Chapter Forty-Seven
I point to the computer screen where the familiar green button says Guest Check-In.
“Then you hit that to confirm,” I say. “Easy.”
The woman’s face relaxes like I’ve defused a bomb for her. “Oh, brilliant. You’ve been a massive help.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I swear, I’ll get the hang of it one of these days.”
“You will,” I assure her. It wasn’t all that long ago that staring at the booking software for The Mirage would send my mind spinning with how complicated it was. Combined with the past few weeks of training new hires, I could probably navigate it in my sleep. “Need anything else?”
“I should ask you that.” She slides the room key across the counter with a welcoming smile. “You’re the guest.”
I run my thumb over the gold embossing on the key card sleeve. Checking in here feels like cheating on The Mirage—which is absurd. I’m not even on the same continent.
“Um…” I glance at my phone. My group chat with Gwen and Dawn is exploding with emojis and good-luck wishes, but it’s the voicemail notification that makes my heart jump. “I could use a taxi. I’ll pop into my room for a quick shower first.”
“Absolutely, Ms. Johnson. I’ll have one ready for you. Where will you be heading?”
I tell the woman at the front desk, and she remains unfazed—the complete antithesis of my emotions. Once I enter my room, my body turns to ice at the thought of showing up there tonight. I’ve played out this scenario, at least this far, in my head a billion times before.
Fly to London. Freshen up. Find Max.
I don’t dwell beyond that, though. Since he left, I’ve felt as empty as the storage space in the barn after his parents cleaned it out.
On the cab ride over, I focus instead on the cheery holiday lights decorating the buildings we pass and the bundled-up passersby, because I can’t guess what Max will say when he sees me.
He’s been here for three months already, and tonight kicks off the first leg of the tour.
The traveling exhibit premieres at Tate and then goes on the road until the end of spring.
I know this because he told me. Since Max moved out of the casita, he’s called me every day and left a voicemail.
It took me a week after his departure before I caved, listening to them all in succession, with tears pouring down my face at the mere sound of his voice.
These messages are like before, but different.
He still tells me about his life, his work, his day—but he also tells me he misses me, that he loves me, and that he’ll never stop loving me.
I’m doing what you told me to do, but I want to come home to you. Please, Daze. I’m ready when you are.
I haven’t called him back because I wanted to get The Mirage in order first, and if I spoke to him, it would have ruined the plan I hatched when I finally sat down to listen to his messages.
Max needs to know I will change and that I’ll work for us.
As much as my heart beams with pride over his career and accomplishments, I don’t want what my parents had—a love that was tainted because neither of them would compromise.
It’s so good to have someone worth giving it all up for.
I would give up everything for a chance with Max in every lifetime, and it would always be worth it.
I’m shaking when the cab drops me off at the entrance to Tate Modern, and I follow the stream of people into the industrial-looking building.
The man holding a silver platter of champagne flutes catches my attention.
Against my better judgment, I snag one, if only to have something to do with my hands.
Everyone here looks dressed up—swanky, gorgeous, some even in floor-length gowns and tuxes.
I chose a flowy dress with ruffles and a leg slit, hoping that would be fancy enough, and I am officially the only person here in cowboy boots.
Just as I’m about to turn around and rethink this entire trip, I spot him standing there like the only star in the night sky.
He has a group of people surrounding him, because of course he would. Everyone loves Max.
The crowd laughs at something he said, probably something brilliant, and I suck down my nerves as I step forward. Out of nowhere, my body jerks to the left as I slam into another person, and my glass falls to the ground with an elegant shatter.
“Shit, sorry,” I say a little too loudly, considering the entire room has hushed to see what’s going on.
The gentleman, about my father’s age, lets his mouth fall into an irritated line, but he asks if I’m okay. Someone all in black comes over and begins picking up the shards of glass. Another person appears with a mop, and I wish I could disappear.
“Daisy?” Max’s voice pulls me out of the chaos, and I know that wherever that voice is, wherever he is, that’s where I belong.
“Hi.” I smooth my hair and stand up straighter, hoping I don’t look like a total disaster.
“You’re here.” He steps closer, his brows stitched together in confusion. “Is everything alright?”
I nod and take him in. He’s gotten a fresh haircut, but it’s curly and wild how I like it.
He must have had his suit tailored because it perfectly outlines all the planes and angles of him.
There’s a weariness on his face—his cheeks more hollow, the lines around his eyes more pronounced.
Exhaustion from the job, maybe? Still, he’s so handsome it hurts.
I have to stop myself from leaping into his arms and making more of a scene than I already have.
“I got your voicemail,” I say with a shaky voice.
“Which one?”
“All ninety-four of them. Well, ninety-five. I haven’t listened to the one from tonight.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I, um…I wanted to tell you face-to-face.”
“Tell me what?”
I will burst if I have to hold this in for a second longer. “That I love you.”
His expression glitches, and I can’t fight the breathy laugh that escapes because of how adorable he looks. And also because I’m nervous as hell.
“Sorry, but I didn’t come thousands of miles to make small talk with you.
” The words fly out like sparks off a campfire.
“I’ve missed you every single day, and I’ve been missing you my whole life.
It’s awful. Even Freddie’s miserable. I’m sorry I pushed you away, and I’m sorry I didn’t call.
I wanted to take care of The Mirage before coming out here for a romantic grand gesture, and there was also a big part of me that was being a huge chicken.
I’ve been stubborn and scared and stupid with you, and I’m so sorry.
” I run my fingers under my eyes and pray my makeup hasn’t melted.
“It’s just, when I look at you, I want you to have everything, and for the longest time, I knew I couldn’t give that to you. But you know what?”
“What, Daze?”
“I still can’t. I’ll never be able to give you everything you deserve.” I reach for one of his hands, his skin warm and familiar. “But I really, really would like to try.”
“Ms. Johnson.” Antoine’s smooth French accent interrupts my grand confession. “How wonderful of you to be here.” He turns to Max and puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning into his ear. “Perhaps this is a conversation for your office?”
My cheeks heat with the realization that several people are watching us. I fear that I’ve upset Antoine, and maybe even gotten Max in trouble on the job, but I swear Antoine winks at him before we turn to go.
Max uses his fob so we can travel up the elevator to the fourth floor. “I don’t like you talking like that,” he says, turning to me with a resolute look in his eyes. “What you said downstairs. Who cares what anyone thinks I deserve? What matters is what I want.”
“And what do you want, Max Weber?”
“What I’ve always wanted. It’s what I’ve been telling you on all those ninety-five voicemails that I want. What I’m going to want until the day I die.”
There are a million things I need to tell him, but the pull to be closer to Max overwhelms me.
Like he can read my mind, he steps forward and we curve into each other like we’ve always belonged there—my arms twist around his torso, his hand strokes my lower back, and our foreheads touch.
The elevator dings and the doors open, but rather than lead me to his office, he cups my face and kisses me so sweetly my insides nearly explode.
My past, present, and future click into place, and I moan in relief.
“You’re right, this is better than a phone call,” he says, tracing a path with his lips along my jaw. “I love you, Daze. I love you, I love you, I love you. What took you so long to get here?”
“Traffic was pretty bad. I landed like three hours ago.”
He nips at my neck. “Smart-ass.”
I giggle and pull him closer, only mildly aware that the elevator started moving again. “I had to figure out Mirage stuff.”
“Please tell me you didn’t leave poor Stacey alone.”
With a playful smack on his arm, I meet his eyes. “No. Oona’s experience running a massage studio came in handy. She and my dad are actually watching the place for a bit until I sort things out.”
“Sort out what, exactly?”
Life. Dad and Oona offered to handle The Mirage for six months to give me the chance to pursue whatever I wanted. Max, a new career, anything. My dad didn’t want me to feel stuck.
After a successful town hall a few weeks ago, I’ve seen a steady uptick in reservations.
Fuller weekends and fewer cancellations are on the horizon.
The updated zoning laws Dawn and I fought for go into effect January 1, and some of the money-hungry homeshares are already going dark—so I wasn’t leaving my dad and Oona with a ticking time bomb.
And with some wedding deposits thanks to Dawn’s revised review and my more regular social media posting, I can take a moment to really consider what I want.
When I handed them the keys, I wept for a full twenty-four hours straight. I wasn’t sad. I just couldn’t remember having so much room to breathe. For the first time in two years, I could prioritize my desires, my needs.
And top of that list was Max.
“I need to sort out whether you’ll take me back,” I say.
“I can’t move here, but I can stay with you for a few months at a time.
Maybe when you’re traveling, I could join up.
I…” I search his eyes, urging him to understand.
“I spent too long thinking that Harlow tore my parents apart. That when someone gives something up in a relationship, it only leads to resentment, and I didn’t want that for us.
When you talked about staying in Harlow, I saw it as this immense sacrifice. ”
“It was never that for me. Growing up, I might have given you reasons to believe that all I wanted was to leave my hometown, but now? I don’t care what I give up for you. To be with you, I would do anything.”
“I get that. Holding you back paralyzed me, but I think I was holding myself back, too—doing what I believed I needed to do and not what was in my heart.”
“So what do you want, Daisy Johnson?” He smirks, tossing my question back at me.
“I want to give us a chance. I don’t know what that’ll look like, but I want to work with you and figure it out together.
” I let out a wet laugh as he wipes my cheeks with the pad of his thumb.
“I have to find out who I am when I’m not running the hotel and I’m chasing my own dreams instead.
Oh, and I have to get back for Gwen’s birth.
But otherwise, I just want to spend my days loving you. ”
He shuts me up with a kiss, and the elevator chimes again. Someone clears their throat, and Max and I turn to see a blushing man with a walker and his wife. Max straightens up and takes a half step away, leaving his hand on my hip.
“What floor?” he asks them, holding his fob at the ready.
The old woman smiles, her eyes mischievous like a cat’s. “We’ll catch the next one, dear.”
The doors close, and I use Max’s tie like a leash, pulling him toward me so that I’m sandwiched between his body and the wall.
“Let’s try this again, for real this time,” Max mutters against my lips, and the elevator goes up.