Chapter 17 Sienna
SEVENTEEN
SIENNA
As we pull up to the restaurant where we’re set to meet Beckett and Liv, my phone rings and my attorney’s name flashes on the screen.
With a shrug, I say, “I have to take this.”
As much as I’d rather put all this off until I get back to Paris, I can’t ignore him.
Garreth nods. “Go ahead.”
Beckett thinks I’m coming to dinner on my own. But I figured breaking the news to him that I’m dating one of his best friends would go better if we were in public and he was forced to keep his cool.
Though I really believe he’ll be happy. Especially when he learns that Garreth has been my rock through all the shit life has doled out this last year.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sienna,” the older man says. “I’m sorry to bother you, but this couldn’t wait.”
“What’s going on?” I focus on the dashboard of the expensive rental Garreth picked up. My fingers itch to touch the real Italian leather, but I fight the urge. That would be weird, right?
“They’re not willing to settle for what we offered.” He’s direct, which I appreciate. I don’t need him to soften the blow. I just need him to handle the explosion that upended my life. Or stop it altogether. Though by now it’s clear that’s not possible.
“What do they want?” They, as in the handful of designers I brought into the co-op I created. They, as in the people I’m currently locked in a legal battle with. They, as in the people who are hellbent on putting me out of business.
“They want your ability to design.”
His matter-of-fact tone makes the blow easier to take. Teeth gritted, I blink once, twice. It’s all the emotion I’ll let show.
Beside me, Garreth watches, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed in concern.
“They want what?”
“They want you to agree never to design again.”
“They’re insane,” I mutter, my eyes falling shut.
“Yes. Obviously we won’t agree to that. But I think we need something more than money.”
I blow out a breath, at a complete loss for how to respond.
“Sienna,” he sighs. “They know what you’re worth. And…”
When he doesn’t immediately continue, impatience flares, like fire in my veins.
“And what?”
Why the hell is he suddenly tiptoeing around the facts?
“And in discovery,” he hedges, “they saw the messages that involve Beckett. They know he’s the one who recommended the financial manager to you.”
My vision darkens as a protective rage takes over. “Beckett has nothing to do with any of this.”
“We both know that’s not true,” he says evenly.
Desperation claws at my chest, making it hard to breathe. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “If they promise to leave my family alone, I’ll agree to whatever they want.”
Garreth glares at me. “What is happening?” he mouths.
I shake my head and turn away. “Make the deal.”
“Sienna,” my attorney clips out. “Let’s at least agree to the mediation first. From there, we can assess whether it’s possible to talk them down a bit.”
“Fine.” My jaw cracks as I clench my teeth harder. “But if they won’t agree, we protect my family at all costs. Got it?”
“Of course.”
I end the call without saying goodbye. The anger is still alive inside me, but in the silence, sadness and grief join the party. I’m spiraling. The walls of the car are closing in on me, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. As I gasp for air, I claw at the door, needing out.
“What’s happening?” Garreth asks.
I shake my head. “I can’t do this right now.”
He angles over and squeezes my knee. “Okay. Let’s focus on tonight. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
That initial irritation rears its head, getting the best of me, and I snap. “No. You don’t get it. I can’t do this.”
I’m an asshole. I know I am. But I’m not in the right headspace to focus on this relationship. I need out. Of this car and of this relationship.
“Okay,” he says, his tone frustratingly calm. “Do you want me to drop you at the hotel and meet Beckett without you, or do you want to go in there by yourself?”
“I’ll grab an Uber.” I reach for the door handle. “I’ll text Beckett and tell him I’m not feeling well. Maybe you could pretend to bump into him?” I yank on the handle, but the door is locked.
His grip on my knee tightens. “Sienna, please let me at least take you back to the hotel. Your brother is fine on his own. But I want to make sure you’re okay. I care about you.”
I peer over at him. Shit. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves a woman who can give him the love he’s worthy of. Not a woman who’s still half in love with a fantasy. A memory.
“You shouldn’t.” I offer him a sad smile.
His expression falls. It’s like the rug has been pulled out from under him.
Like the curtain has been lifted and he’s seen behind the facade.
Last night was full of celebration. Throughout the reception, we snuck away to steal kisses.
We teased one another via text, the messages interspersed with serious ones about how we couldn’t wait to be free of all the hiding.
I spent the night in his bed, and we woke up tangled in each other’s arms.
But in my heart of hearts, I’ve always known that what we had wouldn’t last. Now, with my life falling apart, I can’t push forward anymore. I can’t ignore the truth.
He says nothing when I step out of the car and onto the street. He doesn’t chase me. He doesn’t rail against me, demanding an explanation. In this moment, he knows as well as I do that it’s over.
A month later, after I’ve signed away my right to do the only thing I’ve ever loved, I walk through the streets of Paris, second-guessing my decision to end things with Garreth.
Buzzed after a few drinks, I stupidly waltz into the bookstore where our affair began. At the register, where I found him standing that night, I swear his ghost hovers, smiling at me.
My already shattered heart crumbles further. Ending things was necessary, despite the despair surrounding me now. I could never have given him the one thing he wanted: my heart.
“Sienna.” The owner breaks into a smile. Then in her native tongue, she chatters on about the shipment that came in this week, asking if I’d like to look through them with her to see if my book is in there.
I know it isn’t. After all this time, I don’t have it in me to believe in fairy tales and fate.
“I just came to say goodbye. I’m moving back to America.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an O. “You must give me your address, then. So if I find your book, I can forward it to you.”
I promise to email her with an address once I’m settled, though as I hug her and step onto the sidewalk, I know I won’t follow through.
She’ll never find the book. And neither will I.
I’ve got nothing left. No career. No hope. No faith. And certainly no dreams of happy futures and fate.
I’ll never be that naive girl again. And there’s no one to blame for any of this but myself.