“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply, digging my fingers into my thighs through my dress. “He’ll tell me I’m pathetic and I’ll feel awful forever?”
Galen levels me with a reproachful gaze. “Do you really think there’s a chance in hell that my brother would ever say that to you?”
I shrug again. “Maybe. Okay, no, he wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t change things.”
“What would?”
I ponder the question for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for us.”
“It’s never too late. Anyhow, you do what you want; it’s your life. I’m just saying that I’m watching two very foolish people lose a chance at something amazing, and I don’t know about you, but it breaks my heart.”
Mine too.
I stand up, pushing the chair back. “I appreciate it, Galen. Listen, I’m going to head over the the Arc now. I’ve really just got a couple of days left here. I need to see everything I can.”
“Oh? Any other plans for for the next few days?”
“I…I think I’m going to see the Eiffel Tower in on Saturday morning. I’d hoped to see it with Conlon, but…”
“But my brother is an arse, as we’ve discussed.” Galen rises to his feet and wraps me in a warm embrace. “Enjoy yourself, Adriana. You deserve it. I’m glad to have met you.”
As I hug him back, I can feel the damn tears welling up in my eyes. Time to break out the sunglasses.
“You too, Galen,” I say, drawing myself away. With a quick, awkward wave I turn and stride towards the Arc de Triomphe.
I suppose that’s the last I’ll ever see of the Davies boys.
Thirty-One
Conlon
I’m stuck in Thailand, and my damned flight has been cancelled.
I hate this place, though to be fair, I’ve hated every minute of my existence since stepping onto the plane to leave Paris. I hate the meetings, I hate talking to people, negotiating deals that seem meaningless right now.
I hate that Adriana is so far away, and I hate that I can’t get to her.
For days I’ve told myself to push away thoughts of that beautiful creature, for her good and for mine. But then I remember that I was happy when I was with her. Genuinely, unabashedly, stupidly happy.
The moment I said good-bye to her on Monday morning, I reverted to the grumpy bastard I saw in the airport bar’s mirror a few minutes before I met her. She chased that inner arsehole away with her kindness, her empathy, her honesty. But he’s back now, living rent-free inside my head.
I finally understand what Galen has tried to explain to me so many times. I understand what a wonderful, interesting, exciting woman can do for a man like me. A woman like Adriana is a soothing, calming force. A benevolent tornado, wending her way around my eager heart.
I understand why my brother’s addicted to love. I even get why he fell for Brittany. She made him feel good about life, about himself. About everything.
Love is terrifying, but it’s also beautiful. It’s a cruelty and a blessing at once. And because I fled like a terrified animal I’ve been stuck here, far from the woman I love, when all I want is to see her again. I want to tell her how I feel, now that I finally grasp the importance of it.
I don’t even know at this point if I’ll get home in time to see her; it’s Thursday night, and with the cancellation of my flight, it’s looking increasingly unlikely that I’ll see Paris before Sunday.
I’m in a hell of my own making, and I don’t know how to get out of it.
The worst part is that I don’t know if I deserve to.
Thirty-Two
Adriana
Saturday
It’s nine a.m. and there’s already a text from Jen on my phone.
“See you Sunday evening?” she asks. “I can’t wait to hear all about the trip. I guess things have gotten serious with Mr. Sexy; I’ve hardly heard from you for the last two weeks.”
I’ve been negligent when it comes to keeping her in the loop, and I can tell that she’s doing her best not to pry. She did warn me about falling in love. No worries, Jen, I’ll be home soon. Single as ever, if a little more savvy about love, sex, and what it is to walk with my head held high.
Today’s the day when I’m going to see the Eiffel Tower. The day when I finally shake off my addiction to Conlon and revert to a fully single life.
I hop on the metro and take it over to the école militaire stop near the Tower, and by ten a.m. I’m walking across the long park known as the Champ de Mars, towards the majestic steel structure. It has to be one of the most photogenic creations in the world. Tourists stand here and there, posing in photographs that make them look as though they’re holding its tip between their thumbs and index fingers. Street vendors waltz around, trying to get people to buy little plastic replicas, but I only have eyes for the real thing.
After paying the seven-euro fee at the entrance gate, I prance over to stand in the lineup for the elevators. There aren’t too many people here, thankfully, and the queue moves quickly. Before I know it, I’ve made my way to the top of the Eiffel Tower, 180 metres above the city. It’s a clear day and I can see every square inch of Paris from this place, which is both a good and a bad thing. I wander slowly along the perimeter platform, my eyes taking in the various places I’ve visited: the Seine, the Louvre, Notre Dame cathedral, the Sainte Chapelle.
Somewhere out there is the building where Conlon Davies lives. It’s possible that the man himself is out there somewhere, too. If he is, I don’t really want to know.
Every inch of this city reminds me of him. As I stare out at the sea of memories, my heart aches in a way that’s indefinable, both sweet and painful at once. So many incredible experiences were born here, and for the first time I seriously wonder how I can ever return to my old life in New York.
Je ne regrette rien, I tell myself. If I never learn any more French, those four words will do. At long last, I know now what I need to write about. I understand the story that’s been unfolding in my mind’s eye this whole time.
I lean on the railing, staring out at Paris’s beauty as tourists walk by me, posing to take selfies in front of the surrounding city. Couples holding hands, families with children. I am a solitary creature at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and I’m surprisingly okay with it. Katherine would be proud of me as I stand here, blond hair blowing about my face in some kind of show of single-womanly strength. “This is the image of a woman in control of her own destiny,” she would say.
Only I’m not. If I were truly brave, truly free, truly independent, I would do what Galen suggested; I’d find Conlon and tell him that I love him.
The only thing keeping me from doing it is fear.
Fuck fear.
I’m going to send him a text.
It’s not romantic, it’s not ideal, but I’m pulling my phone out of my purse. Standing here at the very top of the tower, I’m going to tell the man I love how I feel. Then I can break free; I can get on that plane back to New York with zero regrets. I can make the song come true.
Just as I open up the message window, though, a message comes in from his end. This is the second time our strange psychic link has caused us to reach for each other at the same moment.
“How do you like it?” he asks.
I look at the previous message to see if he’s replying to something I said the last time we communicated, but his response makes no sense.
“Excuse me?” I type.
“The Tower. How are you enjoying it?”
Oh, right. Galen must have told him I’m coming here today.
“It’s nice,” I say. “But it would be nicer if you were here. I miss you.”
It’s the first time since he left that I’ve expressed anything other than a distant thought. The first time I’ve opened myself up. It feels good, even if it might complicate matters.
I wonder if he’ll reply. If not, it’s okay. I’ve said what I wanted to. Sort of.
A minute passes, then two. I’m about ready to put the pho
ne away when it buzzes in my hand again. To my surprise, an entire paragraph comes my way.
“And I miss you. I have missed you, Adriana, since the moment I left you at your place. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a second, not even when I sleep. Everything reminds me of you, but nothing is as wonderful. Nothing smells as good as you. Nothing tastes as good. All I want is to put my arms around you and hold on for years.”
My heart is ready to burst from some strange, violent emotion that’s just hit me like a freight train. Can this really be Conlon Davies? I’m not sure whether to smile or cry.
“I want that too, more than you know. But you’re far away.”
“Not so very far.”
I’ve begun typing a protest when I feel a hand pressing gently into my lower back. My eyes shut with the sensation.
That’s when the voice comes.
“Not so far at all.”
Turning his way, I open my eyes. Once again I’m on the verge of tears.
“How did you…?” I ask.
He locks me in a gaze, his face serious, his eyes narrowed. “I was standing in the airport in Bangkok, enraged that my flight was cancelled. Enraged that I might not see you before you left. Enraged by everything in the world. Then I remembered that I’m a sodding billionaire, and I chartered a plane.”
This time I really do smile. Huge. I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze, and he squeezes me back. We stand like this for what feels like minutes, just holding onto each other.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” I tell him, my face pressed to his shoulder.
“Well, I’m very sorry to ruin your fantasy.”
I pull away to look into his eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m a mess, Conlon.”
“You’re beautiful.”
He kisses me gently on the lips, then again. There’s hunger in the second kiss, and passion, and possession. His tongue finds mine and my head spins.
“I have so much to say,” he tells me when he’s pulled back to lock his gaze on mine again. “There’s so much that I need to tell you.”
“I’m all ears,” I reply.
“First, I’m sorry I left. But not entirely, because now I understand what I didn’t fully grasp before.”
“Oh?”
“You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re caring, you’re kind, you’re strong and stubborn. Every second of the trip, all I wanted was to see you. To touch you. To breathe you. I wanted to come back, to fix everything. To make myself worthy of you, instead of being a right cowardly prick.”
“Conlon, you’re worthy,” I reply, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my sternum. “Of course you’re worthy. Things are just complicated…we’ve always known I’d be leaving eventually. I understand why you left.”
“You do, don’t you?” he asks, easing forward. “Adriana, would you come to my place tonight?”
I nod. “God, yes.” One more night. I’ll take it. “But tomorrow I have to pack. Oh, and I should tell you—I’ve made a decision about your memoir.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I’ve decided I don’t want to write it.”
He raises an eyebrow, an amused, inquisitive look on his face.
“I want to write a different book,” I explain. “I’ve already thought about it, as a sort of therapy for losing you temporarily—well, permanently as of Sunday.”
“Oh?”
“A book about us. But with a happy end, where you come to the airport and stop me from getting on the plane.”
“Pfft,” he says, giving me the biggest, sexiest grin. “As if that would ever happen.”
“I know it won’t in reality,” I reply, a little hurt that he’d joke about it. He could at least pretend that he’d consider coming after me. “That’s why it’s fiction.”
“No, you’re not understanding.” He moves closer, his hands cupping my cheeks as he smiles at me. “It would never happen, my beautiful Adriana, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get anywhere near the airport.”
Oh, my heart is going to explode. Or melt. Or implode. Or something.
“Wait, what?”
He steps away and takes both my hands in his, as though he’s about to recite wedding vows.
“Adriana,” he says, inhaling a deep breath, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last several days. About you and me. I thought I could keep you at arms’ length while we were together. Make love to you again and again, without worrying too much about the intimacy I’ve felt from the beginning. I thought I could let you go back to the United States, and of course I will, if that’s what you want. But the truth is that I never want you to go, not unless I can come with you. Or else I want you here with me. I want to love you. I want to wake up every morning and feel your breath on my skin. I want you to remind me what it’s like to be alive, because I’ve never truly known, not until I met you. I’ve only lived my life, and it was barely a life, at that. You have taught me how to be a man—lessons that my father could never teach me. But I understand him now too, you see. It’s not that he was a disaster. It’s that he lost the woman who was everything to him. He loved her more than he loved himself. There was a time when I thought that meant he was weak, but now I understand that it was strength that allowed him to surrender his heart. I never grasped that until now.”
My heart is beating so fast that I’m not sure how I’m still upright. I’ve never heard such words from any man. And God knows I never expected them from Conlon Davies.
“I don’t know what to say,” I reply, though I want to say everything in the world. I want to pour my heart out to this amazing man.
“Don’t you?” His face is all anticipation and hope.
“I know one thing. I know I love you, Conlon.” The words come out like a breath that I’ve held in for weeks. “So much.”
His arms engulf me.
“I love you too.”
Epilogue
I’ve been living with Conlon in his flat in Paris for two months. His flat which, let’s be honest, is more like a castle. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and that includes Notre Dame, the Louvre and Versailles.
The ceilings are twelve feet above the floors. Everything is white; the curtains, the walls, the architectural details. Beautiful, colourful works of art accent the walls here and there. His windows look out onto the Seine and Paris’s beautiful buildings, inspiring my heart to ache each morning until I remember I don’t have to leave; this is my home now.
But it’s the window in the bedroom that pleases me the most. The window that looks out onto the Eiffel Tower. That gorgeous, gigantic, phallic reminder of the day when Conlon and I finally opened our hearts to one another.
I was due back in New York over a month ago. When I told Jen I was sticking around Paris she understood, but made me promise she’d see me again soon. What she doesn’t know is that I hope to get her to come here, along with my parents. I have a wedding to plan.
Oh, not for a while yet, but Jen would be the perfect helper for the planning process. She’d slap my hand when I’m being stupid, gush over all the things I’m doing right and generally be a huge pain in the ass. She may never forgive me for staying. But I think a free trip to Paris for her and her husband might help.
Conlon, meanwhile, has spent a good deal of time with Galen in the last couple of months, talking about everything he’s repressed for years and years. And today is the day that it’s all coming to a head.
As I stare out at the Seine, a cup of coffee in my hand, I feel his arm slip around my waist. He presses into me from behind, the perfect show of affection, closeness, warmth, love.
“Are you ready?” I ask him, leaning my head into his stubble-coated cheek.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies.
I turn to face him, silently pressing a hand to his chest. I want him to feel my presence when he does it. To know I’m here, protecting his heart from whatever difficulti
es may come. I’m here to help him. I’m here to love him.
“Here goes nothing,” he says, extracting his phone from his pocket. He dials, and we stare into one another’s eyes as he waits. I mouth the words Good luck. His free arm wraps around me and pulls me close when a voice answers on the other end of the line.
“Dad?” he says, his voice vibrating through his chest, “It’s Conlon.”
Thirty-Three
More from the Single Ladies’ Travel Agency!
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About the book:
Lucy hasn't seen Dylan in years. Not since a passionate kiss they shared one night back in college, when everything that seemed so right had somehow managed to go very wrong. So when she runs into him in Rome during a summer holiday, she wonders what fate could possibly have in store for her fragile heart.
Dylan has always thought of Lucy Horner as the one who would have gotten away. That is, if he'd ever gotten close enough to have her. Now he may just get another opportunity with her.
As long as he doesn't do something stupid again.
The most extraordinary city in the world, entrancing in its timeless beauty and romance.
When in Rome...
Don't be a bleeping idiot.
Going Hard, coming in August 2017.
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