by T. K. Leigh
“Then what is it?”
I draw in a shaky breath. “How do you do what you do and not feel like you lose a piece of yourself every few months?”
“A piece of myself?”
My chin trembles and I struggle to speak through the lump in my throat. “How do you find the strength to walk away from someone you’ve grown to care for?” I choke out in a strained voice, one that evidences my frustration and sadness.
There’s a brief pause on the line before he speaks again. Everything about his words exude the compassion I surmise is why women are desperate for his companionship.
“Is this line of questioning coming from somewhere…personal?”
I exhale deeply as I swipe at my eyes, erasing my tears only for new ones to fall. “Let’s just say I find myself in a somewhat similar situation. Apart from the whole escort thing.” I laugh slightly and look down, surprised to see the strip of photos from Coney Island clutched in my hand. I can’t even remember grabbing them. My chest tightens and I swallow hard. “I agreed to help out a friend for the summer…”
“And now that summer’s ending, you’re having trouble walking away.”
My words caught in my throat, I nod. It doesn’t matter he can’t see me. He knows what I’m going through. This is why I reached out to him. I need his reassurance that I’ll get through this.
“Listen, Evie…” His tone softens, taking on a friendly, more familiar quality. Until this point, we’ve been fairly professional in our correspondence and discussions. This is the first time he’s called me Evie, despite my insistence he do so. It’s always been Miss Fitzgerald. “I never said I didn’t struggle with walking away.”
“Then how do you do it? How do you form this amazing connection with another person, one that makes you truly believe you’re soul mates, and still leave?”
“Because I remind myself I’m there to serve a purpose.”
Now his own voice trembles. It’s not as prominent, but it’s obvious his words are laced with emotion, proving he’s not this detached machine who has no trouble jumping between women. He truly does care about each one. The world needs more people like August Laurent.
“I’m there to give women the companionship they desperately need to put them on the track to what’s next. Perhaps that’s what you need to focus on. That whatever arrangement you had was just to get you to the next step in your life. It won’t be easy. You’ll find pieces of him in places you never expect, and it will knock the breath out of you. Like when a commercial you laughed over comes on the TV, especially all those pharmaceutical commercials where the side effects seem worse than the condition it’s meant to treat.”
I close my eyes, remembering doing the same thing with Julian just a few weeks ago. Now the tears that fall are no longer tears of sorrow but of joy, of comfort, my heart expanding.
“Or you hear a song on your playlist and remember dancing to it. Or you see a car that looks like his, only for your heart to deflate when it’s not. But I assure you, the memories will eventually stop being painful, and you’ll look back on this time with fondness instead of heartache. It won’t happen right away. But it will happen.”
“But—”
“My advice to you, since I’m assuming these are your last few days together?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t dwell on the future. Enjoy the present. Savor every last second you have together. Create more memories instead of lamenting on old ones. I promise these memories will carry you through the difficult road ahead, where you’ll question everything. Everyone comes into our lives for a reason, Evie. This…friend. Maybe he didn’t come into your life to be your soul mate. Or maybe he is your soul mate, but not in the way you think. Maybe he’s like Virgil guiding Dante through Hell and Purgatory, showing you who you are so you can start living.”
As I hang up and continue packing my things for the last time, I do everything to follow August’s advice. I try not to dwell on the idea of the sun setting on this magical summer, focusing instead on enjoying the little time I have left with Julian. Maybe he came into my life to help me realize I deserved so much more than what Trevor gave me. That I deserve to be with someone who supports my dreams, regardless of how ambitious and out of reach they may seem. Julian gave that to me. For that, I’ll forever be grateful. The notion keeps the tears at bay.
Until the buzzer sounds and I step out of the building to see Julian standing on the front stoop, the car I’ve nicknamed Thursday, the Jaguar, idling by the curb. He looks as beautiful and captivating as when I first saw him from across a bar during what I thought to be the worst night of my life. But now that I know his inner beauty matches that on the outside, he appears even more beautiful, more captivating. It forces the ache to return, tears sliding down my cheeks.
Julian’s quick to pull me into his chest, holding me tightly as my tears soak his white linen shirt. His arms comfort me at the same time they remind me this will be the last time they’ll be here to do so.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, his own voice showing signs of strain. “This was always how it was going to end. Nothing will change that. You deserve more than I can give you, Guinevere.”
I lift my head and peer into his eyes. “How do you know?”
He brings his thumbs up to my eyes, wiping at them. “It’s the truth. I am not a good man. I won’t bring you down with me. You deserve the sun and moon and stars.” He brings his forehead to mine. “I can’t give that to you.”
I cup his face, relishing in the scruff of his unshaven jaw. “What if you already have?”
He swallows hard as his eyes lock with mine. I can see the internal struggle through those vibrant blue orbs, ones I’ve seen look at me in a way I never thought another man would. So much admiration. So much devotion. So much…love?
Before I can react, he swallows me in his embrace, crushing his lips to mine, his kiss ravenous, desperate, needy, as tears slide down my cheeks. I arch into him, returning his kiss with the same intensity, wanting to remember every groan, every circle of his hips, every swipe of his tongue before the candle is extinguished.
Chapter Thirty-One
They say time seems to drag when you’re excited about something. The opposite is true, as well, because my final weekend with Julian flies by, time rushing when I’d love nothing more than for it to slow down.
The myriad of events I attend on Julian’s arm are marked with a celebratory atmosphere reminiscent of the last days of school. I hate lying to all these people as I make plans to get together with several of them in the city. But that won’t happen, not once word of our breakup gets out. I’ll be back to my normal life, and my summer with Julian will be nothing but a distant memory. In my heart, I know that will never be the case. Not for me. And not for Julian. He’s struggling with this, too. I can see it in his eyes as he looks upon me with a hint of longing, feel it in his arms as he holds me a little tighter, taste it in his lips as he presses them against me with a bit more desperation.
As I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror as Camille helps zip up the stunning charcoal-colored ballgown I’m to wear to the final gala, it’s bittersweet. I’ve kept my emotions at bay all weekend in front of everyone, only allowing Julian to see them in the hopes he’d change his mind. Now that it’s almost over, a tear escapes at the knowledge that this is it, my last night by his side. It’s not about the glitz and glamor. What’s killing me is never experiencing the same adoration, devotion, or affection I have this summer. Even if it’s not real. In my heart, it is. It has been since the beginning.
“It’ll be okay.” Camille fetches a tissue and holds it out when she notices the tear sliding down my cheek. I offer her a smile as I bring it to my eyes, grateful I’d worn waterproof mascara. “He’s struggling, too.”
“Right,” I scoff. All weekend, Julian’s been his usual charming self. Yes, there’s a hint of sadness surrounding him, but not enough to make a change.
“Trust me, sweetie.
I’ve known Mr. Gage a long time. I’ve never seen him this...unsure.”
“Then why doesn’t he say something? Why does he insist he can’t give me what I deserve? Who is he to make that determination?”
Camille clasps my hands in hers as she leads me toward the sitting area, both of us lowering ourselves onto the couch. “Did you know that Mr. Gage spent his younger years in the foster care system?”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. After those first few days, I tried to steer clear of all articles about him, mainly because I was mentioned in a lot of them. The last thing I wanted was to read gossip about myself, something Julian had warned me against earlier in the summer.
“How did he end up there?” I lower my voice. “Does it have something to do with the scars?”
She pinches her lips in contemplation. “That’s not my story to tell, but being in the foster system can change you. The system failed him, didn’t get him the help he needed after what he went through… Didn’t give him the love he needed. That boy spent his most impressionable years desperate for love, only to never have it bestowed on him. It’s my belief he gave up and decided he’s undeserving of love.”
I stare straight ahead, absorbing her words. Julian never spoke of his childhood much. Whenever I asked, he closed up, saying it was unimportant. Now I understand why. The scars have never fully healed. Physically and emotionally.
“Maybe if you show him he’s deserving of love, if you tell him how much you love him—”
Whipping my eyes toward hers, I inhale a sharp breath. “I never said I loved him.”
She pats my hand affectionally. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over you, dear. You love that man, probably more than you’ve loved any other person in your life.”
“I—”
“And he loves you, but refuses to admit it…to himself or anyone else. Yes, he’s a grown man, but at times, he’s still that lost little boy desperate for even the slightest show of love, the one who cries himself to sleep because he doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. Prove him wrong. Show him he is.” She holds my gaze a moment longer, her eyes pleading with me to love Julian like he deserves. Do I love him? I don’t want to admit the answer. It will only make tonight more difficult than it already is.
“Come on, Cinderella. Let’s get you to the ball,” she says, ripping me out of my thoughts.
“Except Prince Charming won’t be hunting me down afterward to see if the glass slipper fits.”
“Cinderella didn’t think that would happen, either, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying herself. Don’t let the knowledge of what tomorrow brings stop you.”
With a nod, I silently follow her out of my room, walking this path for the final time. Earlier in the summer, I’d given myself the same pep talk Camille just did. It was easier then, back when we still had time.
As I round the corner into the formal living room, my Christian Louboutin heels clicking on the wood flooring, a figure in a black tuxedo turns from peering out the windows, Julian’s gaze settling on me. On a hard swallow, I blink back a new wave of tears. My throat constricts over the idea that this is the last time he’ll ever look at me in amazement as he soaks in the dress Dana selected for the evening’s festivities. Even when we were just scheduled to attend a casual barbecue or beach bonfire, he still had a way of admiring me as if I were bathed in priceless diamonds.
“Hey,” I say with a smile, cutting through the silence.
“Guinevere…” His voice catches as he says my name. He clears his throat, taking slow steps toward me. Just like all those weeks ago, he grabs my hand in his, spinning me around to get a better view from every angle before tugging my body against his. He places his free hand on the small of my back, and I drape my arm over his shoulder, toying with a few tendrils of hair that hang over his jacket collar. We remain still for what feels like an eternity, but in reality is only a second. Our eyes lock, midnight blue to my emerald green. Neither one of us utters a single word. There’s no need. In this silence, in this moment, in this space, we say everything we want to.
A low hum cuts through the quiet. It’s a familiar song that will always remind me of the moment I finally succumbed to my desire and kissed him. He squeezes my hand, then leads me around the room. Unlike our first weekend together, when dancing with him felt stilted and awkward, we move with practiced grace.
Julian begins to sing the lyrics to “Moon River”, husky and deep, and it takes every bit of willpower I possess not to burst into tears. I’ve never truly paid attention to the words before. It was just a song that reminded me of one of my favorite movies about two drifters who were wrong for each other, but so right at the same time. Just like Julian and me. But we weren’t meant to see the world together. Our rainbows’ end isn’t the same, and I’m not sure anything can change that.
We slow our steps as the song comes to an untimely end and we stand in place, our hands still clasped together, our bodies a breath away. If this is our last private moment together, I want to savor it. The way he holds me, admires me, cares for me.
Too soon, he releases me from his hold. “Guinevere, I…”
“Yes?” I respond, hope building in my voice.
“I…”
“Yes?” I rest my hand on his cheek, his clean-shaven skin soft against mine. I wish I knew he planned to shave. I would have loved one last kiss with his scruff scraping against my lips, jarring and bruising, yet making me feel more alive than anything else in my life. Never again. The thought rips at my heartstrings.
“I, uh…” He licks his lips, blinking rapidly. “I got you something.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I drop my hold on him. “You already bought me a wardrobe that could probably pay for the first year’s rent at the apartment of my choosing in the city,” I joke.
“You’re not going to sell it, are you?” he asks frantically. “Because if that’s what it takes for you to afford your own place, I’ll buy you an apartment. I—”
“It’s a lovely gesture,” I interrupt. “But not necessary. Now that I’ve had the opportunity to revamp my piece on August Laurent, at least I have a decent shot at that promotion. It’ll be nice to have my own bathroom again.”
“And a door.”
“Yes. And a door,” I laugh, grateful for the short reprieve of tension. “It’s amazing how we take those little things for granted until we no longer have them. I’ll never take doors for granted again.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So…”
“Right.” He spins, heading toward the wet bar. After retrieving a square white box, he walks back to me with a smile on his lips. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” Taking it from his outstretched hand, I feel the weight, knowing it must contain more than just a t-shirt, as the size of the box would normally indicate.
“Open it.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, my heart thumps in my chest. With trembling fingers, I pull at the red ribbon. When I lift the cover, I gasp at what I see inside. It’s another box, but that’s not what surprises me. It’s the Tiffany’s blue shade that steals my breath.
“I was planning on getting you something from Cartier, but I figured Tiffany’s would have more meaning.”
“It could be an empty box and it would be infinitely better than even the most expensive piece you could get from Cartier,” I gush.
“Phew,” he exhales, swiping at his brow. “That’s a relief, because it really is just an empty box.”
Laughing, I shake my head and pull out the square blue box, placing the other one on a nearby table. “No, it’s not.”
“You’re right.” His expression turns serious, his eyes trained on me. “It’s not,” he admits in a soft voice. “Open it.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, then shift it to the box. Butterflies flap their relentless wings in my stomach as I slowly raise the lid. When I set my eyes on what’s contained within, all the wind is
knocked from my lungs. An exact replica of the necklace Audrey Hepburn’s character admires during the scene when she takes Paul to Tiffany’s for the first time. The light reflects against the stunning yellow-colored diamond in the center, the intricate latticework of diamonds along the neckline like a vine surrounding a lone flower.
“Julian…” I cover my mouth with my hand, speechless.
This isn’t the first piece of jewelry he’s purchased for me. I have an entire jewelry box in the dressing room filled with pieces to accent the various outfits I’ve worn over the course of the summer. This one is different. It’s something he’s given to me because he wanted to, not as a complement to my wardrobe.
“Now I know why Camille insisted I not wear the necklace Dana had paired with this dress.”
He grins a devious smile. “It’s good to have her on my side.” He winks, then extends his hand toward the box. “May I?”
I remain motionless as he takes it. He removes the stunning necklace, then stands behind me. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror hanging over the fireplace, watching as he brings it to my neck, securing it. When he’s finished, his hands stay on my shoulders. I touch my fingers to the stones. I’ve never worn such a weighty piece of jewelry in my life.
“Wow,” I murmur. “I’m not sure I want to know how much this cost, or how many carats I’m currently wearing around my neck.”
“The large stone is a forty-carat yellow diamond. A rarity. Ten carats in white diamonds accent the neckline.”
“So fifty carats worth of stones.” My breathing becomes labored as I try to grasp onto the concept. “Please don’t tell me what this cost you.”
“It’s not about the money. Not to me—”
“Because you have money.”
“All the more reason for me to do this for you, to give you something to show how appreciative I am for everything you’ve done for me this summer. This is the least I could do.”
I practically choke on my saliva. “I could understand giving me a Starbuck’s gift card or something, but this?” I spin around to face him. “I don’t feel right accepting.”