I feel through the pockets for a clue as to whom it belongs. My fingers brush something crinkly. I pull out an old receipt and smooth it flat and take a look—
Is that my signature?The date’s from eleven years ago…
This is the credit card slip for a dinner I had in December in Paris. I cast my mind back.The American girl I met there—Miss Hot Chocolate.
The world seems to stop turning for a moment.That was Luce?
She was sad and lost, and I told her to fight. To even the scales. She must’ve taken that advice to heart. And she fought hard and valiantly. Did everything to defend her kingdom.
And then I destroyed all her effort. Left her kingdom in ruins.
No.
Without thinking, I run out of the residence and have the valet bring out my Phantom. When the car stops at the curb, I pause before climbing inside. What am I going to do when I get to her place? Beg her to take me back? Throw my things back inside the house?
I haven’t done anything to earn her forgiveness. She’s never going to trust anything I say after what’s happened.
So many men have failed her. Her grandfather, who didn’t have faith in her because she’s a girl. Her father, who was unfaithful to her mother and undermined her. Fiancés who cheated on her and thought nothing of it. I’m sure they all had something pretty to say to justify what they’ve done. People like that always do.
I don’t want to be the latest in a long string of losers who betrayed her and tried to excuse their behavior with empty words. I have toprovemyself, and that requires concrete action. Action that doesn’t include me showing up at her doorstep to make a verbal nuisance of myself.
“Never mind,” I say, tossing the fob back to the valet.
The valet, a tatted-up headbanger with dreadlocks, looks at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I hand him a hundred. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
His face splits into a grin. “Yo, bro, inconvenience me all day long.”
I watch the valet take the Phantom back. Next time I see Luce…
It’ll beafterI’ve made myself worthy of her time.
Chapter 39
Lucienne
The house is immersed in silence without Sebastian. Matthias sent his things as well, so now my place is my own again.
So why doesn’t it feel like home anymore?
I go to the kitchen. Look at the gleaming counter. The sparkling espresso and coffee machine. The spotless fridge. I can smell fresh coffee, the mouth-watering aroma of muffins and bagels being toasted.
Why am I smelling these things?
Then I realize—they’re what Sebastian used to have when he was living here.
The spot behind my breastbone flares with pain, like somebody’s scraping it with an ice pick.
Matthias pauses in prepping dinner. “Is there something I can—?”
“No. I’m fine.”
I move away from the kitchen island. My thighs tremble at the memory of the wild, raw sex we had there. The first time he came inside me without a rubber. How he went out to grab Plan B afterward, so I wouldn’t have to. We both lost our heads, and he didn’t want me to have a baby neither of us was ready for.
My strides grow longer and faster. The staircase…and the hall—his room on the other side, my room on the opposite end. I refuse to go to his bedroom, and head into mine instead. Matthias must’ve changed the sheets, but I swear I can still smell Sebastian on the bed, his body wash in the shower.
A black razor sits on a shelf in the stall. It isn’t mine—Matthias must have overlooked it. I throw it in the trash. But my nerves remain singed. I ball up a bunch of toilet paper and dump it on top of the razor so I can’t see it.
