17. Kim
The extra day in Hawaii was everything I didn't know I needed.
We woke late, tangled together in the villa's enormous bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. Xavier ordered room service—fresh papaya, macadamia nut pancakes, coffee that tasted like heaven—and we ate in bed, feeding each other bites between lazy kisses.
Later, he took me snorkeling in a hidden cove only the resort staff knew about. We floated over coral gardens, watching sea turtles glide beneath us, and when I surfaced gasping with delight, he kissed the salt water from my lips.
We made love in the outdoor shower, steam rising around us, the afternoon sun warm on my skin.
We made love again on the daybed overlooking the ocean, slower this time, his hands tracing every curve like he was committing me to memory.
I let myself fall apart beneath him, let myself be seen in a way I hadn't allowed in years.
In the evening, we walked barefoot along the beach, collecting shells and talking about nothing important. He told me about the summer he spent in France when he was twelve, how he'd gotten lost in a vineyard and eaten so many grapes he'd made himself sick.
I told him about the library book I'd stolen when I was seven—The Secret Garden—because I couldn't bear to return it, and how I still had it somewhere in a box.
"That's a felony," he said, grinning.
"I was seven."
"A seven-year-old criminal mastermind." He pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I had no idea I was dating such a dangerous woman."
We had dinner at a tiny restaurant tucked into the cliffs, the kind of place you'd never find without a local's recommendation.
The chef came out to meet us personally, and Xavier charmed him into making us a special tasting menu.
We drank too much wine and laughed too loudly and stumbled back to the villa holding hands like teenagers.
That night, lying in his arms, I let myself imagine a future. This man beside me. Zoe growing up surrounded by love. The three of us building something real.
The thought should have felt ridiculous. Instead, it felt fragile and precious, like cupping a butterfly in my palms.
I was terrified of crushing it. More terrified that I'd already started to believe it.
The next morning, Xavier's phone rang while we were packing.
He glanced at the screen, grinning when he saw the name. "Sebastian. Probably calling to make sure we haven't trashed his precious villa." He answered with his usual charm. "Brother dearest! Missing me already? I know I'm delightful, but—"
He stopped.
The grin slid off his face. I watched it happen in real time—the light in his eyes dimming, his jaw going tight, something cold settling over his features.
"When?" His voice was flat. Unrecognizable. "How bad?"
I moved closer, trying to catch his eye, but he turned away from me. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side.
"I'm on my way." He hung up without saying goodbye.
"Xavier?" I touched his arm. "What's wrong? What happened?"
He didn't look at me. "There's an emergency. We need to leave. Now."
"What kind of emergency? Is someone hurt? Is it your grandmother? Zoe—"
"Kim." His voice was sharp. Final. "I can't explain right now. We just need to go."
He moved past me and started throwing clothes into his bag with none of his usual care. I stood frozen, watching this stranger who'd replaced the man I'd spent the last two days falling deeper in love with.
Something was very, very wrong.
The flight back to New York was seven hours of silence.
Xavier sat across from me, staring out the window at clouds, his expression carved from stone. He didn't reach for my hand. Didn't make jokes or flirt or tease. Didn't acknowledge my existence at all.
I tried, at first. Asked if he wanted coffee. If he was hungry. If there was anything I could do.
He answered in monosyllables. Yes. No. I'm fine.
He wasn't fine. And he clearly didn't want to talk about it.
So I sat in my own seat and watched him from across the aisle and felt the familiar weight of dread settling in my stomach.
This was exactly what had happened with Cole.
I knew the pattern. Had it seared into my memory like a brand.
Everything perfect, everything wonderful, and then the switch.
The sudden distance. The coldness that came from nowhere.
I'd been stupid enough to think I'd learned my lesson.
I'd given Cole everything—my trust, my body, my heart—and he couldn't get away from me fast enough.
Now Xavier had gotten what he wanted, and he didn't want me anymore.
I pressed my nails into my palms until the sting drowned out the one behind my eyes.
Stupid. I was so stupid. A naive idiot who'd let herself believe that this time would be different.
That he would be different. That he would be different.
That I could actually have something good without it being ripped away.
The plane landed. We disembarked. Xavier walked beside me but kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
He didn't kiss me. Didn't hold my hand. Didn't even look at me.
By the time we reached the car waiting on the tarmac, I'd built my walls back up. Brick by brick, stone by stone. Whatever was happening, I would survive it. I always did.
The drive to the Dubois estate passed in more silence. When we arrived, Xavier was out of the car before it fully stopped, striding toward the front door without a backward glance.
"Zoe's with Isabelle." He said it over his shoulder, already walking away. "I'll be in the study."
He paused at the door, just for a second. His hand on the frame, his back still to me. I thought he might turn around. Might say something. Might give me anything to hold onto.
He didn't.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the house like I was nothing. Like the last few days had never happened.
I stood on the gravel drive, watching the door close behind him, and felt something crack in my chest.
Isabelle found me before I could pull myself together.
"Kim!" She emerged from a side entrance, Evie trailing behind her. "You're back. We weren't expecting you for another hour."
"Change of plans." I forced my voice to stay steady. "Where's Zoe?"
"Inside, with mom. She's been an absolute angel—" Isabelle paused, studying my face. "Are you alright? You look pale."
"I'm fine. Just tired from the flight."
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "Come on. Zoe's been asking about you all morning."
The main sitting room was warm and bright, filled with fresh flowers and afternoon sun. Helena sat on one of the elegant sofas, and there was Zoe, curled up beside her with a picture book, her butterfly face paint now faded to pale smudges.
"MOMMY!"
Zoe launched herself off the couch and into my arms. I caught her, held her tight, breathed in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. My anchor. My reason for everything.
"Hi, baby." I kissed the top of her head. "Did you have fun?"
"So much fun! We did face masks and watched movies and Evie taught me how to braid and we had breakfast in bed and—" She pulled back, looking around. "Where's Xavier? I want to show him my braids!"
The crack in my chest widened.
"Xavier had to go do some work stuff, sweetheart. Grown-up things."
Zoe's face fell. "But he didn't even say hi to me."
"I know, baby. He's just... busy right now."
"Is he mad at me?"
"No." I cupped her face, making her look at me. "No, sweetheart. He's not mad at you. He just has some important things to take care of. Okay?"
Zoe nodded, but her lower lip trembled. I pulled her close again, shooting a look at Isabelle over her head.
I glanced toward the hallway where Xavier had disappeared. Part of me wanted to go after him, to demand answers, to force him to tell me what was wrong. But another part—the part that had been trained by years of abandonment—knew better than to chase someone who was running away.
"I should get Zoe home," I said.
Isabelle nodded. "I'll have the car brought around."
Evie appeared at her side, looking uncertain. "Zoe," she said quietly, "I really had fun hanging out with you."
Zoe brightened slightly. "Me too! Can we do it again?"
"Yeah." A small smile crossed Evie's face. "I'd like that."
I thanked Isabelle and Helena, gathered Zoe's things, and let the driver load us into the car. As we pulled away from the estate, I looked back at the imposing facade, at the windows of the study where Xavier was dealing with whatever crisis had shattered our perfect bubble.
He didn't appear.
I faced forward, held my daughter's hand, and told myself this was fine. I'd been alone before. I'd survived before. I didn't need Xavier Dubois. I didn't need anyone.
The lies tasted bitter in my mouth.
My building looked the same as always—slightly run-down, the lobby light flickering, the mailboxes dented from years of use. But as the elevator opened onto my floor, I stopped short.
The hallway outside my apartment was covered in gifts.
Bouquets of flowers in crystal vases. Wrapped boxes in every size. Shopping bags from expensive stores. And toys—dolls, stuffed animals, a pink bicycle with ribbons on the handlebars. It looked like a department store had exploded against my door.
"Mommy, look!" Zoe gasped. "Are those for us?"
"I don't..." My voice trailed off as cold dread pooled in my stomach.
"You're home."
I spun around.
Cole stepped out of the shadows near the stairwell, his hands in his pockets, a tentative smile on his face.
"I've been waiting forever," he said. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back from Hawaii."
Hawaii. The word landed like a slap.
"How did you know where I was?" The words came out sharp. Dangerous.
"I have my sources." He shrugged, that easy charm sliding into place. "It wasn't hard to find your address either. You're still listed at the same place from when we—"
"What do you want, Cole?"