Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
SIENNA
As I settle into my first-class seat, I survey every person who steps onto the plane. I’m almost certain that I made the biggest mistake of my life last week.
Why didn’t I give Noah my phone number? Or get his last name? Something, anything. I was a fool, believing in fate, and now I’m heading to Paris for god only knows how long, pretty certain I’ll never see him again.
While I waited for my flight from the Bahamas, I was tempted to call the hotel and ask for his information. And I came close to calling my room number to see if he was still there. But the romantic in me believed he’d find that dollar bill when the time was right. Believed I’d find that book.
Now I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m the dumbest girl alive. What kind of woman finds a hot, articulate, intellectual man who knows how to make her body melt and says hope you find my dollar bill? Only an idiot, that’s who.
As a woman in business attire walks down the aisle past me, I look away and remind myself that it’s better this way.
I’m about to embark on the kind of endeavor every fashion designer dreams of.
Soon, I’ll have my own line and my own show.
Not to mention an unlimited budget to create whatever I want.
I’m twenty-four. I still have plenty of time for love.
And if Noah and I are meant to be, we’ll find each other again.
Noah
Me: Meet my son, Oliver George Harrison.
War: Holy shit! You’re a dad?? What the hell, Harry? Call me when you can.
War: Oh shit. Forgot to add a big fucking CONGRATS! Can’t wait to meet the little guy and teach him how to skate. Love you, bro.
The moment my son was placed in my arms was officially the greatest moment of my life.
But when I had to hand him back, so much of the hopefulness his presence infused me with drained right back out.
Because my first instinct was to call Sienna.
But I don’t have her fucking number. Not only that, but I never told her about him.
She had no idea I was about to become a dad, so finding out about a baby would really be a surprise.
Probably an unwelcome one.
Still, I can’t help but feel that agreeing to her plan was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. About two minutes after she left, regret engulfed me. I knew without a doubt I shouldn’t have let her leave without getting her full name.
I went so far as to offer a hundred-dollar bill to any employee who could give me her name.
No one who was tempted by the bribe had any useful information, and the front desk absolutely refused.
Leaving the Bahamas without that information left me sick to my stomach.
That nausea still rolls through me often. I may never see her again.
With my hands laced behind my head, I blow out a breath. I can’t think like that. I’ve got to have hope.
I’ll examine every dollar bill I come across until I find her.
My son cries, snapping me out of my obsessive thoughts. It’s the reminder I need. This is why I agreed to her plan. Ollie has to come first.
One Year Later
Sienna
“How does it feel to be the top fashion designer in the world?”
There’s no fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the host of the morning show. “I’m not.”
“She still hasn’t accepted the truth,” Cat says from beside me.
We’ve done one interview after another since our show on Netflix premiered last week and shot to the number one spot.
The work was grueling yet incredible. We filmed for eight months, and editing took a couple more.
Now that the show has premiered, I have no intention of leaving Paris.
I fell in love with the city immediately and quickly purchased my own apartment.
Fortunately, Cat and her family spend almost all their time here as well, so I’m not lonely.
Though I’ve barely seen my brothers. The same guys who swore they’d visit all the time.
My life is busy. I spend my days in meetings preparing for my next launch and I spend my nights drawing.
I rarely have a moment to think of anything but my designs, but when I do, my mind immediately goes to Noah.
When I have a second to breathe, all I can think is: will he see this interview? Or watch my show?
It’s doubtful. More than once, he mentioned that he never watches television. But a girl can hope.
Though it’s been a year since we said goodbye, I swear sometimes I can still taste him on my lips.
“Now that you’ve got an award-winning fashion line and a hit television show,” the host says, “what’s next? Announcing a new relationship, maybe?” She smiles like an idiot, as if finding a man is every woman’s end goal.
Then again, I’ve already determined that I’m the idiot, because I found the perfect one and let him go.
“A woman never kisses and tells,” Cat says when I don’t respond right away, her raspy voice a bit chiding.
The host looks from Cat to me, still expectant.
I affect an aloof smile that mirrors the one my mentor so often wears even as I consider launching into a detailed description of Noah in hopes that someone watching knows him and can find him for me.
It’s tempting, but if I did that, I’d be cheating.
If we’re meant to be, he’ll find me. Or I’ll find that book.
Another year later
“Where are we going to dinner?” my intern Millie asks as she turns off the studio lights.
I’m going to miss her terribly. Cat hired her last year, and the two of us clicked right away.
When she first showed up in Paris, we rented one floor of the building. Now we’ve taken over the entire thing. We’re in the process of bringing on more designers, and soon, I’ll officially launch my own fashion house. It’s thrilling and beyond scary at the same time.
Especially because Cat’s gone back to Boston. Now that Millie is leaving too, I’ll be in Paris without any true friends.
But Millie’s move is a good one. She and my brother Gavin spent months sneaking around, which had to have been tricky, since they live on different continents. Though they thought they were being discreet, I’m not an idiot.
When their relationship fell apart, she was devastated. The pain was only compounded by the fact that she had no one to talk to about the secret affair.
She’s going back to Boston to—hopefully—win him back. I couldn’t be more excited for her. They deserve to be happy. I just hope it’s not too late for them.
I know a thing or two about regret and I don’t want her to live like that.
Before allowing the thought of Noah to bring me down, I mentally shake it off and smile at my friend. It’s spring in Paris; the best time of year. I’m determined to enjoy it.
“The piano bar, of course. I want to hear you play one last time,” I tell her as we step out into the beautiful night.
I had no idea how talented Millie was until several months ago, when Gavin came to visit. She sat down behind the piano and sang the most gorgeous song. That was the night I knew for sure that she was sleeping with him. She forgot that I speak fluent French and understood every word she sang.
Lucky for her, her father, who also happens to be my brother’s best friend, doesn’t speak the language. If he did, he also would have figured out his forty-year-old best friend was sleeping with his twenty-two-year-old daughter that night.
I suppose he’ll find that out soon enough. Hopefully Beckett is around to defuse that. And Brooks. If Beckett can’t talk some sense into her father, then at least my goalie of a brother can protect Gavin.
Aiden might be able to tell a joke or sing a song, but fighting isn’t really his strong suit.
God, I miss my brothers.
As we head toward the bar, Millie pulls her curly brown hair back into a low ponytail.
The peach sweater she’s paired with tight black pants that are cinched tightly at the waist looks incredible with her flawless skin.
“Fine, but I’ll only play if you let me stop at the bookstore first. I need something to read on the plane. ”
She doesn’t have to twist my arm. I sneak into the shop almost daily.
The habit is so obsessive that the owner knows exactly what I’m looking for.
Stopping to check myself is pointless. If the book Noah sold, with his name and number scrawled on the title page, showed up, she’d have called.
Still, sometimes I wonder if the book will just appear on the shelves.
It’s silly, really. It’s been two years.
The book probably ended up on a shelf in someone’s home in Boston. I’m in Paris.
It’s time to move on.
That’s what I tell myself at least once a day.
Even so, the moment we step into the bookstore and I’m overwhelmed by the scent of the pages, old and new, overtaken by nostalgia, that familiar zing of hope settles in my bones. The romantic girl from the Bahamas returns, and the jaded Parisian disappears.
While Millie scans the new release shelf, I head straight to the romance section and run my fingers down the spines until I find the name of the author I’m looking for. In the two years since I met Noah, this author has written several more books, but I only look for that first title.
And as I find a copy, my heart flutters. I slide the book out of its spot and close my eyes. Then I turn that first page. When I open them again, all the air leaves my lungs.
It’s blank.
The familiar sight leaves my throat tight. Of course it’s blank. With every day that passes, the chances that I’ll find it seem to dwindle.
While Millie continues perusing, I pick up another of the author’s titles and read the blurb. I set it back on the shelf and go for another, then another. Eventually, I collect a few that sound good, including that first book, and head to the counter.
A few feet away, the sight of a familiar face stops me in my tracks. What is he doing here?
Garreth Hanson, one of Beckett’s best friends, catches sight of me too and breaks into a smile.
He’s classically handsome, his dirty blond hair just beginning to gray at the temples.
His short beard is neatly trimmed and his blue eyes are as hard as they’ve always been, even when he’s smiling.
Immediately, I compare him to Noah. Lighter hair and a smaller frame.
And though his irises are a similar color, Noah’s were soft, inviting, comforting.
It’s unfair, really, to compare the two men. It’s just that I compare every man to the one I left in the Bahamas.
While Noah is sweet, Garreth is grumpy. An asshole, even. Today, he’s wearing a custom navy suit that screams billionaire and is leaning casually against the counter, one hand in his pocket.
And he’s still smiling at me.
Why is he smiling at me?
“Sienna, this is a surprise.”
Frowning, I look over one shoulder, then the other, searching for a hidden camera. The man is never friendly. What is happening?
“Is it?” I set my stack of books on the counter and greet him the way my family would expect me to, with a kiss on each cheek.
As I step back, his blue eyes are intent on me. “Okay, maybe for you, but not for me.”
“I’m confused,” I admit.
He slips his hands into his pockets, the picture of confidence, and proceeds to shock the shit out of me. “I saw you walk in here,” he says. “So I followed you. I was hoping I could take you to dinner.”