16. Chapter Sixteen - Abby
Abby
"W ow, you look like shit," Max greets me, a mix of worry and amusement washing over his face as I take a seat at his table.
It's been just over a week since I came back from Paris, ready to enjoy a few more days of quiet or joining my friends' weekly games night, before jumping into my new fulltime job. And who would have thought I’d catch the worst cold as a little souvenir?
I can't help but think it's a sign from the universe, like my life is only going downhill from here. I’ve peaked in Paris and life will never be the same again.
"Likewise," I retort, clearing my throat when my voice only comes out in a croak. "I would've spent another day in bed. It’s a good thing you baited me here, the fresh air was a really great idea," I say, voice clearer now, as I reach for the menu. “Then again, kind of rude you made me come all the way here.”
We're meeting in this super cute café that’s halfway between our apartments, about a fifteen minute walk away from my home. Usually, I welcome the short walk there. It’s fifteen minutes of excitement on the way there and it always makes me feel better to have a bit of movement after scorching down their delicious treats.
Today though? Today I cursed Max with every step, wishing him wet socks whenever I had to stop and catch my breath. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed after all.
"Wow, I forgot how grumpy you get when you're sick," he chuckles and takes a sip of his cappuccino. "You make the man flu look like a piece of cake."
"Ha ha. You ever had a cold while on your period?" I ask him dryly, eyebrows raised up my forehead. He has no idea about the kind of pain and discomfort I’m going through.
“Touché. But—” He narrows his eyes at me, pointing at his crutches. “I made it by foot with a broken leg. So I’m declaring I win this round of suffering.”
I roll my eyes at him, then blink surprised when a waitress suddenly sets down a coffee in front of me.
"Thank you," I utter, confused. I didn’t even have time to take a proper look at the menu. Are we here so often I already count as a regular?
"I took the liberty of ordering for you," Max says nonchalantly, stirring his drink and shooting me a grin. "After all, you always get the same thing anyway."
"Don't say that like it's a bad thing. You never switch your order up either," I point out and take a sip, humming happily when the hot liquid soothes my still-itchy throat, even if just for a moment.
"So… Paris?" he muses, leaning closer as curiosity tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I want to know everything. Where did you go? What did you do? How did you like it?"
"I went to the Louvre, took a way too long walk along the Seine and went to Giverny. I have to give it to you, I kind of get it now," I admit, watching his face light up.
“I knew it! You just had to give Paris a proper chance.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. “I’m ready for the ‘I told you so.’” I reach for my bag and quickly retrieve his souvenirs. "Here, I got you some magnets. Hope you don’t have these already."
His grin widens as he reaches for them immediately, turning them to inspect them from all sides. They are small trinkets I picked up during a slow afternoon. Memories of Reed accompanying me, giving his commentary on the particular overdone ones, rush through my head.
"Thank you! These will look amazing next to the fifty others on my fridge."
"I'm surprised you even still have space there," I chuckle, trying to push the memories back into the box they just escaped out of.
"Who was the guy?" Max asks, and I freeze, like a deer caught in headlights, my eyes quickly jumping to him.
"Who?" I try to act cluelessly and take a sip of my coffee.
"Sis, you’re an idiot if you think you can fool me.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, clearly amused. “Some of the photos you sent me, there’s just no way you took all of them on your own. And don’t think I didn’t notice the two shadows in a couple of them.” He lifts his hand and wiggles his index and middle fingers for emphasis. “Plus, if it had been one of your girlfriends, you definitely would’ve told me by now. So that only leaves one option. Come on, tell me. Who’s the guy?”
"Damn," I mutter, crossing my arms in front of my chest. For some reason I feel just like at fourteen, when he caught me with a beer and threatened to tell our parents. "What crime series did you just binge, Sherlock Holmes?"
"Bones. But that’s not the issue here." He leans his chin on his hand, grinning at me like I’m about to provide him with the hottest gossip. "Go on. Tell me about him."
"Do you remember how I texted you about the asshat who ran me over just after I arrived?" I ask, eyes fixed on my coffee, picking up my spoon to stir it, just so my hands have something to do.
There's no use trying to hide it from him. And really, what's the harm if he knows?
"No way," he says, like I just revealed the biggest scandal of the century. "Seriously?"
"What can I say? He's hot," I reply with a shrug, taking a sip of my coffee to hide the blush rushing to my cheeks. "And it turns out, once he's gotten a few hours of sleep and some food, he's a lot nicer."
"Okay. I'm listening."
I don’t really know what comes over me. A part of me wanted to tuck this thing between Reed and me into a little corner of my heart, make it something to cherish and keep to myself. You know, print out the pictures for my grandchildren to find after I’ve passed away.
But a larger part wants to talk about him. Wants to shout about him to the world, even though I have no claim on him whatsoever.
So I tell Max about the apology, about how I ran into him in the Louvre, how he made me smile, how I panicked when he drove us through Paris, though obviously excluding other things we did in that car. His eyes widen when I tell him about Monet’s actual gardens and that monstrous yellow room in the house.
And now, after telling him about our night walk, one I don’t regret, despite catching the worst cold I’ve had in a while, I feel even closer to Reed him than before.
Like maybe, just maybe, he might actually miss me. Like this could’ve been something more than just a vacation fling.
“And now?” Max asks, that faraway look in his eyes telling me he’s picturing our happily ever after.
"Well, now… nothing." I hate to destroy the daydream he’s conjuring up, but it feels necessary or next thing I’ll know he’s taking me wedding dress shopping. "I'm here. He's probably back in America. We probably won’t meet again."
"Are you sure?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow, his eyes jumping to me. "Because from what you're telling me, I don’t think he’d have rejected the idea."
"Well, he never mentioned it or asked for anything beyond Paris." I bite my lip and avert my eyes, knowing full well that I didn’t ask him about it either. And I began to doubt that decision from the moment I climbed into the taxi.
"And let me guess," Max says with an eye roll, "you didn’t ask because you were afraid he’d say no."
My only answer is another sip of my coffee while I evade his sharp gaze.
"Just let me ask why. And don’t give me an ‘I don’t know.’ I know you, Abby. You know."
"Because it was too good to be true," I finally whisper, my hold on the warm mug tightening, my fingers tapping against the porcelain. "He was too… perfect. I couldn’t trust it."
"Well, did you ever ask him?" He tilts his head but now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
"Sure. Like I’ll just go up to a guy and say, ‘Hey, you're basically the Disney prince I always imagined sweeping me off my feet. What’s the downside? Are you a drug addict? A murderer? Married?’" Oh hell, I considered neither off those before I spoke them out loud.
"Now you’ll never know," Max teases, finally leaning back in his chair again instead of being all in my face like a wannabe cop trying to intimate me to get more details.
"Please," I scoff and shake my head. "I’m sure he’s going to make a woman very happy one day. Unless he’s already married, in which case, I hope he breaks his dick."
"You're such a scaredy-cat sometimes," he teases me, and I subtly scratch my chin with my middle finger.
"I’m totally not," I try to object, but he shoots me a sharp glare.
"If you weren’t scared, you would’ve talked to him. If you weren’t scared, you would’ve asked if he’d want you long-distance."
"I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this," I sigh, tapping my fingertips against the cold wood of the table. "I had a vacation fling. Not every vacation fling is going to be the love of my life. You had plenty of those without declaring them prince charming and having me up your ass about continuing them."
“Well, the way you talked about him?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not how someone talks about just any vacation fling.”
I shake my head slowly, but more at myself than at him. I hate it when he makes sense; he always turns so smug.
"Well, this one might be a slight exception to the rule," I admit with a small smile. "But still, some things just aren’t meant to be more."
I shrug again, but freeze mid-movement, because I could swear I see Reed's face from the corner of my eye. My heartrate picks up, butterflies already launching in my belly.
"What the—” I turn to where I thought I saw him. “Holy shit!"
My eyes drift behind Max to where two girls are gushing over a fashion magazine, their heads stuck together, but my eyes are fixated on the cover and an all-too-familiar face.
That same face that smiled at me in the Louvre.
The very same face that looked at me so adoringly on our last night.
"That motherfucker lied to me," I whisper, stunned, feeling like someone dropped a bucket of ice-cold water over me.
Max looks at me, worried, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the image. It’s touched up and his beautiful face is hidden behind a thick layer of makeup, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere.
"Are you still having a fever?" Max extends his hand to touch his palm against my forehead, but I shake my head, grabbing his wrist and lowering it. Curiously, he follows my gaze and turns around.
"No, way," he says softly, slowly turning back to me, his eyes wide and mouth agape. "What did you say his name was again?"
"Reed," I whisper, eyes still stuck to the magazine cover. I finally try to tear them away from it when the girls shoot me weirded out looks.
"Reed… Walker, by any chance?" Max asks in a hushed whisper, and I slowly shake my head.
"I don’t know. He never told me his last name. But he said he was some kind of consultant."
"Abby, look at me." My eyes jump to his, and I suck in a sharp breath at the seriousness in his voice.
"We’re talking about the youngest Walker brother here. His family is all over the entertainment industry, his brother is the fucking CEO of Croney, just about the biggest management company in the industry. They’re a big deal." He holds up his hands to show scale. "Huge! No wonder he didn’t want you to know."
I still feel like I’m caught in some kind of joke. My heart is pounding in my throat, clammy hands trembling, the mug I’m still clutching in my hands clattering against the saucer.
"He’s famous. He’s rich,” he continues in a whisper. “He’s probably one of the top targets in the gold digger community. Of course he wouldn’t go around advertising it."
"But he lied," I say, still not over the betrayal while Max stirs a packet of sugar into his coffee.
"Well, do you think he did it out of malice?" he asks, pointing his spoon at me.
I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I don’t know anymore," I admit, my voice shaky. “What do I even know about him now? Does he really like art, or was that just another lie? God, I feel so stupid.”
"Hey," Max says, gently peeling one of my hands from the mug and holding it in his. "He’s still the same guy." He breaks into a wide grin. "But damn, sis, you had a vacation fling with a supermodel ."
"I did," I whisper, still trying to make sense of all of it. What do I even do with that information?