Do you want to know the worst thing about this cluster fuck of a situation?
I didn’t care.
Everything I had loved before Elle paled in comparison to my need for her. The thought of anything getting in the way of being with her both incensed me and perversely excited me because I knew I would eviscerate it.
It wasn’t rational and it was completely out of character but as my compatriot Blaise Pascal said, “the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” And since the moment I met Giselle Moore, my heart had stopped being mine to reason with.
Which was how I found myself opening the door to my suite and temporary home at the St Regis with a completely idiotic smile on my face - high on my courage, exhilarated for the first time in my life at the prospect of my future because a gorgeous redhead by the name of Giselle Moore had just promised to be in it indefinitely - only to find my ex-girlfriend at the door.
It was obvious that Elena had come directly from the airport by the large canvas bag she carried over one shoulder. She was still wearing one of her power suits, an inky black ensemble from head to toe that was meant to detract from her femininity. Instead, it highlighted her delicate beauty like a neon pen. She looked polished and gorgeous, not at all heartbroken.
“Daniel, we need to talk,” Elena demanded. “I don’t care if it’s a bad time. I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”
It was a bad time.
The worst.
It was fucking awful because I had just shared the most extraordinary night of my life with the woman I had finally convinced to be mine and she was currently tucked away within hearing distance of this very conversation, wearing only a post-coital smile and the scent of our sex on her skin.
Anxiety pricked my skin like a thousand hot needles. I couldn’t afford to lose her, not after tasting, however briefly, the possibility of a future with her.
Giselle Moore was mine. And I wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way of that.
Not even her sister.
“I appreciate that we need to talk, Elena, but now isn’t a good time,” I said, widening my stance so that I blocked most of the doorway.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s eleven thirty at night, you can spare ten minutes to talk to the woman you devoted the last four years of your life to,” she snapped.
I gritted my teeth against a brief flare of guilt as she brushed pass me into the suite. She stopped in front of the couch, delicately placing her coat, bag, and Prada purse there before facing me again with her hands clasped before her. Even in her righteous indignation, Elena comported herself like a princess. She was heartrendingly beautiful, with a face like a renaissance painting and a spine made of titanium steel. If I had never met Giselle, I knew I would have stayed with Elena for the rest of my life. It would have been so much simpler that way.
And yet, the thought was singularly depressing.
Giselle brought my ordered black and white life into color with her passionate strokes and exceptional love. There was no going back from something like that.
I crossed my arms. “I leave for Paris early tomorrow morning.”
“I just got back,” she said, as if that made it unacceptable for me to leave.
I didn’t say anything.
“Fine, that just means it is even more imperative that we talk now.”
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I considered the wisdom of either just kicking her out or hashing it out with her. I was well aware that Giselle was in the bedroom listening to our every word. It might do her good to realize how serious I was about leaving Elena, to hear some of the things I needed to say. And a large part of me realized that Elena needed the opportunity to discuss her feelings with me. When I had ended things with her last week, she barely spoke, barely even moved. She just sat perched on the edge of the couch with her hands demurely held in her lap. I deserved a thorough tongue lashing at the very least, even a good hard slap or two across the face. It was, pathetically, the least I could do to ease her pain.
“Okay, take a seat. Can I get you some water?” I asked, moving forward towards the bar to pour myself a much-needed drink.
I had briefly tidied up the suite before answering the door, more out of habit than anything else and I was intensely grateful for my compulsion now. Still, I cast my eyes about the room, spotting the neat pile of Giselle’s clothes partially hidden under the coffee table on the other side from Elena.