Rule #42 When it’s not your journey, you just know.
Matis
One month later
“I miss you.” Amelia’s voice in my ear is like spikes to my heart.
“I miss you too, mon trésor.”
I’ve only been gone two days, and already I’m having second thoughts. How am I supposed to live here if I can’t even stand a two-day trip?
“How does the club look?” she asks. Judging by the echo on her end of the call, she’s in her office upstairs, still working hard on her fashion show this weekend.
I let out a sigh. The club? How do I explain to her that the club is incredible? With sprawling space in a historic building near Piccadilly, it’s exactly the timeless, classy vibe we want.
But I can’t focus on that because I’m too focused on the fact that my business partner and best friend won’t look me in the eye, even as we tour the building together.
And her relationship with her parents is strained because of me.
And that I miss her so much it hurts. Somewhere in all this, Amelia has become the air I breathe.
Over the past month, Amelia has focused on her designs and the plan for her fashion show. I’ve tried to give her space. I’ve tried to live without her, thinking that this is where I belong. That if we are truly meant to be together, we will find our way back to each other.
But fate is a fickle thing, and it’s not moving fast enough for me. I’m standing here in London, waiting for some sort of sign that this is where I’m meant to be. Only two days, and I keep hoping something here will spark my interest enough to make up for how much I miss her.
“Très bien,” I mumble into the phone as I walk down the street toward the club from the hotel. Ronan and I are meeting with the architect to go over some design ideas. I’ll be here for two more nights, and then I’m heading home for Amelia’s show.
“Well, I can’t wait until Friday,” she says. “I work so much better when you’re around.”
“You work brilliantly whether I’m there or not,” I reply, forcing lightness into my voice to keep her from feeling overwhelmed. “Are you listening to that playlist I made you? With the French jazz?”
“Yes,” she replies softly.
“When I’m back at my hotel, I can stay on FaceTime with you while you work. I know that helps.”
“You’re the best,” she sighs.
“Are you ready for Saturday?”
She lets out a huffing sound. “I think so. We do our run-through tomorrow. I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous, Trouble. It’ll be perfect.”
“I hope so.”
As I reach the club, I see Ronan standing out front, and I turn away from him, feeling two inches tall. “I have to go, mon trésor.”
“Okay. Hopefully he’s a bit warmer today.”
“I hope so,” I mumble to myself.
“Bye,” she whispers.
“Bye.”
With that, I hang up the phone and turn toward my friend. He appears so angry all the time now. As if he can’t stand the sight of me.
“The architect should be here shortly,” he says lowly, and I nod in response. “Was that Amelia?”
My head snaps up. That is the first time he’s even mentioned her to me since last month and, honestly, the first casual thing he’s asked me.
“Yes,” I reply.
There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes, and I feel it like a punch to my gut. She calls me now instead of him, and I’d be a heartless man if I didn’t recognize how much that must hurt.
“She’s getting ready for her show on Saturday,” I add. “I hope you’ll come.”
“Of course I’ll come. She’s my daughter.”
I don’t respond, glancing down at my feet. “I’m trying to give her space, Ronan. I promise I am. And I’m going to dedicate everything I have to this club, just like you want. So please, can’t you just—”
Just then, a child turns the corner, scampering ahead of his father close behind, pushing a pram with a look of alarm and exhaustion on his face.
He calls for the child, who nearly careens with my legs. As I glance down at him, seeing wonder and innocence in his eyes, a smile stretches across my face.
The boy giggles at me before turning back toward his father. He wraps his tiny hand around the man’s finger and walks obediently by his side.
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, watching as they meet up with a woman on the other side of the street. She’s holding a little girl on her hip, and I hardly understand how it’s possible to have so many small children at once. They must be exhausted.
When I feel Ronan’s eyes on my face, I realize that I am still grinning at the small family as they disappear down the cobblestone street. Catching myself, I clear my throat and hide my smile.
Moments later, the architect arrives. We walk him through the building, giving our ideas and changes we’d like to see, but the entire time, my heart isn’t in it. I’m still thinking about that family.
That father.
And that’s when it hits me.
I am not supposed to be here.
This is not my journey.
We each shake the man’s hand as he takes our ideas and heads out, promising to give us a quote and a new blueprint by the end of the month.
As for me, the truth weighs heavily on my heart, and I feel the moment of speaking it growing imminently closer.
“We’ll meet tomorrow morning to discuss the next steps in our plan,” Ronan says. He seems tired, rubbing his forehead, and I start to wonder if this animosity is growing heavy on him too.
As he turns his back on me, I take a step toward him. “Ronan, stop.”
He halts, pausing to wait for me to continue.
“I can’t do this.”
He turns. “Do what?”
“The club. London. Moving away. I can’t do it.”
His brow furrows and worry deepens the wrinkles in his face. “Because of us?”
With a heavy breath, I shake my head. “Because of her.”
He’s frozen in place, still as stone as his eyes narrow, trying to gauge my sincerity.
So I continue. “This isn’t my future. I can’t explain it, but this club doesn’t feel right for me.
I know you think we’re wrong for what we did, but I see a future with someone like I’ve never seen before, and while I’m sure someday she would follow me, I’m too scared to leave her now and risk the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.
” I take another step toward him. “It’s more than just missing her, but it’s like I’ve found a new reason…
a new dream…and I’m sorry, but this club isn’t it. ”
He still doesn’t speak, not even when I clasp a hand on his arm. Not even when I turn my back on him and walk back toward the hotel where I’m staying.
I don’t hear from him all night, so I book myself a train ride back home.
As I sit on the train and think about everything that’s happened in the last month or even the last year, I realize that I’ve dragged my feet on so much change in my life. Even though retiring was my idea, I never truly accepted it.
When I started to develop feelings for Amelia, I resisted it.
When she presented me with a life and a future that sounded like a dream, I denied it.
What is holding me back? What is it that I truly want in this life?
And it’s remembering the night I walked her home that suddenly helps me to realize it—the night I told her about my childhood, growing up in Paris. The night I shared with her what made my mother so special.
It wasn’t money or fame or anything grand. It was the simple things. The magic in the little moments.
Suddenly, I see a future so clearly.
And I know exactly what I must do to get it.