The name and the question made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“It’s nothing.” He gripped his mug tighter. “Just—just a girl.”
“I knew it!”
“Please.”
“What’s her name? What does she do? Is she French? I bet she’s French.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He set his mug down before he could break it. “She’s gone now.” He put his hands on the counter and faced away from her. Fuck, this hurt to admit. “It’s over.”
He tried to remind himself: It had been over before it had begun.
Kate hesitated, standing at the base of a set of white marble steps. It was one of her very favorite parts of the Louvre. Above her loomed Winged Victory, the huge statue she’d seen with Rylan that very first day, when he’d taken her here to try to earn her trust. This was the path they had taken. Just a few more twists and turns and she’d be back in the rooms where he’d charmed her, looking at beautiful, enormous paintings. Waxed philosophical about Greek mythology and told her about his family. If any of that had even been true. Bitterness welled up at the back of her throat.
But then she hesitated. His tales about the rich, socialite mother who’d taken him to art museums when the family visited Paris on business—they fit with the confessions he’d made once she’d figured him out. So maybe not every story he’d sucked her in with had been a lie. Just the majority of them.
If only she could go back in time and shake her former self. Open her eyes and save herself so much heartache. All the signs had been there. She was the idiot who’d refused to read them.
She dug her nails into her palm. And he’d been the asshole to let her believe what she wanted to.
She was blocking up the flow of traffic, standing where she was. Sighing at herself, she changed direction and headed away from the stairs, back toward the gallery she’d just been through. There were entire sections of the museum they hadn’t made it to. She was going to hit as many of them as she could.
This was what she’d come to Paris for in the first place, after all. Not to have some torrid love affair, or to fall head over heels for a beautiful, tousle-haired, blue-eyed boy.
A rich, lying, confused, sad man.
She was here for art and beauty and culture. To find her muse, and she’d found it all right. She’d happened upon a whole new style of drawing that she was going to take home with her, and into whatever was next for her life.
She didn’t need him to make the art come to life. Didn’t have to conjure the feeling of him at her spine to get her drawings to come out right. She didn’t.
She wouldn’t.
The next morning, Lexie slammed a briefcase down on the coffee table.
Rylan looked at it for a long second, then turned his attention back to his phone. “Nice. But I prefer black leather. Brown snakeskin is a little feminine.”
“You asshole.”
“Yes, dear?”
It was pointless, but he tapped the refresh icon on his email again. When nothing happened, his throat threatened to close on him.
There were so many things he’d never asked Kate about. He didn’t know where in New York she lived or what her parents’ names were. He knew she’d gotten into Columbia for graduate school, but he didn’t know if she’d take the offer, and if she didn’t, he didn’t know where she’d end up working.
He knew that she was leaving the country today, at some unspecified time, on some unspecified flight. He hadn’t expected her to contact him, and the same restraint that had kept him from running after her when she’d walked out of their hotel room had stopped him from sending a message of his own.
But she was leaving. Soon. It already felt like she was a little bit farther away.
Lexie shoved the briefcase closer. “These are all of the reports you’re legally entitled to as Dad’s proxy.”
“Wonderful. I needed some kindling.”
“Goddammit, Teddy.”
He snapped his head up. “I told you not to call me that.”
“And I told you to come home.” For a second her mouth wavered, real emotion in those cool, distant eyes.
It made him pause. “Lex . . .”
“Please. I can’t do this without you. Legally, I’m not allowed to.” She took a deep breath and dropped her arms to her side. “I don’t want to do this alone. Dad built this company from nothing. It’s all we have left.”
“He should have given it all to you.”
“Yeah.” She said it unironically. “After the way you flaked, he should have. But he didn’t.” She looked him right in the eye. “Please. Rylan.” Her voice shivered as she gave in and used his actual name. “I know he fucked you over. Him and Mom, both. They fucked us all over, up, down, and sideways. But we can make something of it.”
“Like what?”
“A life? A family?” Her half attempt at a smile crumpled. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a stupid idea. But it matters to me. And you being okay matters to me, too.”
He leaned back against the couch. “I’m always all right.”
“No. You’re not.” She crossed the room to the bag he’d somehow failed to notice her packing. She put on her jacket and lifted the handle of the suitcase. “I told you before. You can’t run forever.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“A fact.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell you what to do. Obviously. But I’m worried about you. I’m mad at them, too, but I want to make something of what they left us. If you change your mind . . .”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Please, Rylan. If you won’t leave with me today . . . the next board of directors meeting is in a few months.” Her expression went pleading. “It’s our last chance.”
His chest constricted, his throat catching.
One of the emails he hadn’t replied to had warned him they were coming up on the date. Ninety days out from the sentencing, the now provisional board had taken over, with a one-year mandate of stewardship. Once that year was up, the Bellamy family had a final chance to restake their claim, and then that was it. Everything his father had built and destroyed—everything he himself had helped build . . .
He’d get to watch it all be swept away. A silent shareholder with a front-row seat to witness his legacy as it burned.
He should have laughed. Should have been delighted to watch it go.
But there was something. This quiet voice in his heart, one Kate had awoken.
It told him he was better than sitting here idly. He could make something of his life.
He pushed it down and returned his gaze to his phone. He could go back there, all right. But if he did, his life would never be his own.
With a sigh, Lexie rolled her suitcase across the carpet to him. Bending at the waist, she dipped to press a kiss to his cheek. “Come home. Help me fix this.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
But he couldn’t promise her any of that.
Letting go, he said, “Have a safe trip back, Lex.”
Something in her face fell. She turned around without saying anything else.
He didn’t watch her walk away from him, luggage in hand. He’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime this week. Instead, he buried his gaze in the screen of his phone.
And he hit refresh. Again.
Kate heaved out a sigh as she plunked herself down in the lone free chair at the airport internet café. Around her, people were moving, wheeling around their tiny suitcases and checking their passports. She tucked her own boarding pass and travel documents into the front pocket of her purse, her security wallet relegated to the bottom of her carry-on at last.
With an hour and a half left before her flight took off, and her gate only a flight of stairs away, she let herself relax. It hadn’t been easy, getting herself packed up and checked out of her hostel, or carrying her things down to the Metro, or enduring the long ride out to Charles de Gaulle. But she’d done it by herself, and now it was over.