Chapter 52
EVANGELINE
Itrail my fingertips along the quartz countertop as I make one last pass through the bathroom. It’s been a bittersweet morning, packing up so I can head to my assigned hotel room for the rest of the week.
Though I woke up alone, evidence of Alaric’s thoughtfulness was everywhere.
He left a single rose for me in the kitchen, along with coffee and the most delectable pain au chocolat.
He also left me a note, reminding me that he had a meeting this morning but promising he would be back by lunchtime so we could eat together before I head to the hotel.
The truth is, I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want to walk away from this perfect bubble of bliss we’ve created for ourselves.
Alaric’s condo has become our sanctuary.
I’m comfortable here, which is a big deal for a place I’ve only been for one week.
That sensation has less to do with the physical location than with the man who’s welcomed me into his home and his life with such stoic, consistent, sincere adoration.
I’m double-checking the bedroom side table when the front door opens.
“Evangeline?”
Giddiness bubbles up inside me at the sound of my name on his lips.
“In the bedroom.” I snag the charger I left plugged into the wall and coil it up as I head toward the door.
He meets me at the threshold, his hands shoved into his pockets.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to register the heaviness surrounding him. His meeting must not have gone as well as he hoped. Or maybe he’s also feeling the weight of our impending separation.
I’ll miss him something fierce, but we already have plans to meet up on Thursday night. Then I’ll be back here again for a few days before we head to Austin.
“Hey,” I chirp, stroking his cheek.
He smiles down at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “All packed?” he asks, scanning the room over my shoulder.
“Mostly. I keep thinking of little things I should do or double-check before I go. I really, really don’t want to go,” I admit with a scrunch of my nose.
His responding hum is strangely noncommittal.
A tickle of disappointment dances up my spine, but I shove it down. What was I expecting him to say to that? We both know the reality of the situation.
Pushing the concern from my mind, I ask, “How was your meeting?”
He blows out a long breath and scans the bedroom once again.
I search his face, but he’s looking everywhere but at me. Another surge of apprehension floods my system.
“It wasn’t great,” he eventually replies, checking his watch like he has somewhere else to be.
My nose itches and the threat of tears prickles behind my eyes.
Hold your nerve, Evan.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?” I ask brightly. Too brightly. Oh god. Now I’m overcompensating. I don’t know what’s wrong. Alaric never acts this aloof toward me.
He just told you his meeting wasn’t great, I silently reprimand. The man’s allowed to have a bad day. His entire existence doesn’t revolve around you.
He glances down at me, only letting me catch his eye for a flash. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with. It’s a team issue, really. I have some logistical matters to work out that weren’t on my radar for this week.”
Oh. Okay, then.
“I’m going to finish up and then head out soon,” I tell him. Unless he gives me a reason to delay. Unless he asks me to stay.
“All right. I’ve got to get on a call in my office.”
I shift from hip to hip, at a loss for how to act. Maybe he’s dreading the separation as much as I am. Maybe he’s hiding behind this cool facade to keep the pain from setting in. Or maybe he really is having a tough day.
He mentioned lunch in the note he left me this morning. Should I ask about that? I’m not particularly hungry, but it would at least buy us a little more time. Although I don’t want him to feel like he has to cook for me, given the unexpected team issues he has to deal with.
“I’ll come say goodbye before I leave?” The statement comes out as a question, the lack of confidence seeping into me making me feel ridiculously small.
He exhales a shuddering breath, then gives me a small shake of his head. “I’m in meetings most of the afternoon, then have to head to an event tonight.”
His eyes meet mine then—finally—but there’s an unfamiliar iciness there. He’s almost unrecognizable in this moment. Standoffish. Detached. He’s holding my gaze, but he’s looking through me instead of really seeing me.
Pathetically, my eyes well with tears.
Something’s not right. He’s hurting. Or distracted. It’s on the tip of my tongue to press the issue, to insist he tell me what’s really wrong or to beg him to tell me what I can do to help.
Before I can, he leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be seeing you,” he murmurs. And with that, he turns and stalks toward his home office.
I decided to wait, intent on saying a proper goodbye. Our interaction earlier was off: he was preoccupied, and I was too in my head. I didn’t even thank him for the amazing week.
I’ve spent the last few hours on the balcony, working on admin tasks for Granata and reflecting on this week. The last several days have been some of the best of my life.
Alaric makes me feel seen. Wanted. Important. Valued.
He’s proven to me that I don’t have to settle for tolerance or casual interest alone. I deserve passion and pleasure. I should ask for what I want and expect to receive it.
I want more: more time together, more opportunities to shut out the rest of the world and find sanctuary in each other’s arms. It’s that deep, unwavering desire that prolonged my afternoon and gave me the courage to do what I’m about to do.
“You’re still here.”
I startle, turning away from the ledge where I’ve been watching the sun begin to set.
He looks dapper in his dark suit. He forwent a tie and left the top few buttons of the crimson dress shirt open.
A thrill shoots through me, though there are nerves there, too, as I rush toward him.
“What if I stayed?” It’s all I’ve thought about over the last few hours. My desire to stay. My certainty that he wants this, too.
I shuffle closer, stepping into his personal space, fully expecting him to curl himself around me.
He hovers, that same hesitation I clocked earlier swimming in his dark eyes. But then he captures my chin and tips my head back.
My heart flip-flops. But he doesn’t make a move to kiss me.
Instead, he releases a shuddering breath and gives an incremental shake of his head. “That’s not an option, I’m afraid.”
I knew he’d be too logical about this. That’s why I’ve already concocted a plan.
I drape my arms around his neck, slinking closer. “What if I checked into the hotel tonight and used the room as home base? That way I can make sure I’m seen in the lobby. But then each night…” I waggle my eyebrows, hopeful that he’ll see the vision.
He grimaces. “I can’t allow you to do that, angel. Not only would it be misappropriation of company resources, but it would be too risky for your career.”
Wait. What?
I stagger back, genuinely stunned by his outright rejection. Since when has he cared about company resources in the context of our relationship? After everything that’s transpired this week…
I press my hands to my head, fighting like hell to regroup. To make sense of his words. And to keep myself calm. “What do you mean it would be too risky for my career? How does any of this affect my business?”
He swallows audibly. “I wasn’t referring to your business. I was talking about your future in Formula 1.”
I deflate, calming my breathing and recalibrating.
Slipping my hands into the deep pockets of my paper bag shorts, I shuffle a few steps closer once more.
“I don’t care about a career in Formula 1.
” It’s a bold statement, but it’s 100 percent true.
“I only took this job so I could make extra money and travel as planned. But now…”
I reach out to brush a few loose strands of hair off his face.
He shifts back. The move is slight, but it’s enough to rebuff my advance.
Heart stopping, I gape at him. As I take him in, I note the stiffness of his posture and the way he’s balled his hands into fists at his sides.
With a huff, he shakes his head, once again focusing on a spot just past my shoulder.
Why won’t he look at me?
“We can’t even be seen together in public, Evangeline. That’s not fair to you,” he says, falling back on the tired line I thought we’d moved past. “You deserve to be cherished all the time, without risk or reservation.”
This conversation is giving me whiplash. When it comes to the optics of this relationship, am I supposed to be more concerned with my pseudo-career or with what I allegedly deserve?
Steeling my spine, I plant my hands on my hips. “What about what I want?”
He narrows his eyes, the usually warm brown irises colder than I’ve ever seen them. At least he’s finally looking me in the eye.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You’re standing here telling me what I deserve.
I’m telling you directly, without conditions, what I want.
This is it.” I lift both hands in a helpless shrug.
“I don’t care about working in Formula 1, and I don’t care about what people might say or think when they learn about our relationship. I just want you.”
Tension crackles between us, but it isn’t the warm, tingly kind I’m so used to when I’m facing off with this man.
This is different.
This is… iniquitous.
Alaric’s throat bobs as he swallows slowly. His gaze darkens even more the longer he looks at me. With unwavering composure, he whispers, “I think we need to pump the brakes.”
The world spins, confusion swirling into a vortex of abject dejection.
Did I walk into a parallel universe? Why does it feel like we’re having two distinctly different conversations?
“There’s too much risk if we continue on the way we have been,” he says, his tone short. “What we have is…” He trails off, focus darting around the terrace. “It can’t possibly be worth the fallout.”
Fat, angry tears cascade down my cheeks.
Sniffling, I wipe them away with the back of my hand. None of this makes sense. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
“What is going on?” I take a cautious step forward, the way I would if I were approaching a wild animal.
He shifts back incrementally, maintaining his distance.
This can’t really be happening, can it?
I clear my throat and try again. “You’re not telling me everything. You can’t be. Something happened. Or something changed between last night and today.”
He blows out a long breath, head bowed, and says, “I’m sorry.
This isn’t a conversation I wanted to have, but it’s better to cut ties now then to allow ourselves to carry on like we have been.
We can’t keep sneaking around, pretending like there’s a future for us.
” He glances at his watch, grimacing. “I’m running late; I should get going. ”
My heart cracks in half. No.
If he leaves… if I let him walk out that door…
“When will I see you next?” I ask, my voice pathetic and shaky. I hate myself for being so weak, but I’m desperate. I have to fight for us, even if he won’t.
“Evangeline.”
There it is. My name on his lips. That hopeful, reverent tone he saves just for me.
Except he’s still not looking at me. He’s focused on his feet, on those shiny patent leather shoes.
This is my shot.
With a breath in, I stride forward and wrap my arms around his waist.
He catches me. The reaction is instant, causing hope and an immediate rush of relief to wash over me.
But rather than pull me in, he gently peels me away from his body and takes a step back, whispering, “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Wait.
Fuck.
No.
“Alaric. Please. Don’t do this,” I beg, the two halves of my heart crumbling.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, the apology offered to those stupid shiny shoes rather than me.
Pain and heartache fog my senses, making it impossible to hold my nerve the way I work so hard to do.
“What happened to no regrets?” I demand, scrubbing at the tears that won’t stop falling.
He doesn’t respond, and when I finally catch my breath and clear the moisture from my eyes, all I see is the backside of his head as he walks out the door.