier, mega-academic, in ternationally important stuff, and I’d just gone Jerry Springer on their collective asses.

I wanted to disappear, pack my bag, and hop the first flight home.

I wanted to stay and find out what the hell Colin was trying to pull. How dare he take shots at Alistair and at me…and?—

Oh, fuck.

Of course, this was the perfect time for the heavens to open up.

Not just a drizzle or a few drops, either. This was real rain. I glanced around quickly and realized I had no idea where I was. I stood on a corner and mapped out my location on my cell, head bent, eyes watering, rain ferociously slashing the sky. My phone was getting wet, and my nose was running. I was so done, it wasn’t funny.

So when the light turned, I absently stepped from the curb into a puddle with pond-like aspirations…and immediately burst into tears.

Yep, this was me falling apart in the most beautiful city in the world. This was me making mistakes, overstepping boundaries, and revealing faults and insecurities like badges of honor. This was me coming to terms with endings.

Guess what? This was a big city, folks. No one noticed, no one cared. I was just one more starry-eyed idiot who’d hoped a month in Paris would change my life. It had. My world had opened up, but sadly, I was still me.

And I knew how this would play out. Alistair would wave off my apologies as if becoming unhinged at an important conference was sort of normal. Or as if he figured he deserved to be sabotaged by an inappropriate lover. He’d rally and retreat to his books and rocks and relics, and life would go back to usual…and he’d forget about me .

Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but eventually, I’d be nothing more than a blip in time.

That was unbearably sad.

By some act of God, I was able to hail a taxi. I typed my address on my cell and showed it to the driver to avoid any language barrier confusions. Then I took my hat off and finger-combed my hair as I watched rivulets of rain water make patterns on the window. My throat felt so tight. I couldn’t keep all this negative juju inside, or I’d combust.

So I did what I probably should have done weeks ago…I called Raine to confess my sins.

He answered on the third ring, sounding groggy and half-asleep. Shit.

“Win?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry. I thought you were home now.”

“I am. We just got in a few hours ago. I’m jet-lagged for sure, but Graham is at the office, catching up on?—”

“I fucked up,” I interrupted.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you name it, I did it. His socks didn’t match, he’s worn the same sweater for days, I ate his cookies, and then I got into a tussle with a prick who I think I’m jealous of, and to top it off, I got kicked out of the conference. Yes, me….kicked out. It’s just…all bad, and I’m sorry.”

The silence on the line was deafening. Just when I thought Raine had hung up on me, I heard a snort of laughter.

“You got kicked out?” He snickered.

“This isn’t funny. It’s serious. Alistair is dealing with this on his own, and I should be with him, maturely, not throwing punches or making trouble. I’m embarrassed, and I’m sorry.” Again…quiet. “Raine? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m…you called him Alistair. That’s not the first time, either. ”

I didn’t bother fighting my tears now. They cascaded down my cheeks faster than I could swipe them away. I sniffed loudly, avoiding the taxi driver’s curious glance in the rearview mirror. “Y-yes, I know.”

“Oh, Win…tell me everything, honey.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Did something happen?” he asked gently.

“Yes. He’s a good man, and I really…I really wish I could be a good man for him.”

“You and…the professor, huh? That’s…I didn’t see that coming.”

I stared out the window, unseeing, and sighed. “Me either.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t know.”

What could I do? I’d already fucked everything up by falling in love.