Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ELIZABETH
Womaning the Fuck Up
The moment the hotel room door clicks shut behind me, my back collapses against it, and I slide to the floor in a boneless heap, like a marionette whose strings have been abruptly severed. Drawing my knees up, I bury my head between them.
Holy crap.
Pressing the heel of my palm hard against my chest, I try to calm the erratic beat of my heart.
It’s been pounding with relentless force and trying to punch through my ribcage from the moment I saw Fallon standing right behind me.
He looked like a half-remembered dream brought into sharp, disorienting focus—those familiar arctic-blue eyes and that cocky smirk that would reveal twin dimples when it appeared.
I had hoped we would cross paths again one day, but nothing could have prepared me for him suddenly showing up out of the blue, in freaking Venice .
Seeing him again felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and suddenly being tossed over it. A flood of emotions rushed through me: shock, nostalgia, and something dangerously close to longing. How could two decades feel like both a lifetime and a fleeting moment?
Fishing my phone out from my pocket, I text Meredith.
Me: You busy?
Her reply is instantaneous.
Firecracker: Sipping naked martinis with my husband. What’s up?
Me: You naked or the drink naked?
Firecracker: What do you think? wink emoji
I hit the phone icon to call her and put it on speaker.
“Why are you drinking martinis at ten in the morning?”
“Why are you whispering?”
Needing to pace off some of the restless energy I’m feeling, I get up and walk into the bedroom.
“Fallon is here.”
“What did you just say?”
Holding the phone in one hand, I yank clothes out of my suitcase. “I was drinking coffee and getting hit on by this guy at the other table, and then poof! He’s standing right there.”
Hating everything I pull out, I go to the closet where I hang my dresses.
“The guy from the other table was standing where?”
“He wasn’t standing. He was sitting at his table. I had the waiter take it back.”
“Take what back? Are you sure you’re not the one drinking martinis?”
I groan at the ceiling. “I’m not drunk. Fallon is here.”
Pulling my blue wrap dress from its hanger, I go into the adjoining en suite and gasp in horror when I see my reflection in the mirror.
Oh, good god. My hair is a tangled, windswept mess, I have black mascara circles under my eyes, and my nose is bright red because I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning before heading out.
“Fallon… Montgomery ?”
“Do you know another Fallon?”
“Holy shit!” she wheezes.
“Holy shit, what?” I hear Bryce say in the background.
“Woman stuff. Stop eavesdropping,” she says to her husband.
“It’s not eavesdropping when you’re sitting right next to me and yelling into the phone. Hey, Elizabeth!”
“Hey, Bryce,” I reply, even though he can’t hear me.
Propping the phone against the gilded gold frame of the large vanity mirror, I wet a washcloth. Adding a hefty amount of face cleanser, I vigorously scrub my face as though I can wipe away the sudden chaos that Fallon’s reappearance has stirred in me along with my makeup.
A burst of static crackles over the speaker, followed by the muted thud of a door closing.
“I’m in the bedroom. No peeping husband ears. Talk.”
Drying my face with a hand towel, I sink onto the edge of the pedestal bathtub. “I just told you. Fallon is here. He asked me to dinner.”
“You didn’t say anything about dinner.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Then get to the bloody point!” she shouts with exasperation.
“Have you been bingeing Bridgerton again?”
“Elizabeth, I swear to god, if you don’t start explaining why the hell Fallon Montgomery suddenly popped back into the picture after being a ghost for two decades, I’m flying to Venice and strangling you.”
“I don’t know! He was just”—I fling my hand in the air and gesture helplessly as though trying to conjure the exact moment he appeared—“ there .”
“How did he look? I bet he looked good.”
She makes a lascivious hum fraught with implied dirty thoughts that would normally make me playfully roll my eyes.
This time, it doesn’t.
The sound of his voice and the image of him standing a few feet away, looking at me with those startling pale eyes, sunlight catching on his dark-blond hair, will forever be burned into my mind.
I look back at the mirror and scowl at my reflection, as if it has betrayed me.
Snatching the phone off the vanity, I carry it with me as I resume my pacing.
“Yes, he looked good.”
Fallon always looked good. He had a way of commanding attention without trying. Gorgeous, tall, and intimidating, he had a presence that felt larger than life. But now? Holy hell. Time has only sharpened what was already devastating.
“You went silent. Did we get disconnected? Hello?”
I stop mid-step in front of the window. The view of the Venetian lagoon stretches out before me, the water shimmering under the early evening lights.
The beauty of the scene seems almost cruel because, for the first time in a very long time, I’m able to once again see the world in multicolor, instead of the gray I’ve been existing in for the past three years.
Sighing, I drop my forehead to the cool glass and trace a finger through the condensation of my breath.
“I’m here.”
“I just texted Trevor. He said he had no idea Fallon was in Venice.”
“Meredith! I don’t need him getting involved?—”
My phone vibrates with an incoming text. From Trevor. Great.
“Next time some earth-shattering thing happens in my life, you’ll be the last person I call.”
She has the audacity to laugh. “Yeah, right.” Her tone shifts and becomes serious. “How are you feeling about seeing him again?”
Too many things to quantify.
“Happy. Guilty because I’m happy.”
“It’s okay to feel happy,” she softly replies. “It’s okay to live again. Ryder would want that for you.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until teardrops splash against the windowsill.
“I don’t know how,” I rasp, my throat tightening to the point it becomes hard to breathe.
My children are the only reason I’m alive. When Ryder died, my soul died with him. Every fucking day is a struggle without him. How can I truly learn to live again when my heart stopped beating the moment my husband’s did?
“Fallon is there in Venice at the same time you are. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. This is fate or destiny or whatever the hell they call it these days knocking on your door. Don’t ignore it or run away from it. Go to dinner. Get drunk. Laugh. Have some fucking fun.”
“I am having fun. Italy is a beautiful country.”
“Not the kind of fun I’m talking about,” she replies.
Yeah, I’m not going there.
“I’m officially shutting down the topic. See you when I get back.”
I fly home tomorrow. I’ve enjoyed my trip, but I miss my kids.
“If he offers to fly you in his jet, you better damn well say yes.”
“Love you, Mer,” I say before disconnecting.
I toss my phone onto the bed and collapse on top of the goose-down duvet, only to sit back up when there’s a knock on my hotel room door.
“Room service,” a woman says with a heavy Italian accent.
Padding to the door, I crack it open. A pretty, raven-haired girl smiles at me.
“ Buonasera , Mrs. Cutton,” she says in a mix of Italian and English and pushes a rolling tray table into my room.
It only has one thing on it. An enormous mug of what looks like hot chocolate with creamy foam and chocolate drizzle dripping down the sides.
“I’m sorry. You must have the wrong room. I didn’t order anything.”
She hands me a handwritten note and leaves without another word.
Confused, I read it and burst out laughing.
Saw they made chocolate caramel lattes in the bar across from the hotel.
– Fallon
Memories from our time in New York City come barreling back.
“All right, Fallon Parker Montgomery. I’m womaning the fuck up.”
Taking my latte with me, I head into the bathroom to get ready for dinner.