Chapter One
Rylee
Paris, here I come again.
I got a six-figure job offer in Paris, and they’re paying me way too much. People would think I’m crazy for taking it. Hell, I think I’m crazy for taking it. Who the hell pays six figures for a marketing job? But I already signed the papers, and there’s no turning back. Yet, here I am, standing in front of Caleb instead of packing.
“What do you want, Caleb?”
He’s leaning against his Range Rover. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his white T-shirt. The color stands out against his brown skin, which is swallowed by the night.
A chuckle escapes from deep within his throat, though it lacks humor. “That’s how it is? No hi? Not even a kiss?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Whatever situationship we had, it’s over.” I worked for a small fashion brand here in New York, and they were going bankrupt. I was close to losing my job, but a wealthy brand from Paris bought us out. Their name is still a mystery. All I know is that they’re a luxury goods company. They want me to go there and help with their transition into the American market.
“Situationship?” He pushes off the car, his tall figure towering over me. Even at five feet, nine inches, I still have to look up at him. He’s well over six feet, five inches. “That’s what you call it?”
“What do you want to call it?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Would you prefer fuck buddy?” Caleb was a good fuck, an amazing one. But that’s all it’s ever been. Now, I need to focus on my career. I’ve made the mistake before of letting my desires get the best of me by sleeping with my boss. I ended up losing my internship, and it was hard to find anyone willing to hire me with no experience until I landed a job with a small fashion brand.
“Really, Ry? I thought we had something.”
“You thought wrong, Caleb. This was sex, nothing more.”
“Well, it was more to me. So much more.” It sounds like he actually cares, but I won’t fall for it. Men like him don’t want someone like me. They want the thrill, the sex, until they find something better. He would leave eventually. I just beat him to it.
A knot tightens in my chest, but I push it aside. “Caleb, we both agreed this was casual.”
He steps back, his expression shifting like he’s genuinely hurt. “I thought… maybe you felt the same way.”
I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry, Caleb. You thought wrong.”
He nods slowly, the tension between us thickening the night air. “Take care, Rylee. I hope Paris treats you well.” He turns to open his car door.
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
He stops with one hand on the handle. “I hope one day you’ll allow someone in and let yourself believe in love,” he says quietly before climbing into his car and driving away.
His taillights disappear into the night. Just because we fucked a few times, he thinks he knows me? A bitter laugh bubbles up. He doesn’t know shit.
None of them do.
Why would I let someone in? They’d see how broken I really am. How much of a mess lies beneath all this. No one will ever love you . My mother’s familiar voice slithers through my mind. Women in our family are cursed.
My finger rubs over the small rose quartz ring on my right finger. It belonged to my great-grandmother, Catalina. A family heirloom that has been passed down from woman to woman.
I don’t know the full story. Only that she didn’t marry the man who gave it to her. She kept it as a reminder of the curse, that women in our family weren’t meant for love.
I don’t need a man’s love to be happy. I have my sister, Mia, now Sarah, and I have me. Some good orgasms here and there. And that’s enough.
It has to be.
Taking a deep breath, I let the cold winter air fill my lungs before releasing it through my nose.
I turn toward the stairs, pulling my jacket around me. Leftover snow from yesterday crunches beneath my boots as I head back to my apartment.
The moment I step inside, the warmth welcomes me. I kick off my boots, take off my jacket, and leave them by the door.
My small studio apartment is almost empty now. This little place has been mine for three years, and it was the only thing I could afford after graduating college.
My back hits the mattress, the only thing left in the room. I sold my old brown couch for a few bucks. My favorite vanilla candle sits on the floor; it’s not the safest thing to do, but I can’t sleep without the smell.
I close my eyes for a second, breathing it in. It smells like every night I’ve convinced myself I was okay. But no matter how small or lonely some nights felt, this place was my home. And now I’m leaving it all behind for something better. Although I’m excited about the new opportunity, I’m also terrified.
What if it doesn’t work out?
My phone rings, and I tap my earbud to answer. “Hey, Hermanita (little sister).” I sit up.
“Hey.” She sounds almost defeated.
“What’s wrong?” I frown, tucking my legs underneath me.
“Nothing…I still can’t believe you’re moving to Paris, leaving me alone. New York wasn’t far away enough? You have to move to another continent.”
I sigh, playing with the string of my pajama pants. “It’s not like that. I need this job.” For the both of us. My heart clenches as I think about how I left her with our addict mother. The hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. She is more than a sister to me. She’s the little girl I tucked into bed every night when our mother didn’t come home. The one I read bedtime stories to. For six years, I cared for her when I wasn’t even old enough to care for myself.
Then I left her.
But I had no choice. I couldn’t exactly take her with me to my dorm, and staying would have drowned me.
It’s been eight years, and she was only six. I’ve been trying to get custody of her, but living in a studio apartment with second-hand furniture doesn’t exactly show the court that I can take care of her.
“Take me with you, then,” she pleads.
“I’d take you if I could.” I press my palm against my forehead. God knows I tried. “But it’s not that simple.” Our mom would never allow it.
She’s quiet for a moment, her disappointment palpable through the phone.
“Besides, this is only temporary. We’ll still talk on the phone, as always.”
“I know, I miss you.” She sniffles.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar ache in my chest settling in.
“Maybe she’ll let you visit for the spring or summer break.” I force a smile even though she can’t see me.
“Maybe,” she says, but the sadness in her voice doesn’t disappear.
I don’t know what else to say, so I sing instead. “You Are My Sunshine.” I used to sing it to her when she was a toddler and wouldn’t stop crying.
“You haven’t sung that song in years.” She laughs.
“But it always worked right,” a small smile plays on my lips.
“Yeah, it did.”
“Te quiero mucho (I love you so much),” I whisper, bringing a hand to my chest.
“Yo tambien te quiero (I love you, too).” Her words are barely audible through my earbuds.
I continue singing, and the song eases some of the heaviness.
“Good night,” I say after a few more minutes, but nothing. Either she’s fallen asleep, or she’s crying and doesn’t want me to know. My heart sinks as I stare at the screen before ending the call.
I hate this.
I’m hoping Paris will change things.