by Monroe, Max
“Oh, don’t be crazy, Lena.” She waves me off with a nonchalant hand. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m just pulling your leg. Truthfully, I’m bloody glad you had a good time and you finally let yourself have a little fun with the opposite sex.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she says and throws the last of her clothes into her suitcase. “Plus, I’m super excited that my first trip to the States will be for your wedding.”
I laugh. Outright. “Don’t be ridiculous. This was just a fling.”
She rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure, it was.”
“It was,” I add. “A rendezvous with rules, actually.”
“And what were the rules?” she tosses out in hilarity. “No missionary. Daily blow jobs. And you must eat my pussy every two hours?”
I grin. “While those are great rules, they are not the ones I’m talking about.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Just…no personal shit. No last names. No locations. Just fun.”
She searches my eyes for something.
“What?”
“Are you being serious with those ridiculous rules?”
“I swear to you,” I say. “So, as you can see, this was literally just a fling. Nothing else. Nothing more.”
“Tell me this—who made these rules? You or him?”
I sigh, admitting coarsely, “They were my idea, okay? Why does it matter?”
“For the love of the Queen, I knew it.” She laughs.
“What?”
“Lena, darling, there is only one reason you’d even think about making up rules for a fling.”
I quirk a brow.
“Because you like that guy. You like him a lot. These stupid, shitty rules are just a way to keep him from getting too close.”
I scrunch up my nose. “That’s ridiculous.”
“But is it?”
I try to refute her question, but the thoughts rolling around inside my head are nothing but a clusterfuck mess of insanity.
I shake my head. “It’s just better this way. It’s better that we say goodbye.”
“Why?” she challenges, and I balk.
“It’s not the right time, you know?” I reason. “Like that movie Serendipity. I’m Kate Beckinsale and he’s John Cusack, and maybe we’re destined, but it’s not time yet.”
Pippa rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Either that or next time you see him, he’s going to have 2.5 kids and a wife named Wendy.”
My chest squeezes. God. I hope he doesn’t marry Wendy.
“Cripes, don’t give yourself an aneurysm thinking this over,” she finally says when the silence stretches out too long. “It’s okay if this is all an exercise in self-preservation. And it’s also okay if you decide to, you know, take back the whole rules thing and try to stay in contact with this guy after today.”
I start to open my mouth, a retort already on my lips, but she holds her hand up in the air.
“Just…think about it, Lena,” Pip says. “No pressure from me. No pressure from anyone. Just think about it, and whatever you decide is one hundred percent your business. Okay?”
When I don’t say anything else, can’t say anything else because, fuck, I can’t understand what I’m thinking right now, she changes the subject. “And now that we have that settled, mind sitting on this suitcase while I try to zip it up?”
“Of course.” I grin, equal parts amused by the fact that she managed to bring more shit on this trip than me and relieved that she’s not going to hound me on the whole Theo subject.
Pretty sure that pain in your chest isn’t relief…
Just as quick as it comes, I shake off that thought and sit on Pippa’s suitcase and tell myself I’m just being weird. I have a lot of big changes heading my way in the next few weeks, a lot of pressure from my upcoming internship, and surely, that’s all this is—just a little cold feet about the future.
I pull out my phone and glance at the clock—I know it’s quickly approaching ten.
And sitting there on Pippa’s suitcase, it hits me. This week has been one of the best of my life, but it’s not for the reasons I anticipated.
It’s not because I got to travel with my closest friends from school.
It’s not because I got to relax and laze it up under the Italian sun.
It’s because of Theo.
Which is insane.
This was just a fling. A rendezvous. A week of fun with no strings attached.
But why does it feel like more?
I try to dislodge my brain’s crazy thoughts, but it feels impossible.
I don’t know the answer to any of my mind’s questions. All I know is that saying goodbye doesn’t feel good. It feels fucking awful.
But goodbyes never feel good…do they?
I mean, who really wants to say goodbye?
“You okay?” Pip whispers toward me, finishing the zip and standing to put her hands on her hips, and I nod my head.
“Uh-huh.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Thankfully, before she can push the subject of my quiet mood further, my phone chimes inside my purse and I pull it out to find a text message. Unfortunately, it’s from my mother.
Vicky: Jared told me you’re coming home from Milan three months early. I guess it’s safe to say you finally realized the whole fashion and design thing was absurd. It’s just a shame you had to waste so much of our money on it before you realized. Oh well. Safe travels back to New York, dear.
A sigh leaves my lungs. This is such a Vicky thing to do that I shouldn’t even be surprised, but it’s hard for a child not to be surprised when their mother is an evil shrew.
Most moms are encouraging and supportive of their kids, but not Vicky.
She is the epitome of condescending, and I’m certain there isn’t an affectionate bone in her surgically enhanced body.
I take a screenshot of the message and send it over to my brother Cap.
Me: Our mother is so lovely, isn’t she?
He responds a moment later.
Cap: You know what this means?
Me: What?
Cap: That you need to keep fucking killing it. And one day soon, when you achieve your goal and have your own fashion line, you design something really fucking awful just for her to wear.
Me: Can I borrow one of your plaid shirts?
Cap: What do my plaid shirts have to do with anything?
Me: Consider it inspiration for what I design for Vicky.
Cap: And to think I was sitting over here feeling bad for you and trying to give you a little pep talk. Jesus.
Me: Hey, Cap?
Cap: What now?
Me: Love you.
Cap: Love you too, you little asshole.
I slide my phone back into my purse, and even though Cap’s words of encouragement did help a little, Vicky’s words still sting like a bitch.
Will there ever be a day my mother doesn’t consider me an epic failure?
Will there ever be a day she won’t just assume I’m not going to follow through?
I know I have flaky tendencies. And I know I haven’t had the best track record of truly knowing what I want to do with my life, but for fuck’s sake, can’t Vicky ever believe in me?
Probably not until you prove her wrong…
And I will fucking prove her wrong.
Fashion is my passion.
It’s what I know I want to do with my life.
And I’m so damn close to getting to where I want to be.
So close.
Which is exactly why I can’t afford any distractions. I can’t take any risks. I can’t do anything but keep my nose to the ground, and when I get back to New York in a few weeks, my focus needs to be on one thing and only one thing—my internship with Loro Gianni.
I glance back at my phone, and the numbers have never shown more clearly than they do now. Nine thirty. Thirty minutes to a goodbye I have to say.
The pit of my sto
mach grows deeper and deeper, and suddenly, I realize the truth. The only way I’ll say goodbye is if I don’t say it at all.
I hate what I’m about to do, but it’s what I have to do.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Pippa, and she nods.
Away from her and the bags, I head to my side of the room and grab a piece of hotel stationery and a pen.
With no more thought at all, I’m putting words to the paper.
Theo,
This week has been amazing.
I could expand on what exactly was amazing, but since I’m leaving this note with the lady at the front desk, I figured I’d save you the embarrassment of her knowing that you are aces at oral and have a fantastic cock. ;)
Oh. Whoops.
Oh well.
Just know…I’ll never forget our sexy little Italian rendezvous.
Honestly, I’ll never forget you.
You are…one of the most intriguing, fascinating men I’ve ever met, and I don’t even know your last name.
But I do know your smile is the best smile.
And when you let loose, when you live in the moment, you’re FUN.
I had the time of my life with you.
And because I really hate goodbyes, I figured this was best.
Take care, Theo.
And thank you for everything.
<3 Lena
Once I finish, I fold it up, and on the top, I write Theo and his suite number.
I take the elevator to the lobby and walk straight up to the front desk.
“Do you mind making sure the man in Suite 10 gets this?”
The lady working there nods and takes it from my hand.
I might be a coward.
But if there’s one thing I believe now more than ever, it’s that there’s no such thing as a goodbye.
Theo
“So, I take it you’re on the plane.” Carey’s voice fills my ear.
The crew are busy doing their final checks as we prep for takeoff, and I’m, well, I’m just staring out the window, still trying to understand what in the fuck happened yesterday.
“Yep.” It’s all the response I can manage around all the confusing thoughts rolling around in my head.
“Well, that’s good news,” he huffs out into the receiver. “Not gonna lie, you’ve been different the last week. I thought maybe you weren’t going to come back.”
That perks my ears up for the first time in twenty-four hours. “You mean, you wish I weren’t going to come back.”
“Hey, just because I daydream about your early retirement via unfortunate elevator accident doesn’t mean I want it to happen.”
“Christ. Remind me not to assign any maintenance related tasks in any of my buildings to you.”
Carey laughs. “So, tell me. How was Italy, you bastard?” he questions. “I am all ears on what got you to temporarily drop the workaholic act.”
“Bastard,” I say through a laugh. “I love how easily you can call me that without feeling the least bit insecure about losing your job.”
“Because I know your life would fall apart without me,” he retorts. “If it weren’t for me, you’d actually have to go to Nordstrom’s, buy your own suits, and then, you’d have to physically take those suits to the dry cleaner. All by yourself. Imagine the horror.”
Truer words have never been spoken. Besides his office responsibilities, Carey handles all of the day-to-day shit I don’t have time for.
“I guess it’s a good thing I gave you that big bonus last Christmas.”
“And it’ll be nice to get that Christmas bonus again. Bill and I are already planning a trip to Fiji.”
“That’s cute,” I say. “Now, how about you give me the rundown of my schedule for when I land in New York.”
“I see how it is,” he singsongs into my ear. “You’re not going to give me all the juicy details on what you’ve been doing with your time this past week, huh?”
When I don’t respond, he gets to the point.
“Fine, Bossman,” he grumbles. “Your stupid schedule is all planned out. And for your information, I managed to get some key meetings lined up for you. So, if I were you, I’d sneak in some sleep during your long flight back home. But I guess you probably don’t really need it because with the snaillike pace you answered all of my messages and the fact that I had to reschedule like five meetings for you, I know you took some time to enjoy yourself in Italy—even if you’re going to stay all hush-hush about it.”
Somehow, his ramble encourages my mind to put her front and center again.
Lena.
Two days ago, she said goodbye.
Not face-to-face. Not even on the phone.
Nope. She said goodbye through a letter she left for me at the front desk.
A fucking letter.
I’m not a fucking fan.
She sure was insistent on sticking to those damn rules all the way to the very end, wasn’t she?
I pull the folded-up note out of my pocket and stare at her words.
And because I really hate goodbyes, I figured this was best.
Take care, Theo.
And thank you for everything.
This was best. For me or for her?
When I first read those words, it felt like a kick to the gut, and to be honest, it hasn’t stopped kicking.
She was supposed to come back to my room to say goodbye, but when she didn’t show, I knew something was up.
I checked her suite. She wasn’t there.
I checked the pool. The terrace. The fucking beach. No signs of Lena.
It wasn’t until I stopped by the front desk that I learned she’d left around 9:30 that morning—thirty minutes before she was supposed to come to my room one last time.
That’s when I was handed this letter.
After I read it, I decided to give those stupid rules a big fuck you and had the nice lady at the desk check to see who booked Lena’s room.
She didn’t want to do it, but it’s kind of hard to say no when you work for a Cruz Resort and an actual Cruz—who may or may not have been a wee bit insistent—is staring back at you.
Unfortunately for me, the room was booked under her friend Pippa’s name.
After that, I may or may not have obtained Pippa Parker’s information—phone number and email address—and right now, I may or may not still be contemplating whether or not to use it.
But hell, can I really try to use her friend Pippa to find her?
The mere thought makes me feel slimy, like I’m purposely going against her wishes and inserting myself somewhere she doesn’t want me to be.
It probably feels that way because that’s exactly what you’d be doing…
“Hello?” Carey promptly pulls me out of my own head. “You still there?” His sigh is long and drawn out. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Did you say anything important?”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “I’m emailing you your schedule right now, and for the love of everything, read through it.”
“Is it a long email?”
“Just read the damn email,” he grumbles.
“You know how much I hate long-winded emails, Care. Honestly, it’s a miracle I tolerate you on a daily basis,” I warn, but he ignores me entirely.
“Do you need anything else from me, or can I end this call before I attempt to telepathically strangle you?”
“No…” I pause, and a thought pops into my mind. It’s a crazy thought. An irrational thought, but before I can stop myself, I’m letting it out into the universe. “Wait…actually, yeah, I have a question. Have you ever had to track someone down?”
“Are you asking me if I’ve stalked someone before?”
“Not stalking. Just…finding someone,” I correct. “Didn’t you tell me about a time your friend had to go on a witch-hunt to track someone down?”
“My friend?”
“Blair? I think that’s his name?”
“I don’t have a frien
d named Blair.”
“He’s friends with a Chuck, I think?”
Honestly, it’s hard to keep track of everything Carey tells me. The man has a penchant for saying everything that’s on his damn mind. A few weeks ago, I was privy to way too much information about his dilemma on what to get his husband for an anniversary present. “The Gucci loafers or the Burberry tie? Which one do you think will make Bill get down on his knees in gratitude?”
Things felt really close to an early death that day, and it’s a fucking toss-up if it was his or mine.
“I don’t know anyone named Blair or Chu…” He pauses for the briefest of seconds. “Oh, hold the fucking phone! For the love of God, those aren’t my friends. Those are characters from Gossip Girl,” he states through a bought of hilarity. “And I’m pretty damn sure you’re referring to season two when Blair thought Dan was sabotaging her, but, in fact, it was Rachel, and holy shit! Rachel and Chuck—”
“Never mind.” I stop him before he can get started. “Forget I said anything.”
“That’s hilarious, Bossman,” he retorts. “Like I could forget that you just asked me about tracking someone down? As if.”
“Care,” I warn, but my assistant is having none of it.
“So, is this search for business? Or is there someone specific in mind? A lady friend, perhaps? Someone you took on a big-ass boat and still won’t tell me about?”
“Fucking hell, there’s no search.” Why in the hell did I even ask him? He’s never going to let this go.
“Oh, but there is,” he replies, and the glee in his voice can’t be missed. “And I think we both know this isn’t business. The Theo Cruz doesn’t have to search people out when it comes to interested investors and clients. So, that leaves us with only one possibility…”
Seeing as he’s on his own personal roll, I don’t need to respond.
Hell, I don’t even think I’m a part of this conversation anymore.