“Thank you.” I give him a loving smile as he heads to the thermostat and adjusts the temperature. “I mean it, Marcel, thank you for everything. I never expected to have such a ... well um ... adventure. It’s a Christmas miracle.” I’m teasing with the last bit, taking it just a little too far for a laugh.
“Oh, Mon Dieu. Christmas miracle.” He walks over to me and kisses my forehead. “You’re one of a kind, Juliet Limons.” He then slaps my ass. “Go get ready for bed.”
Soft music hums through hidden speakers when I come out of the bathroom dressed in my real pajamas which are sleep shorts and another camisole. I tuck myself into bed giving Marcel as much room as I can. My body melts into the duvet and mattress.
Marcel sighs when he sees me as if he wants more of what I have to offer. Denying his desires, he turns off the light without another word. His silhouette is faint in the shadows.
“Good night,” I say and before I know it, he walks to my side of the bed and kisses my lips.
“Sweet dreams, ma chérie.” As much as I want to stay awake and savor that kiss, I drift off to sleep, spinning fantasies where he isn’t this guarded, wounded man but my husband, holding me through the night to wake up to forever.
When I open my eyes again, pale morning light spills across the room. I look over to see that Marcel is still asleep. I’ve never seen him sleeping—he looks peaceful and innocent. I could caress his cheek and kiss him, pretend that last night wasn’t temporary; but it was only one night and now it’s time to say our final goodbyes.
I carefully get out of bed and use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and change into a fresh pair of clothes. There’s a heaviness in my heart, but I try to ignore it. When I emerge from the bathroom, Marcel is already dressed, tie knotted, and putting on shoes that are polished to a high shine.
“Good news. The weather’s cleared. I can make my meeting and I am only a day late.” He seems giddy like a little boy.
My heart falls a little because, well, one more night snowed in at the airport wouldn’t have killed us, but the more attached to him I get, the harder it will be to let go so I buck it up like a good little elf and smile. “Thanks Grinch. This has been fun,” I say, being cheeky cause I know it makes the Grinch cringe.
He grabs his watch and his phone. “Ha ha, very funny. I’m going to get breakfast to go, but they have a nice buffet with several options. I'm sure they can make you something. Do you know how you’re getting home yet? Are you booking another flight? I think as long as you stay in the lounge, you can remain here. As soon as you leave they may not let you back in. Do you want me to call the airlines and see if we can get you on a flight to Rhode Island?” He’s talking so fast, it’s hard to catch all he’s saying.
“Someone is coming to pick me up. All the flights out today are full.” I flash him a big fat fake grin.
While I was on the toilet I texted my cousin who lives in Connecticut to see if he could let me crash at his place until the roads clear and he’s totally excited. He lives only twenty minutes from the airport, so he’s on his way.
“Fantastic,” Marcel says, but it’s equally as fake.
My heart sinks even as I nod.
“Yeah. So, breakfast to go it is.” I give a little fist bump and fight off tears. “And ... this is goodbye?”
Marcel’s eyes soften just a little, but his voice stays cool and clipped. “Juliet, as much as I’ve enjoyed the fairytale ... this is the end of the story.” Ouch.
“Okay, Grinch. It was good knowing you. Thanks for the roll in the hay,” I say with a smile and head for the door acting like my heart isn’t breaking.
“Here, I’ll walk you out.”
I’m not sure what that means, out of the room? Out of the fancy ‘only rich people can be in here’ part of the airport? Out of the airport? Out of my life?
I guess I’ll soon find out.
I let him open the door and I follow until we finally part ways.
Chapter Eight
Marcel
I tell Juliet it’s the end of the fairytale. The words leave my mouth cold, precise, and final. She smiles like it doesn’t matter. I can see the sadness behind her eyes before she turns and walks away without even offering a final kiss. Her fragile sweetness leaves the aroma of beauty behind. I hate myself for noticing it and loathe that I even care but fuck me, I will miss Juliet.
Outside, my limo hasn’t arrived yet. The driver is late. I stand on the curb. It’s a drab freezing morning with snow falling, covering an already icy street. The gray storm clouds match my gloomy mood. Then, as if fate isn’t already a fucking bitch, I see her.
Juliet walks across the pickup lane, her backpack bumping that perfect ass. For a moment I almost call out, almost ruining my vow to never get into anything long term. But then a Honda Accord rolls up, plain and middle-class. A tall, blond, broad-shouldered man, who is maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven, steps out of the driver’s seat and nearly sprints around the car to greet her. He’s her age and perfectly fucking appropriate for her. He sweeps her into his arms without hesitation and plants a kiss on her cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her smile is wide but, fuck me, his is wider.
My chest flares hot as jealousy broils, tasting sharp and bitter.
Did she lie? She told me she wasn’t seeing anyone, and yet here he is. She may not be seeing him, but he doesn’t know it. She was a virgin. I know what I felt, what I saw in her eyes when she let me in for the first time. So who the hell is he? The bastard loads her suitcase into the trunk and grins at her like she’s his whole world. Juliet climbs into the passenger seat, laughing, touching his arm, and then the car drives off.
Fuck them. Fuck.
