She’s right. I told them before the night began that I wouldn’t be joining them for dinner at their favourite French restaurant afterwards. I had some grand plan of a fancy takeaway, a hot bath and more champagne. Wallowing in my triumph, so to speak, and soaking away the stress of the last few months—years, even.
Now I know that a bath would only encourage debauched fantasies of what I might be doing with Lucas...
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say over the heat that starts to swirl, and I face him off. ‘Thank you for coming, Lucas.’
His lip twitches and I read the double meaning in his eyes. Christ. I almost expect him to say, Not me, but you did...twice.
My cheeks flame as his eyes dance. ‘I look forward to our next meeting.’
Look forward to it? I’ll be on heat for it—and at my wits’ end if I don’t get this under control.
Still, I have at least a week—maybe more.
Plenty of time.
* * *
It’s late when the door to Je l’adore opens and she emerges, her parents in tow.
I don’t know why I’m here. Or rather I know why, but I don’t approve of my actions.
Seems seeing her again has broken something in me. Something I kept locked away when I had a friendship to protect, a surrogate family to honour. Without it, I can’t shake free.
I want to blame it on unsated desire. Sex. Simple as.
I tell myself that if I have her, then I can move on. It’s an ability that’s served me well in the past. I don’t form attachments. Not any more.
I look at her now from my vantage point in the back of my limo across the street. She’s laughing, her arms around her mother as they bid each other goodnight. There is so much love between them and my gut lurches at the sight of it. There’d been a time when I’d been part of that. Had loved and been loved, or so I’d thought.
Then she turns to her father and that lurch turns into a twist. I don’t want to care any more. It’s old ground. But I owe part of myself to that man, my only real father figure. He shaped me, and my success is in some way because of him.
Love, respect, anger—they all collide. I flex my fists, breathing through it. I always knew tonight would be hard, but there’s so much I didn’t bank on.
And right up there is this rush of feeling for her. An emotion I thought well and truly dead.
Seems she is my weakness after all.
She pecks her father on his cheek and I can almost sense his need to say something. I know him, and I know he’s not going to let this go, but whatever he says she shakes her head at it and gestures for them to get in their waiting car.
I know she has an exclusive apartment around the corner—one of many homes owned by her family—and I’m banking on her heading back there tonight.
Just as I’m banking on getting what I came for...
* * *
I’m wired by the time I say goodbye to Mum and Dad. I could blame it on the amazing party—the culmination of my hard work. But it’s not. It runs a whole lot deeper.
Loving Lucas had been as natural as breathing in my teens. And just as impossible to prevent. He’d always been a part of our lives, his mother constantly using mine as a sitter so she could go on date after date, never finding anyone permanent.
I don’t know whether she was picky or desperate, but it had made me mad. Mad at how she could neglect Lucas, not care about him. The day he got his exam results I remember her delivering a swift ‘well done, honey’ before planting a kiss on his forehead and leaving for the night. There was no celebration—no nothing.
It had been my parents who had cheered him on, congratulating him, spoiling both him and Nate because they’d done well.
We’d even taken him away with us on family holidays. It had been inevitable, really.
He’d been gorgeous, athletic and toned, intelligent, a rebel, but never taking it too far—not like Nate, who never knew when
to quit. It was always Lucas reining him in, looking out for him.