Chapter Two
chapter two
PAIGE
Five Months Later
“I’ve arrived. I’m waiting for my luggage, and then I’m going to catch a cab to John’s flat.”
“How was the flight?” my best friend, Ana, asks over the phone.
Since I’m surprising John and no one else knows I’m here, she made me promise to call her when my plane landed so she’d know I was okay.
“Long, but I got a lot of work done.”
“You’re on vacation,” she chides. “No working until you get back.”
“Yes, boss,” I say in a mocking tone.
Ana is the co-chief executive officer of Kingston Limited, the liquor company I work for. Her husband, Julian, is the other CEO.
When John insisted that we move to Houston, they were looking for a chief marketing officer since theirs had been promoted to chief operating officer, and they offered me the position. I love my job, and the fact that I get to work with my best friend again—we worked together at Benson Liquor—only makes it that much better.
“Text me when you get to John’s place so I know you’ve arrived safely.”
“Will do.”
While I wait for my luggage, I pull up John’s address so I have it on hand to give to the driver. It’s been a long five months, and despite our best efforts, John and I haven’t been able to see each other. He was busy during Thanksgiving, still getting used to his new position, so he didn’t come home, and then when I mentioned Christmas, he told me he would be too busy to give me the attention I deserved and insisted I stay home.
If I’m being honest, things between us are more than strained. He wants me to move back to London, and I want to stay in Rosemary. When the rent went up, I made the decision to move to Rosemary since it was closer to work and would save me on gas. I found a beautiful three-bedroom, two-bathroom home not too far from Ana and work and bought it.
John wasn’t thrilled that I had done that, but I told him it was a good investment. The owners had been desperate to sell, and I’d gotten it at over thirty percent below market value.
I’ve moved too many times over the years without having a say, and then I moved to Houston for John. For the first time, I put my foot down, choosing to live where I want to live—choosing to put myself first since, apparently, no one else is going to—but I have a feeling it’s going to be one of the many reasons our relationship ends.
We used to talk every day, but then it turned into a few times a week, and now, it’s dwindled down to maybe once a week. I’m hoping this trip will help us figure out where we go from here because we can’t keep going the way we are—nor do I want to.
The truth is, we probably should’ve broken up a long time ago, and if it wasn’t for our friends Marina and Paul getting married this weekend—with both John and me in the wedding—we probably would’ve.
But there’s a small part of me—the romantic who loves to read romance and see women much like myself get their happily ever afters—that’s not willing to throw away a yearslong relationship without at least trying one more time.
Since today is Valentine’s Day, I booked my flight early so I could surprise John and we could spend the next few days together—and hopefully either rekindle our romance or agree to go our separate ways.
The cab driver takes me to John’s flat, and since I’m trying to surprise him, rather than call for him to let me in, I follow another resident in and up the lift. It’s still early, only eight in the morning, so I know he hasn’t left for work yet. My hope is that he’ll call out to spend the day with me, but if he needs to go, we can, at the very least, enjoy the evening together.
He’s on the second floor, and when I get to his flat number, I try the doorknob to see if, by chance, it’s unlocked. It is. So, instead of knocking, I swing the door open, and I’m about to yell, Surprise , when my eyes land on John standing in the kitchen.
Only instead of cooking, like one would do in the kitchen, he’s got a woman bent over the counter, and he’s thrusting into her from behind. They’re both naked, their clothes strewn all over the floor, and she’s screaming out his name like you hear in those pornos where you can’t help but roll your eyes because there’s no way that guy is fucking her so good that she needs to scream that loud.
Since the kitchen is near the foyer, he must hear the door creak open because his gaze lands on me, and his thrusts come to a standstill, his eyes opening comically wide.
“Well,” I say, trying not to let my emotions show through, “I hope once you’re done, you plan to wipe down the kitchen. It’s not very sanitary to fuck where you eat.”
The woman’s face whips around, and that’s when I notice she’s not just any woman...
“Phoebe,” I gasp, my gaze locking with my old roommate.
When I moved to London, I wanted to live near where my mom had loved to go for walks, but the only available flat had two bedrooms, and since I only needed one, I rented it out. Phoebe answered the ad and moved in, and we became roommates—and eventually best friends—living together until I moved in with John.
“Paige.” She stands and scrambles to get her clothes on.
When we spoke last week, she told me that she and her boyfriend had broken up and she was seeing someone else.
“Please,” I tell them both curtly, “don’t get dressed on my account.” I force a smile onto my face. “But tell me this.” I look at Phoebe. “Is this the new man you’re seeing?”
“We wanted to tell you,” she cries.
“Let me guess,” I say dryly. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, but John was missing me and lonely, and you were heartbroken and in need of comforting, and one thing led to another.”
I cackle humorlessly, fully aware that I’m ten seconds from losing my shit. To think I flew in early to try and salvage our relationship. What a joke. “Well, you can have him. Because if he can cheat on me, who’s to say he won’t do it to you? And as far as our friendship goes, it’s over.”
“Paige, please,” Phoebe whines.
“Please, what?” I snap. “Please forgive you?”
I glance back and forth between her and John. While their betrayal hurts, for some reason, I also feel a huge sense of relief. Like the stress of our unsteady relationship no longer weighs on me. I wanted to marry this man, create a life with him, and thankfully, he showed me who he really is—a cheater and a liar— before I could do anything I would regret.
He’s never once put me first, and even at the end of our relationship, instead of breaking up with me before moving on, he put himself first. And the same goes for Phoebe. She didn’t once think about how this would hurt me. How it would affect our friendship. They both only cared about themselves—and I guess each other. But neither one of them cared about me.
I open my mouth to say something, but I close it because there’s nothing to be said. I knew John and I were on shaky ground, but I would have never thought in a million years he would hook up with one of my friends. We went on double dates. John played poker with her boyfriend on Wednesday nights. But what’s done is done, and now, it’s time to move forward ... alone .
As I turn to leave, John calls out my name and rushes over to me. “Wait, please,” he says, grabbing ahold of my wrist. “I’m sorry. You know I love you.”
“You’re sorry? What are you sorry for? Cheating on me with one of my good friends or for getting caught?” I pull my wrist out of his grasp. “Your sorry means nothing, and the fact that you can tell me you love me after fucking another woman speaks volumes about your character.”
I don’t know why, but in this moment, the words my mom wrote to me before she passed away come back to me: The magic doesn’t lie. I felt the magic the day I met your father and again when you were born. And I feel it every day that I spend with you both.
“What you and I had wasn’t magical,” I tell John, the truth of my words hitting me in the gut. “It was nothing more than an illusion.”
I glance at Phoebe, who’s standing there with her arms around her and tears sliding down her face.
“Good luck,” is all I say before I drag my luggage out the door and slam it closed behind me, ready to move forward with my life.
I snag a cab and take it to the hotel where the wedding is taking place since I have nowhere else to go. And it’s not until I’m standing at the check-in counter and being told they’re booked solid so I can’t check in until my scheduled check-in date that I finally lose it.
I have nowhere to go.
John cheated on me with my friend because I wasn’t enough for him to be faithful. Did I not love him enough? Give him enough attention? Was it because I refused to move to London?
I just wanted to make roots. He knew how many times we’d moved over the years, and I told him I wanted a place to call home.
My thoughts go back to my mom giving up, to my dad not wanting me. He moved on, found someone to replace my mom and me as if we were completely disposable.
The same way John so easily replaced me.
Am I ever going to be enough to be considered irreplaceable? For someone to put first ?
And what about the magic? I haven’t felt it since my mom died. Maybe it’s only just an illusion and I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist.
No , I tell myself, refusing to believe that. The magic is real. I just need to find it.
But what if I don’t? What if the magic died with my mom and I never feel it again?
My phone dings, and when I pull it out, I find a text from Marina, asking me to call her.
John or Phoebe must’ve told her what happened.
Or maybe she already knew, and she’s concerned about her wedding. I’m a bridesmaid, and John is a groomsman. Maybe she wants me to hand over my dress to Phoebe so she can walk down the aisle with John.
My thoughts go back to Phoebe bent over the counter. Her breasts are smaller than mine. And where I’m five foot eight without heels, she’s petite, probably a good six inches shorter. She’d never fit into my dress, which means Marina will need me to walk down the aisle with John with a smile plastered on my face.
Great. Just what I need. To attend a wedding right after ending a relationship.
“Ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with?” the woman at the desk asks in her smooth British accent, reminding me that I’m standing in the hotel lobby, in London, the city where I found out my dad never wanted me, where my mom took her last breath, and now, where the man I once thought was my forever cheated on me with a woman who I thought was my friend.
Mom always made it seem like London was this magical place. But now ...
Tears prick my eyes, and I grab my luggage, rolling it behind me toward the exit, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, like I’m being suffocated by so many different emotions.
When I step outside, the cool air hits my face and freezes my tears to my cheeks. I have no idea where I’m going, other than needing to get away.
So, I’m not paying attention when the front of my shoe gets stuck on an uneven piece of the cobblestone, and I stumble forward into the middle of the road. I try to stop, but the velocity propelling me forward is too strong, and my hands and knees hit the ground just as a car is driving in.
I close my eyes, knowing there’s no way I’ll make it out of their way in time, and pray I don’t get run over.
I’m still praying when strong hands lift me off the ground and into their arms.
My eyes pop open, and I’m met with reddish-brown eyes that remind me of Kingston’s bourbon whiskey. It has notes of vanilla and caramel to give it the perfect amount of sweetness, and I briefly wonder if this man would taste as sweet.
Jesus, did I hit my head on the cobblestone?
“Are you okay?” a smooth, masculine voice asks, breaking me from my thoughts. “You took quite a fall. ”
His words lack the British accent, telling me he’s not from here.
“I’m going to set you down,” he says once we’re back inside the hotel lobby.
There’s a couch in the corner, and he gently sets me on it, then kneels so he’s at my level.
“Does it hurt anywhere?” he asks, his whiskey-colored eyes peering into mine.
I wiggle my toes and fingers and then glance down at my body, mentally checking to see if anything hurts.
“Other than my pride, no,” I mutter.
The gentleman surprises me when he barks out a laugh, and I can’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple rolls down his throat. His hair is styled neatly to the side, and he’s sporting a few-days-old stubble. He’s wearing a gray suit, but even with his body covered, I can make out his muscular form underneath.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “Today has sucked, and being hit by a car would’ve made it suck worse.”
His lips quirk, as if he’s trying to tamp down a grin.
“It’s only”—he flicks his wrist and glances down at his watch—“nine in the morning. Surely, there’s still time to turn it around.” Then, he reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek, reminding me that I was crying.
“Unless you have a magical wand that can turn back time so I don’t show up at my ex’s flat and walk in on him screwing my friend in his kitchen, I don’t think so.”
I roll my eyes, hating that John made our relationship into a damn cliché. I mean, seriously, would it have been too much for him to break up with me before he dipped his cock into her vagina?
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” the gentleman says.
The sincerity in his apology has me choking up again.
“It’s okay.” I shrug, trying to act like my heart and ego aren’t bruised.
“Are you staying here?” he asks.
At his words, I remember my current predicament.
Oh shit! “My luggage!”
“Right here,” he says, pointing to my still-intact luggage. “Are you staying here?” he repeats.
“I am, but not until Friday. I’m here for a wedding. Like an idiot, I showed up at John’s flat early, thinking I would surprise him for Valentine’s Day.” I laugh humorlessly as the image of Phoebe bent over his kitchen counter pops back into my head. An image that I wish I could scrub from my brain. “I came here, hoping I could check in early, but it’s completely booked. So, I need to find somewhere to stay for the next couple of nights.”
I’m about to stand and thank him—and I should probably also apologize for spilling all my drama into his lap—when he gently places his hand on my knee.
“What’s your name?”
“Paige.”
“Paige ...”
“Abrams. ”
“Wait here and let me see what I can do,” he says with a wink that has no business being as sexy as it is.
He stands, and I can’t help but watch as he heads across the lobby with a purposeful stride that screams confidence with just a hint of arrogance. Like he knows his place in this world.
While I wait for him to speak to the front desk—knowing there’s nothing he can do, but thinking it’s sweet this stranger would try for me—I unbutton my jacket since it’s warm in the lobby and pull out my phone that’s been buzzing like crazy, remembering that I never responded to Marina’s text.
There are several other texts from John and Phoebe that I immediately delete because there’s nothing they can say that will make what they did okay.
I stop at the one from Ana.
Ana
Hey! I got worried when you didn’t call or text to confirm you’d made it to John’s place, so I called John, and he told me what happened. THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! Call me, please! I’m worried about you.
I glance up and see the gentleman—whose name I never got—walking back toward me, so I send a quick text to let her know I’m okay and I’ll call her in a few minutes, and then I pocket my phone.
“Good news,” the gentleman says. “They had a room available after all. ”
He hands me a mini envelope with a key card sticking out of it.
“What? Seriously?” I gasp. “Thank you!”
Without thinking about what I’m doing—just so thankful that I don’t have to try to find somewhere to stay on Valentine’s Day—I throw my arms around the man’s neck.
“You’re welcome.” He chuckles when we separate. “I hope your day gets better, Paige.”
The kindness from this stranger causes my eyes to prick with unshed tears. Why is it that a stranger can be so sweet and genuine while a man who swore he loved me could treat me so badly?
“Hey,” the gentleman says softly, wiping a tear that I didn’t realize had fallen. “That guy doesn’t deserve you. I know it hurts now, but one day, you’ll meet a man who treats you how you deserve to be treated, and that asshole will be nothing but a lesson learned.”
His words slide in through the fissures in my heart and soothe it like a balm. The truth is, I’m more upset about wasting my time with someone like John than the act of him cheating. Yes, the betrayal hurts, but more than that, I feel like I’ve been let down. I gave our relationship all of me, and I’m left with nothing.
The gentleman clears his throat, and I push my thoughts to the side. Once I’m in my room, I’ll let myself wallow, and then tomorrow, I’ll wake up and start from square one once again. Only this time, I’ll think twice before I give myself to a man who doesn’t deserve it.
“What’s your name?” I ask, needing to put a name to the face of the kind man.
“Nate.”
“Thank you for everything, Nate.” I stand, and he backs up to give me some space. “I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness, but thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” he says with a small nod. “Enjoy your stay at the Bradford Hotel.”