16. Alistair

16

ALISTAIR

M y month in Paris had gone better than expected…by a long shot. But I was anxious to be done and go home. I had bigger things on my mind. Like Winnie.

He was coming with me to London for a few days, and I was hoping to convince him to stay longer. Either way, I wanted a plan for us. I wanted?—

“What the hell happened yesterday?” Colin demanded as we filed out of yet another conference room for brunch with the Egyptian board of antiquities from Cairo.

Representatives from major museums and universities were here. Including Gerard with his husband at his side, playing the part of supportive spouse.

“Relax, mon cher ,” Gerard advised. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding. Your assistant was worked up about the ostracon, oui ?”

“No, that wasn’t it. Winnie didn’t appreciate that you put me on the spot. He had a theory that you wanted to set me up, which of course is preposterous.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and smiled ruefully. “Unless you were hoping the homosexual content would throw me off guard in a public forum so you’d have witnesses to corroborate when you petitioned for Colin to take over the translations.”

Gerard opened his mouth and closed it. “Preposterous.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I suspect there’s international interest in that piece. It belongs to Egypt, but perhaps you want it for France.” I held up my hands. “I don’t know. But don’t ask for casual favors again, Gerard. I don’t have the time, and I will not be used as a pawn. I’ve spoken with our Egyptian contact and asked that the ostracon be sent to London for further study…by an expert. That’s me…I’m the expert. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must thank my assistant.”

Colin and Gerard shared a look as others milled behind them into the hallway. Those bloody wankers.

Politics and posturing weren’t my strength. Everyone wanted to be the number one leader in their field. Some would go to extreme measures, creating new alliances and discrediting peers.

I hadn’t forgotten that I’d been played for a fool five years ago. I’d never done well with personal distractions. Colin knew it. Was it odd that my boyfriend of four years, who’d insisted on our relationship being secret, was suddenly and quite publicly in love with one of my most important colleagues? Francoise thought so. Phillipe thought so. And while I’d alternately floundered and buried myself in work, Colin had established himself in France, translating his husband’s archeological discoveries.

Colin was good. But that was because he’d learned from the best.

Me.

Colin followed me and grabbed my elbow, pulling me aside, his face blotchy with anger. “Assistant? I think not. Who is that ghastly man?”

“My boyfriend,” I replied loudly .

“Boyfriend? Are you mad?”

“No, I’m gay,” I quipped.

Heads swiveled in our direction.

Colin ignored the scrutinous looks and whisper-hissed, “He’s not appropriate, Alistair. Don’t be a bloody fool. He’s too young, too na?ve, and completely beneath you.”

“He’s perfect.”

“He’s ridiculous,” Colin spat.

I furrowed my brow. “Is that so? Who would be better…you? No, no, that ship sailed on a while ago, didn’t it? And I’m glad it did. I wasn’t at the time, but now…I know you did me a favor. I see you as you are, blind ambition and all. You and Gerard make a fine pair. Have him contact my assistant next week to discuss his project. In the meantime—and please do take this the right way…piss off.”

I flashed an ear-to-ear grin, whistling as I strolled toward the exit.

Oh, what do you know? I just came out, told off my pompous ex, and bloody hell, that felt good.

I couldn’t wait to tell Winnie about it.

I couldn’t wait to see Winnie, period.

On the taxi ride to the hotel, I’d googled “how to make long-distance relationships work.” Keep conversation current, plan regular video chats, set in-person meetups in advance …

This was going to be fine. More than fine. It was exciting because it was real life.

My life…and Winnie’s.

“Winnie? You wouldn’t believe my day. I’ll tell you about it at lunch. Are you hungry? I skipped the brunch. I don’t think anyone will notice and if they do, well…too bad.” I shrugged off my jacket, checking my phone for new messages. “We could try th at restaurant by the Trocadero or the café with the waiter who always flirts with you.”

I paused, waiting for Winnie to sail into the room in his flowy ja-jas and tell me he couldn’t help it…everyone flirted with him.

The room was quiet, though. So quiet, it echoed.

“Winnie? Winnie, are you here?” I took a good look around the living area, then headed to my bedroom, the first flash of panic rising in my throat.

I moved to the adjoining room he’d been using as a personal closet for the past few weeks, my heart in my stomach. It was…empty.

He was gone.

Gone.

His closet was pristine—no shoes, no hats, no colorful coats or scarves. The bathroom had been cleared out—no toothbrush, no luxury moisturizer he claimed made him look five years younger, no fancy shampoos and conditioners, no makeup strewn across the counter.

I was well aware of Winnie’s capacity to fill a room. His presence was tangible and magnetic. I could feel when he was near…the scent of him, the aura of him.

But I was unprepared for the complete…absence of him.

I ransacked the space, hoping to find clues. I tossed pillows around, pushed aside the curtains, looked under the beds.

Nothing.

Just nothing.

I spotted the tiny Eiffel Tower ornament he’d bought weeks ago next to a note scribbled on a sheet of hotel paper on my desk.

We took Paris…together. Think of me when the Eiffel Tower shimmers at night and know that I’m thinking of you.

Yours, Win x o

I read the note over and over. He hadn’t said good-bye, per se, but this was obviously a “thanks for the good time, glad we met, have a great life” letter.

I replayed our conversation that morning. No, we hadn’t talked much. We’d made love, and it was wonderful. Perhaps a little desperate or maybe that was me. Last night, he’d said a job interview had come up, and his old life was calling. I’d told him we’d make it work, but he hadn’t replied. He’d already made his decision.

And it wasn’t me.

I fumbled for my phone and called him.

No answer.

I texted.

Nothing.

My heart clenched. It was as if someone had ripped open my ribs, reached into my chest, and crushed it in a vise grip. I wasn’t new to heartache, and I wasn’t new to being left behind. I’d been someone’s second choice and quite frankly, it was bollocks. But Winnie was nothing like Colin.

This wasn’t a repeat.

This was just…something wonderful that ended too soon.

One week later, I was a pathetic mess. I couldn’t eat or sleep and…I was worried. My mind was so firmly stuck on a man who lived a continent away that my concentration on ancient history had gone tits up.

And I couldn’t let go. I left Winnie countless voice messages and texts.

“You must be home now. Please call me.”

Text me if you’d prefer. I just want to know that you’re okay .

“Professor? Professor?” Raine jostled my arm, his brow knit with concern. “Are you all right? You were zoning out.”

Again.

I pushed away from my desk, nodding like a puppet with a broken string. “Fine. I’m fine. Did you need something?”

“No, do you?” he countered, leaning on the corner of my desk.

“No, I’m—I’m not so fine.”

“I know. You’ve been so quiet this week. What’s wrong?”

“No, I’m—I don’t know what I am.” Heartbroken, mentally ravaged, chronically sad…take your pick.

“Are you ill?”

“No, I’m—” I raked my fingers through my hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “Why did you send Winnie to Paris with me, Raine?”

A slow smile lit Raine’s face. “Because he’s fun. And I figured if anyone could get you to leave your post for an hour or two a day, it would be Win.”

“Oh.”

“You told me it went well. I saw the write-up about the event on the World Archeology page and they said?—”

“Everything went well,” I intercepted. “Yes, Winnie was…helpful.”

“Good. I’m glad. I talked to him yesterday. He interviewed for a new job and he starts next week. I thought he’d be ecstatic ’cause the timing couldn’t have been better, but he sounded blue. Like…really sad. That’s so not Win. I think he misses Paris.”

“Oh, right.”

Paris.

“I think he misses you too,” Raine added.

My gaze snapped to his, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings .

He knew? I had questions, but nothing I said would make any sense at the moment. We were thousands of miles apart, and there was a good chance we were both bloody miserable.

Either way, there was something I needed to say. Something Winnie needed to know. It wasn’t too late. There was still a chance. I just had to do something crazy like?—

“I’m going to LA, Raine.”

Los Angeles was beautiful in October with blue skies, endless sunshine, and a lovely breeze off the Pacific Ocean. The traffic, on the other hand, was hideous. My driver played a medley of songs with a frenzied electric drumbeat as we crawled at a snail’s pace on the freeway and east on Santa Monica Boulevard toward West Hollywood.

Palm trees warred with billboards for scenery on the congested roads. It looked nothing like London.

I stared out the window, painfully aware that I had no plan whatsoever. I should have done this in Paris. Flying to California on a whim reeked of desperation. Accurate description but perhaps not something I was keen to advertise.

“Here you are, sir. It should be the upstairs unit. Do you need help with your luggage?” the driver inquired.

I had one carry-on, so no…I didn’t need help. I needed a dose of courage.

I typed a quick text to Win. If he didn’t read it, I’d resort to plan B, which involved sitting on the stairs until he showed up. Not my brightest work, however, I was fresh off an eleven-hour flight and it was currently midnight in the UK, so…give me a break.

There’s something on your porch. If you’re home, will you check for it now ?

“Could you hold on a moment? And if possible, will you queue up this song on your phone?” I asked, pointing at my mobile.

The driver glanced at my phone and snort-laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“No. I’ll pay you for your time and the embarrassing soundtrack, but I need you to hurry. Just in case.”

I darted a frantic look at the stairwell leading to the second floor of the gray stucco house, the pathway lined with cheery red geraniums. The door wasn’t visible from this angle so I wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Bloody hell…new text.

Better yet, check the pavement.

Another text… Translation: Pavement is the sidewalk.

I stepped out of the car and waited.

The street was quiet. A few cars passed, a jogger weaved around two mums pushing prams, and a delivery truck stopped in front of the complex decorated with Pride flags on a few balconies across the street.

I hiked my carry-on over my shoulder and checked the address Raine had given me just as a figure glided down the steps.

My heart caught in my chest at the sight of him. He was…extraordinary. And he was mine. Mine.

This was it. I tapped the driver’s window and a moment later, édith Piaf’s “La Vie en Rose” blasted from the car.

I dropped my bag on the grass, holding my breath when Winnie stopped on the bottom step, his mouth open in a perfect O.

I slipped the driver a few bills and waved him off. He pulled away, stalling at the stop sign on the corner to crank the volume to ear-splitting decibels.

Winnie crossed his chest, pushing the sleeves of his tee to his elbows and rubbing his arms. His form-fitted jeans were thread- worn at his crotch and rolled at the cuffs, and his toes were painted a purple that matched his flip-flops. Christ, he looked like a model for California living, the queer edition. So damn beautiful.

“Alistair. What are you doing here?”

The music was so loud, I could hardly hear myself think. I pointed at the idling car and went into professor mode…of course.

“That’s a love song,” I said, ignoring the question. “A beautiful French love song. She’s telling her man that he’s entered her heart and changed everything. And that when he speaks, she sees life in pink. And that’s pretty much exactly what I came here to tell you, but it sounds loads better in French.”

“Did you come all this way to speak French to me?” he whispered.

“I came to tell you that I love you.” I slipped my hands into my pockets and patted my mobile for good luck.

Winnie gasped and covered his heart with both hands. “Oh, my…”

“I love you, Win,” I repeated, my voice cracking ominously. “You’re everything to me…moonlight sonatas, chaos and peace, music and light, and color. So much color. I didn’t know that the world was brimming with magic until you came along. And God, I want that magic in my life.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “With me.”

“You.” I stepped closer and set a hand on his hip. “You’ve brought me to life again, reminded me to open my eyes…and not take the small things for granted. No matter how you feel about me, that alone is a debt I can’t repay. But I’m hoping that you love me too, and?—”

Winnie leaped into my arms. “I love you. Yes, I love you so much.”

“Be mine, Win. Let me be yours. ”

“I want that so bad.” He stroked my face and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “We both know I don’t fit. I’ve got the wrong kind of smarts, the wrong kind of friends. I live here, you live there. I know I’m good, but am I right for you?”

“God, yes. You’re perfect for me.” I kissed his temple, resting my hands on his shoulders. “If you want me, I’m yours.”

Winnie wiped a tear away. “I want you…forever.”

“Good. I don’t want to live vicariously through someone else’s two-thousand-year-old story anymore. I want my own. With you.”

He beamed, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. “How do you say I love you in French?”

“ Je t’aime .”

“ Je t’aime ,” he repeated.

I swayed slightly, holding him tight. My pulse raced and my eyes were watery. I fused my lips to his, kissing him thoroughly. I was aware of the music fading, a horn blasting, and someone whistling, but it was background noise.

Nothing could pull me from this moment. From this man and our beginning.