by Ana Adams
You’re being a fucking fool.
She slipped out of bed quietly, unsure how to placate herself. Coffee? The balcony? A bath? Nothing seemed right. Since last night, she’d been on a fast path to emotional ruin, and this morning the tears were already quivering at the brink.
She’d been an idiot to prolong this thing, whatever it was, between them. To go along with Adrien like they could have some happy little affair without any consequences or mess to clean up. Haven’t you learned anything after twenty-six years of being a woman? She hunted down her clothes, slipping into the dress from the night before and gathering whatever she could spot of her things.
It was time to leave. Permanently. To begin the painful transition back to singledom, back to her studio apartment, and back to her life that didn’t include Adrien or luxury or romantic nights on the balcony.
His sudden business trip was like a sign from heaven. They were getting in too deep, too fast, with no happy ending on the horizon. Better to rip him away like a scab now than to let the situation fester into gangrene down the road.
So he’d leave for China; she’d go back to her place to finish working for him professionally until she completed her duties, and then they’d continue on their separate, merry ways.
Just perfect.
In the living room, she packed up her things as quickly as she could. Leaving before he woke up seemed wisest. She could explain later—she just needed to get to a space where she could lose her shit in peace.
After almost two weeks in his pad, she’d amassed a fair amount of crap. Each new sweep turned up something else she’d forgotten—a pair of socks, the Chilean rock salt she’d insisted he use for a particular dish one night, her laptop, the kid’s game Guess Who she’d brought over sometime during the first week as an introduction to the American childhood he’d never had.
Too much shit for one trip. But oh well. He’d probably mail it over, or send Mr. Pike to deliver it. Snapping her backpack shut, she slipped it on, surprised by its heft. Laptop and Guess Who in her arms, she made a final check before heading toward the elevator.
“Where are you doing?”
She spun on her heels. Adrien stood on the far side of the living room in his boxer briefs, bleary-eyed, hair tousled.
“Home.”
“Without saying good-bye? Why?”
Her throat tightened. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just…have to leave.”
He creased his brow, coming nearer. “Why would you do that? You know I leave tonight.”
“Yeah, exactly.” She stepped away from him when he reached out for her. “This needs to end. We’ve known all along there’s a deadline, and that includes this thing we have, whatever it is. I’m making the decision for the both of us.”
His hand dropped to his side, confusion etched across his face. “What?”
“It’s going to be too hard later.” She gulped back a knot of emotion, tears pressing at her eyes. If just a few weeks with this guy could affect her like this, she should have ended it sooner. “You know this is the smart thing to do.”
He clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“See? My point exactly.” She headed for the elevator. “I thought it would be easier to just disappear. I’ll finish working on the dates for you, don’t worry. We can still speak in a professional context.”
“Don’t do this.”
She steeled herself as she waited for the elevator. “Why not? We’re living in a fantasy, Adrien. It’s time we came back down to earth.”
“Is this because I’m leaving for China?” He stormed into her line of vision, eyes wild. “Or are you just afraid of what’s been going on?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said, knowing the second the words left her lips it was the biggest lie of her life. “I’m just being realistic. Which is a characteristic I thought you’d possess, as well.”
“Oh, I’m not being realistic? Is it such a crime to enjoy some time with a gorgeous woman? Please, forgive me for being so absurd.”
She narrowed her eyes, staring hard at the elevator doors. “I don’t like feeling like an idiot. And that’s the only thing I’ll be if I stay in this situation any longer.”
“But why?”
She snapped her eyes to meet his. “Because I know what’s coming.”
The elevator door slid open and she hurried on, jabbing at the door-close button. Adrien watched her, looking pitiful, his hands clasped behind his head.
“Stay,” he said, voice breaking. “At least see me off.”
She shook her head, studying the floor. “We’ve been living together for two weeks. This is not normal. We have to cut it at the throat.”
The doors slid shut and she leaned her forehead against the wall, her skin sweaty and prickly as she rode down from the penthouse and away from Adrien.
Chapter Fourteen
“Mr. LaCroix, can I interest you in a beverage?” The airline stewardess smiled sweetly at him, offering him a napkin.
“Whiskey.” He barely glanced at her as she prepared him a tumbler, setting it down on the wide side table in his first-class perch. Off to his right, his business partner was ordering something similar from a different stewardess.
He didn’t normally drink on the long-haul flights, but today, there was so much swirling in his mind that he needed a respite. Even if it was alcohol induced.
Every five minutes his mind returned to Clara’s departure that morning, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, rationalize it, accept it, or get over it. He’d called her a few times later on in the day, with no answer. Pike had reported a safe return to her apartment, and that the stairwell latch Adrien had ordered replaced was still in working condition. But he couldn’t accept that was the last time they’d see each other.
Already he was dying to see her again. So maybe that meant she was right—they were too deep, too fast. Getting used to being apart was probably for the best.
But damn it, anyway. He sipped at his whiskey, jaw clenching as the cool liquid calmed him. He didn’t want to get used to being apart from her. He only wanted more of her. All the time.
He whipped out his phone, pulling up his messages with Clara. He shot off a message before he could think twice. I miss you.
It was the truth. But it was attached to another truth, one that was much bigger, scarier, and potentially more painful.
He was falling in love with Clara. The revelation was banging around inside him like a child desperate to have his temper tantrum acknowledged. “I love you” had nearly slipped out the night before as they were lying in bed.
And maybe he should have said something then. Maybe she would have returned the words. Maybe they could have avoided the scene in his penthouse after all.
Or maybe he was just in too deep with the only woman he could even conceive of spending forever with. Her surprising departure that morning put a lot into focus for him. She was the only lady he wanted to see. But the timing, as always, was the spear in the gut.
He tossed back half of his whiskey, and then finished it off for good measure. Wiping at his upper lip, he stared at the chunky ice cubes, glinting in the tumbler, the roar of the plane somewhere above the Atlantic a pleasant monotone for his thoughts.
His phone vibrated. He snatched it out of his business jacket as fast as he could, heart in his throat.
Five new e-mails. He scowled, flipping through them. All work related.
Clara wouldn’t text; he knew it deep in his gut, a heavy knot that had been with him since she walked out that morning. And the only thing that made sense in the face of the confusion was to not give up—to show her, until the last possible moment, that there was something intense and worthwhile here, something that demanded as much attention and time as they could muster.
Chapter Fifteen
A week later, Clara had only left the apartment for a handful of food runs and her job interview, both of which had been bright spots in an otherwise sad and pitiful week. The interview ha
d only been slated for forty minutes, but she and the director hit it off so well that she’d stayed an extra half hour chatting and talking about lesson plans. They said they’d call within a week, but Clara had a gut feeling the job was already hers. She’d knocked it out of the park—which knocked her back to reality when the first person she wanted to share the news with was Adrien.
But that was part of learning to live without him. It stung at first—and sucked, really—but armed with snacks, Netflix, and her vibrator, she at least had a chance at emerging from the cloud of despair of losing Adrien.
Even though you pushed him out of your life. You didn’t lose him.
Crumpled tissues lined the couch from the latest sappy rom com. Adrien wasn’t helping matters by sending constant sweet text messages from across the world. Her phone vibrated with a new arrival. She looked at it glumly. I hope you’re reading these. I want to see you when I get back. Two more days.
God, she wanted to see him, too. She wanted that more than almost anything. The week apart from him had been physically painful, like being deprived of a necessary organ.
Just marry him. You want to be with him. You two are in love.
The thought jarred something lose inside of her. Excitement mingled with fear. Three weeks in and she was in love? Was that even possible? She blew her nose. According to the rom coms, it was. But that doesn’t happen in real life.
Except it felt like it happened in real life. She swiped a tortilla chip through the guacamole, then into a jar of hot sauce. She’d been craving hot sauce recently, which was odd, since it wasn’t entirely her favorite condiment. She’d gotten the organic exotic brand from Southern Mexico when she stopped by Whole Foods—just because she could, for now. Until the money dried up again, that was.
Parting ways with Adrien had been killer. More difficult than breaking up with her college boyfriend of three years, even, which was saying something. So what was different about him? Why was she being so damn emotional about it?
She reached for another tissue just in case. It would pass in time; it had to. There was no way a three-week fling with a billionaire prince could ruin her for life…right?
She squinted at the calendar hanging on the wall above her desk. Two more days meant he’d be home on Wednesday. Necessary information for planning the remainder of his blind date schedule. That, at least, was sanctioned communication. After making a few updates to the spreadsheet, she prepared a draft e-mail listing his upcoming dates.
She sniffed, clutching at a breast. Her boobs had been hurting recently. Way more than her pre-period norm. Between the hot sauce and the crying and the boob pain, she almost thought…
Her eyes widened, sliding back to the calendar. When the fuck was my last period? She shoved the laptop aside, stumbling over to the couch, legs clumsy from the sedentary week behind her. She flipped to the previous month, counted the days since her last period.
And then she counted again. And again.
Each time, the result was the same.
Five days late.
She stood staring into space for what felt like an hour. Could it really be true? Her period was usually like a timepiece, more reliable than the moon. She’d never been late in her adult life by more than one day. Ever.
Pregnant? The word drifted, foreign and strange, through the recesses of her mind. It couldn’t be. They’d used protection, every time except the last time, which couldn’t possibly have impregnated her. It was too recent. And other than that, there had been no slips, no foibles.
She wandered the studio gape-mouthed, eyes sliding from floor to ceiling to couch to wall. This was…she struggled to settle on any one emotion. It seemed they were all inside her, crowding around, vying for attention.
Newsworthy. That was the only word that finally emerged from the tumult. Worthy of sharing, worthy of telling Adrien. But first, she had to verify it. Maybe she was just late after all. Maybe it wasn’t a baby in there, but just a very angry, startled menstrual cycle that refused to come out.
Grabbing her purse, she toed her shoes on and hurried out the front door to the pharmacy down the street. Incredulity mingled with confusion. What would she do if she was pregnant? What about her job? What about Adrien?
Solutions leapt from the shadows of her mind. You’ll be fine. He’ll take care of us. You’ll go on maternity leave. You’ll marry him. You’ll raise a loving, well-adjusted, half-royal child.
Her hand drifted to her low belly, wondering what a baby might feel like in there, if it really was in there. Could she tell, if she concentrated hard enough? She bit back a smile.
In the pharmacy, she deliberated for a while over which pregnancy test looked the most reliable. Several options were eliminated because of lazy packaging; one was a maybe due to detailed descriptions but slightly intimidating instructions; and then there were a handful that looked reputable and top of the line, as far as these things went. She ended up closing her eyes and pointing.
On the walk back to her apartment, she looked at the world around her with wonder. Was this the first time she was seeing the world as a pregnant lady? What would she tell her mom, or Katy?
As she climbed the stairwell to her apartment, she clutched the box tighter, like she might lose it in a gust of wind. She should have bought two. Just in case the first one was illegible.
Inside the bathroom, she tore open the packaging and sat on the toilet, tense over the pee stick. Excitement choked her. Five minutes later, she dared to look at the tiny window.
The two pink lines were bright and bold as day.
Chapter Sixteen
Adrien settled into his penthouse office with a sigh. Scarcely two hours back in San Francisco and the work was piling around him. Add in a lackluster night of international sleep and a nagging desperation to convince Clara to change her mind and he already felt shot for the day.
But the business demanded his attention. Spreading out the contents of his briefcase, he made a few calls and touched base with his secretary. Less than a half hour into his work, his mind drifted back to Clara.
He’d been practicing what he would say to her for a full four days. Somewhere in the middle of Shanghai he realized that this wasn’t a passing fancy; he was going to fight for Clara, consequences be damned. Even if he didn’t know how to resolve the betrothal quite yet. Something would crop up.
But he had to see her first. That was step one.
As if on cue, an e-mail arrived from Clara, the one she’d promised to send with his new itinerary of blind dates. The message was short and sweet. Adrien, your schedule for this week is ready. –C.
The attached spreadsheet showed Wednesday through Sunday, each row presenting the necessary information about each of his scheduled dates: name, pedigree, appearance, career, alma mater, and more.
Wednesday’s date was highlighted bright pink. In the notes section, it read: VERY IMPORTANT DATE. DO NOT MISS THIS ONE. When his mouse hovered over the cell, an additional comment popped up: This is THE LADY, I promise you. All of my work has been dedicated to finding this one. Do not cancel. Hope your trip was fine.
He frowned, clicking back over to his work e-mails. He trusted her opinion, but the simple fact was that this lady, whoever she was, wasn’t Clara. No amount of compatibility could get past that.
Doubt clawed at him. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could convince her to see him at some point that week. But where would it go from there? There was no way to get around the pink-highlighted date, though he was desperate to cancel and go straight to her apartment and knock until she let him up.
Because his game plan was simple: find Clara and spill his heart. Until she had no questions whatsoever about how deeply he’d fallen for her.
Hitting “reply” to her e-mail, he tapped out a quick message. Thanks for this. I’ll be at the indicated restaurant tonight. May I please stop over to your apartment after the date?
Even though it was formal, the tiny line of communication with her was strangely ti
tillating, especially after so much time had gone by without a single word from her. Nine days without any quip or comment from Clara made his regular life feel like a desert. One of the many reasons he was positive that he wasn’t crazy, just merely in love with the most unexpectedly perfect woman he’d met in his life.
A preview of Clara’s reply e-mail popped up in the corner of his screen. No.
His heart sunk. He wouldn’t give up, though her repeated coldness toward him made him think he was crazy. Their three weeks together weren’t invented; she’d been right alongside him for all of it.
He forced himself back to work, busying himself in e-mails and conference calls until he called it quits at dinnertime. He shut down his home office for the day, massaging his temples as he trudged to his bedroom for a change of clothes.
The jet lag was getting to him. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to a blind date the day he got back from China. If he was lucky, he’d fall asleep in the middle of dinner and bypass all the stifling pleasantries of these awkward meals. Meeting up with a stranger was one thing—he was good at schmoozing, it was part of his job. But schmoozing ladies when one of the first bullet points on the conversation list was marriage…well, that was a touchy matter. One that made him feel even more tired as he changed into a different pair of slacks.
He checked the information sheet again to remind himself where he was going and what the dress code would be. Business casual. He grabbed a black button-up, pairing it with dark, stylishly fitted pants and his signature tan alligator shoes. Spritzing some cologne with a sigh, he finished up the outfit with a trendy black watch and then headed downstairs to meet Mr. Pike.
Being back in the country, mere miles from Clara, was a special kind of torture. This close, and unable to see her. He settled into the back seat of the sedan with a scowl, remembering to give Mr. Pike the address only after a five full minutes in traffic.
He wrestled with the frustrating complexities of the Luxembourg situation for what felt like the billionth time. Any way he looked, there was a dead end regarding Clara. Whether he married the archduchess in Luxembourg or a total stranger stateside, he’d be forced to keep Clara in the shadows, which was the last thing she deserved. He wished for a world where he could have all of her at her side, proud and prominent, the shining beam of light that she was.