12. Eliana #2
I frowned and turned toward the sound. Another tiny pebble bounced against the glass. I told Ethan I'd call him back later and slowly approached the window. When I pulled the curtain aside, I nearly laughed.
Adrian stood below, looking up at me with a mischievous grin. He held an enormous bouquet of red roses in one hand, while the other was already reaching for another pebble.
He caught me staring and raised his eyebrows as if to say, Well? Are you coming down?
I couldn't help laughing. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I came to deliver your flowers, obviously. I've been trying to call, but apparently someone else was monopolizing your attention. Your phone was busy.”
“You could've waited until morning. You just dropped me home this afternoon.”
“And miss seeing you t’night? Impossible.”
I shook my head, trying not to smile. “Come upstairs.”
Adrian chuckled. “I'd rather not. Because if I come upstairs...” He looked up at me with a mischievous smile. “...I won't want to leave. And I have a feeling you won't get much sleep either.”
My eyes widened. I immediately pressed a finger to my lips, gesturing to him to quiet down. “My neighbors are going to hear you!”
“I'll consider whispering if you come downstairs.”
Rolling my eyes, I hurried outside. The moment I reached him, his teasing expression softened. He looked at me as though seeing me had somehow been the best part of his entire day.
He leaned down and gently kissed me before placing the bouquet into my arms. “I missed you,” he murmured. “More than Kafka missed Milena.”
I laughed. “That's an impossible standard.”
“So is staying away from you.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
I smiled down at the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance.
Adrian smiled. “I’ll tell Walter to bring you fresh flowers every evening.”
I looked up at him, confused. “Why not you?”
His smile remained, but something changed in his eyes.
“Because...” He hesitated. “I'm leaving tomorrow.”
My smile disappeared. “What?”
* * *
“Only a few days,” Adrian promised, smiling softly. But there was something almost reluctant about it. “I have to leave because of work. But when I come back...” His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than usual. “...I have a place where I want to take you.”
I opened my mouth to ask where, but he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Take care of yourself, Eliana.”
Before I could ask anything else, he was already walking toward his car. I stood there watching him drive away, my arms wrapped around the bouquet.
Only a few days. I could manage that. At least, that's what I told myself.
The first two days passed quickly enough. I threw myself into teaching, stayed late to grade papers, and forced myself to keep writing whenever I got home. I barely gave myself enough time to think about how quiet the house felt without Adrian in it.
Rebecca, unfortunately, noticed the difference in my writing before I noticed it myself. She dropped a stack of papers onto my desk and stared at me with wide eyes. “Whatever happened to you, I want more of it.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your manuscript.” She waved several pages in front of my face. “It's actually good now. Like, really good.”
I laughed. “Thanks. I think.”
“I know exactly what's responsible for this.”
I already knew where this was going.
“Dating a billionaire has finally given you some inspiration.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. She wasn't entirely wrong. Except it wasn't Adrian's money inspiring me. It wasn't the cars or the hotels or the extravagant dinners. It wasn't even the fact that a man like Adrian Ashford had somehow chosen me.
It was Adrian himself.
The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he remembered the smallest things I said. The way his voice changed whenever he asked if I was all right. The way he made ordinary moments feel like they mattered. Those were the things finding their way into my writing.
And perhaps that was the problem.
Every evening, right on schedule, Walter Briggs appeared at my house with another bouquet.
White lilies one night, red roses the next, peonies after that.
Each arrangement came with a handwritten note from Adrian.
Some were short poems that made me blush.
Others were ridiculous little confessions about how every city seemed to remind him of me or how apparently no coffee tasted right anymore because I wasn't there stealing sips from his cup.
One evening, I unfolded a cream-colored card tucked between the peonies.
There were a few lines written on it.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love?—
I and my Annabel Lee?—
I stared at the verses for a long moment. I knew exactly where they came from. And somehow, knowing Adrian had chosen those words for me filled my heart with warmth.
I kept every note. There was something touching about knowing Adrian had written them for me beforehand, as though he'd wanted to leave a little piece of himself behind for every day we were apart.
I told myself I kept them because they were sweet, not because I was becoming embarrassingly attached to the words he had chosen just for me.
Walter was less helpful whenever I asked when Adrian was coming home.
“Do you know when he's returning?”
He would sigh dramatically. “I'm only the assistant.”
“You're his assistant. You must know something.”
“He tells me everything.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Except the things I actually need to know,” he finished miserably.
I laughed every time, but underneath the laughter was a growing ache.
Adrian texted me every day. Always. But our conversations were frustratingly brief.
Did you eat?
Don't stay up too late.
How's your writing going?
I have another meeting. I'll text you when I'm free.
Sometimes hours passed before his next message. I understood. He was busy. He had an empire to run. I had known what I was getting myself into.
Still, there were nights when I stared at our conversation, my thumb hovering over the call button. I wanted to hear his voice. Just once. I wanted to hear him say my name. I wanted to tell him about my day instead of typing a few sentences and waiting for his reply.
But every time I started writing Can you call me?, I deleted it. I didn't want to become dependent on him, especially when this relationship had an expiration date.
Then, on the fourth evening, everything changed. I had finished another chapter and was half-watching television when a familiar face appeared on the screen.
I froze. Adrian.
The news segment showed him standing outside some glamorous event, surrounded by reporters and flashing cameras. I sat upright as the caption beneath him announced a new global ambassador for Ashford Holdings.
And then she appeared beside him. One of the country's most famous supermodels.
Beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.
She stood close enough that their shoulders touched. When the cameras began flashing, she looped her arm through Adrian's.
He smiled. The same devastating smile that had once made my heart stumble. I stared at the screen as the reporters called their names and people cheered. The woman looked perfectly comfortable beside him, as though she belonged there.
Someone like her belonged beside Adrian. Someone polished and glamorous and confident. Someone who didn't feel like she had accidentally wandered into a billionaire's life and somehow forgotten how to leave.
My smile disappeared. I reached for the remote and switched off the television. The house fell silent.
For a few seconds, I simply sat there. Then I remembered something.
How long had Adrian said he'd be gone?
I searched through our messages. Nothing. I opened our last conversation. Nothing.
My heart ached. He had never actually told me. Had he?
Only a few days. He'd said that. But a few days could mean anything. Three. Five. Ten. Maybe longer. And suddenly, I hated myself for caring.
I leaned my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes. Did I even have the right to ask? What exactly was I expecting him to say?
I'm coming home because I miss you?
I don't want anyone else?
You're not temporary anymore?
Our relationship had never been real. At least, that was what we'd agreed. It had started as an arrangement. A convenient story. Something with an ending built into it from the beginning.
Adrian had even warned me. By the time I finished my novel, he might have found the love of his life. Maybe that rainy night at the motel was just a fleeting moment between us.
I let out a small, bitter laugh. Of course he'd eventually move on. Men like Adrian didn't stay with women like me.
His memories were all over my mind. And I suddenly understood what frightened me most. I didn't miss having a boyfriend.
I missed Adrian. The real Adrian.
The man who had made me feel seen in ways I hadn't expected. The man whose messages I checked too often. The man I was beginning to imagine building a home with.
My eyes burned. I quickly blinked the tears away. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with him.
Love wasn't part of the arrangement.
I had allowed myself to believe in the beautiful parts without thinking about what would happen when they ended. But even fairy tales always had an ending. And ours had been written from the beginning.
Like Cinderella, our little fairy tale had always been borrowed time.
Eventually, midnight would arrive.
And everything pretending to be real would disappear.
I sat alone in the quiet house, staring at the dark television screen. For the first time since Adrian had left, I wasn't counting the days until he came home.
I was wondering what I would do when he did.