Ansel sits up from where he was lying back on the couch with an arm tucked behind his head.
“It’s okay to be nervous. You haven’t seen him in a while, but he is your brother so I don’t think you have too much to worry about. If anyone should be worried, it’s me. If he finds out we sleep in the same bed he will murder me.”
I brush my fingers through my wavy hair, blowing out a breath and hopefully the last of my anxiety with it.
Ansel stands, wrapping his arms around me. I relax into his hug as he digs his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp to soothe me.
“You worry too much.”
“I’m afraid he’s going to make me go home,” I admit something that’s been plaguing me.
Ansel takes a step back, giving me a look that says he can’t believe those words left my mouth. “You’re an adult. He can’t make you do anything, and I don’t think your brother would do that to you. He misses you, but he knows you need this.”
My phone chimes then and when I look at the screen it’s Sage telling me he’s here.
“It’s show time.” I force a smile and playfully bump Ansel’s shoulder.
Leaving Ansel in the apartment I head down to greet Sage.
I spot him immediately, climbing out of a cab. His hair is a tad longer and his scruff is closer to a beard than a few days worth of not shaving.
“Sage!” All my worries go flying out the window and I run toward him. He grins at the sight of me, opening his arms. I slam into him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. “I’ve missed you. So freaking much.”
He squeezes me back. “Same. You have no idea, Weed.” He releases me, looking me over. “It’s been weird not having you at my place.”
“Being alone must suck,” I joke.
Something passes over his eyes and he clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s rough.”
My brow furrows, I feel like I’m missing something.
“Have you seen much of the city yet?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I got off the plane and went to my hotel to drop off my stuff and came straight here.”
“Are you jet-lagged?”
“I mean, yeah,” he runs his fingers through his hair, the brown strands tinged with red and blond, “but I want to force my body to get on Paris time, so I’m staying up.”
“You’re ready for some sight-seeing then?” I’m eager to show my brother the city I’ve been living in for almost a month now.
“I want to see as much as I can while I’m here.”
“Let’s go up and I’ll show you the apartment. Ansel can come with us since he’s better with the language and getting around the city.”
“Ansel,” he grumbles as I start leading him toward the entrance to the building.
“Aw, don’t tell me you hate his guts. If you did, you wouldn’t have told him I was going to London.”
“Don’t remind me.” He looks around the lobby of the building, taking in the old world architecture. I love how nothing is new here. It’s timeless.
“How’s work?” I ask as we step onto the elevator.
“I love it,” he admits, trying to stifle his growing smile. “Working for a small, independent company is what I needed. I’m appreciated there.”
“I’m glad.”
The doors slide open and I lead him down the hall to the small but elegant apartment.
Ansel jumps up from the couch as soon as the door opens. “Hey, man.” He holds his hand out to my brother. Sage reluctantly takes it, giving it a shake.
“This place is … quaint,” he finally settles on, probably thinking about the fact that Ansel and I are near each other all the time.
If he only knew.
After a short tour, Ansel and I pull on our coats so we can head out into the city to show my brother around.
Sage looks like us on our first day, his mouth parted and his head on a constant swivel trying to take it all in.
I’ve learned it’s impossible. I discover something new every day that I’ve missed all the other days. That’s one of my favorite things about this city. It’s full of secrets.
“What did you think of the Eiffel Tower when you went?” Sage asks, staring at it off in the distance between the buildings.
“We actually haven’t been yet.”
His head swings to me in astonishment. “You’ve been in Paris for almost a month and you two haven’t gone to the Eiffel Tower? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Ansel chuckles. “She’s saving it for some reason.”
“Why?” Sage’s brows draw together.
I give a small shrug, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. “I don’t know, it’s dumb.”
“Come on, D, tell me.”
I bite my lip. “It’s … once we go, it feels kind of like the end.”
“The end?” Sage repeats.
“I told you it was dumb. I want to savor the experience.”
I was the same way in all the other cities we’ve stopped, saving the more iconic landmarks for one of the last things we did before leaving.
It’s worse this time and I think it’s because deep down, I know I won’t be going anywhere else.
Once I leave Paris I’m going home.
Sage lets it go, letting Ansel show him around the neighborhood. We end up catching a cab, heading into the heart of the city to show him more easily recognizable historic sites like the Notre Dame cathedral, currently undergoing repairs from the horrendous fire that damaged it, and drive by the Arc de Triomphe. The cab takes us by the Eiffel Tower, but Sage doesn’t ask to stop which I’m grateful for.
After touring for a few hours Sage admits he’s tired and asks to be dropped off at his hotel.
Since his hotel is within walking distance of where we’re living, Ansel and I get out too.
“I’ll see you later.” I hug my brother goodbye, certain he’s going to pass out as soon as he reaches his bed. His eyes boast dark shadows. The jetlag has obviously gotten to him.
Ansel and I watch him enter the hotel before we start the trek down the cobblestone streets.
“We should stop and pick up something to make for dinner.”
It’s good that Ansel can produce food that’s semi-edible, otherwise we would be spending a fortune on eating out all day long.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Pasta,” he grins, the word lilted with a French accent.
I guess growing up with a French father, and now being surrounded by other French people day in and day out is making his accent come out.
We enter the tiny market around the corner from our building and Ansel passes me a basket as he peruses the aisles, grabbing the ingredients he needs for whatever pasta dish he plans to concoct.
He drops some fresh lemons, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, spaghetti noodles, a fresh baguette, and even a bottle of wine into the basket. We’ve taken a tiny bit of advantage of the fact that eighteen is the legal drinking age.
Once our items are purchased, we walk to the apartment.
“I’m going to get started on this.” Ansel carries the paper bag into the kitchen area.
“I’ll shower then.” God knows he doesn’t want my help. The first night he cooked for us in London he asked me to toast some bread in the oven. I burned it to a blackened crisp and the burnt smell wouldn’t leave the apartment for days.
I grab my pajamas—ones I bought after I realized I didn’t pack any like the dummy I am—and close myself in the bathroom.
While the water warms, I wipe my face free of makeup. I’ve taken to wearing more than I used to, but still not a lot. I find it makes me feel more put together and ready to take on the day when I pat on the concealer and coat my lashes in mascara.
Stripping out of my clothes I step into the steamy shower, letting the heat wash over me and uncoil my tight muscles that have been wound from my nerves over Sage’s visit.
Closing my eyes, the water pours over my face, dripping down my
naked body. Unbidden, images of Lachlan in his shower flood my mind. His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking his erection. My pussy clenches at the memory and I can’t control myself as my hand drifts down my body to that sensitive nub of nerves. I rub my clit slowly, picturing Lachlan’s hand in my place and his eyes staring at me like I’m everything. A whimper crawls out of my throat and I bite down on my lip, not wanting Ansel to overhear my noises in the small apartment. I’d never be able to look him in the eyes again.
I push my thoughts of reality out of my mind, instead focusing on the fantasy of Lachlan. I shut my eyes tighter, picturing his wet naked body pressed to the back of mine, his erection rubbing against me. I pretend his hands slide around my body, up my stomach to cup my breasts in his big hands. I moan, leaning my head back against his chest, but in reality I rest it on the tiled shower wall.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in a rough growl directly into my ear. “You’re beautiful and you’re mine.”
“Yours,” I tell him.
My body aches for him, the orgasm building as I rub faster.
In my mind, he turns me, taking my face between his hands and claiming my lips. He devours my mouth, filling me with the taste of his lips.
“I love you,” I murmur as his lips skim down my neck.
“I love you more,” his voice is husky with passion. He swirls his tongue around my nipple, making my back arch as my body begs for him to take more.
I slip my fingers into my pussy, pretending it’s Lachlan there claiming me. A moan vibrates in my throat, turning into a small cry as my orgasm builds.
I come apart, hoping the shower drowns out my sounds of pleasure. My legs shake and in my mind Lachlan is there holding me up, making sure I don’t fall.
I give myself time to recover from the orgasm, the first one I’ve had since he last touched me with apologies that still haunt me, and when I open my eyes he’s not there. Of course he’s not, but it still hurts, because he’s nothing but a ghost and I wish he’d stop haunting me.
Washing my hair and body, I get out of the shower as quickly as possible, somehow feeling dirtier than when I got in.
Drying the ends of my hair with a towel I dress in my pajamas before facing my reflection. My cheeks are flushed and I know it’s not from the heated water. Wrapping my hands around the sink, I lower my head shaking it.
“Let it go, Dani,” I mutter softly to myself. “He’s not coming back. You have to forget about him.”
It’s easier said than done. Love is a feeling you can’t turn on and off as you please. It lives inside you as vital to your being as every organ in your body.
I hastily turn away from the mirror, hurrying out into the kitchen.
The scent of the pasta Ansel is making permeates the air. It smells amazing and my stomach rumbles to life.
“Good shower?”
“Huh?” I squeak, freaking out that he heard my moans.
“You were in there a while.” He turns his back, stirring the pasta in a pot.
“Oh, yeah.”
I hop up on the counter near him, and he tosses a grin my way. “Want to help?”
I give him a look. “Have you forgotten the bread incident?”
“No, but I think you can handle grating cheese, right?”
I eye the grater. “Uh … possibly, but I also might scrape my fingers off.”
He shakes his head. “Just try.”
I jump down and grab the block of fresh cheese, grating it over the bowl he set out.
“How much do you need?”
“About half.”
While I grate the cheese he adds olive oil into a bowl and squeezes fresh lemon juice in as well. After adding a dash of pepper he takes the cheese from me and stirs it all together.
“Grab the bowls. Once I drain this it’s ready.”
Standing on my tiptoes I reach for the bowls, getting them down and setting them on the counter.
He drains the pasta in the sink and then adds the mixture onto the warm pasta, stirring it around before dishing out a serving for each of us. He grabs the bread from the oven, perfectly toasted and not at all burnt, and cuts us each a slice. He sprinkles some olive oil and salt on top.
“This smells yummy.” I inhale the heavenly scent of lemon.
“I hope it’s good. I picked some things from the store I thought sounded good and put them together.”
We sit down at the table by the window, looking out into the darkened night at the beacon that’s the Eiffel Tower lit up in all its glory.
I swirl my pasta around my fork, taking a bite. “Mmm,” I hum, flavor exploding across my tongue, “this is delicious.”
“Thanks, Meadows.” He takes a bite himself. “Damn, I’m good.”
I laugh. “Don’t get too cocky now—you never know, you could burn something next time.”
“I’m not you, Meadows,” he jokes with a playful grin.
Feel something for him. Anything. You can do it. It’s time to move on.
“I’m so glad you can cook. We’d be screwed.”
“Face it, you’re lucky to have me.”
I sober, my smile suddenly sad. “Yeah, I really am.”
He grabs the bottle of wine he’d uncorked before I came out of the bathroom and pours us each a glass.
Lifting his glass toward me, he gets a thoughtful expression. “To friendships that matter, relationships that are meant to last, and a passionate future wherever life might lead us.”
I pick up my glass, clinking it against his. The sound rings in the air.
“To what’s meant to be.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
A few days later it’s Christmas. Sage arrives at the apartment early and while Ansel answers the door, I scramble to make the bed and rid the bedroom of any evidence that might tip off Sage to the fact that Ansel is sleeping there. It’s not like I can keep him out of the bedroom since he has to go through there to get to the bathroom. I don’t think telling my brother he can’t use the bathroom would go over well.
I dart out of the bedroom, brushing my hair out of my eyes.
“Sage,” I smile, running over to hug him, “I’m so happy you ended up coming.”
Truly, the past few days spent showing him the city have been some of the best. Things felt normal for a little while.
He chuckles, hugging me back. “And to think you didn’t want your big brother to come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I let him go and he sets down the bag he brought with him, pulling out a few gifts. There’s a small pile of presents in the corner near the living room balcony of things Ansel and I bought to exchange with each other and Sage, plus the gifts his family sent him.
“Something smells good. You can cook?” Sage addresses Ansel, knowing there’s no way the heavenly scent of freshly baked scones is my cause.
“A little bit. I’m learning.” Ansel walks behind me into the kitchen to check on them.
Sage arches a brow and gives me a look like maybe he hasn’t given Ansel enough credit. I stick my tongue out at him and he loops his arm around my neck, tugging me against his side.
“Did you stick your tongue out at me, Weed?” He messes up my hair.
“Let me go,” I laugh in protest, slithering out of his hold.
Ansel sets the blueberry scones out to cool.
Pointing at Sage’s bag I say, “So, what’d you get me?”
Several hours later we’ve opened our presents, cleaned up, and gorged ourselves on the delicious scones Ansel made as well as the sandwiches he put together later for lunch.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.” I turn my head to look at my brother beside me where both of us lay on the floor in a food coma.
“You could come with me.”
Ansel left a little while ago to give us time alone since Sage will be leaving too early in the morning for me to see him.
“I’m not ready.” I stare above me at the detailed ceiling.
“When do y
ou think you will be?”
“Soon. I hope. I’m working on it. I’ve learned a lot about myself being away, but I still have a lot to deal with and I’m beginning to realize I can’t do it on my own and I need someone to guide me through it.”
He doesn’t comment, knowing how difficult it was for me in the past working with a therapist.
“You have to do what’s best for you. I’m proud of you, D.”
“Thanks.”
It means a lot to hear that coming from my brother, especially when I know he wasn’t the happiest with my decision to skip college for a year.
“By the way,” I begin hesitantly, “I’m starting college in the fall at the University of Utah.”
Sage’s lips part, his eyes lighting up. “What?”
“I still don’t know what I want to do,” I admit reluctantly, “but I’ll figure it out. I needed this time, though, after everything.”
He stares at me, searching for something in my eyes, but I don’t know what. After at least a minute, his voice thick, he says, “Mom would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
I feel my throat clog with emotion. “You think?”
“I know.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I wish she was here.”
“Me too.”
But she’s not. Life goes on. The world keeps spinning.
It’s time for me to move with it.
Chapter Seventy-Five
“We should go out for New Year’s Eve.”
I turn at the sound of Ansel’s voice where he sits by the window sketching. The apartment is full of his sketches and paintings. He’s actually been able to sell some recently.
“Where are you thinking?”
“Maybe get dinner and visit the Eiffel Tower?”
“That sounds good … there’s something I need to tell you.”
At my suddenly serious tone, he sets his sketchpad down, swinging his legs out of the window seat.
“Is something wrong?” His true concern for me warms my heart. He sits down by me on the couch, stretching his arm along the back.
“No.” I reach for his fingers, playing with them between mine. “I’ve been thinking about this since Sage was here…” I trail off, nervous to tell him I’ve decided to go back to the States.
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