NEW YORK CITY in the summertime is hot and boring. No one is around during the weekends because they all get the hell out of this place, going to the Hamptons to escape the oppressive heat. The city is dirty and gritty, and the hot air makes everyone so grumpy.
This is why I remain holed up in the penthouse apartment West leased for us. It’s on the Upper West Side, in a beautifully quiet neighborhood full of elegant brownstones filled with equally elegant families. We’re not too far from Central Park and the New York City Ballet is nearby as well. I haven’t had a chance to go and watch a performance yet.
I’m not in the mood to make myself sad.
The ankle is getting better, though it’s still not perfect. Most of the swelling has gone down and I can put light pressure on my foot. West hovers like a nagging mother every time I’m on my feet, watching my every move like a hawk, and it’s annoying yet somehow also sweet, because it shows that he cares.
At least someone does.
I have lunch with my father and he asks endless questions about West while I give him only minimal answers. He doesn’t need to know about my relationship, and I know that drives him out of his mind because I’m leaving him in the dark and he hates that. He wants to know everything.
Let him wonder. He doesn’t need to know every single detail.
I see my sister often. She’s back together with her first love, Spencer. They seem really happy together and she looks good. The best I’ve ever seen her. She’s pushed our mother out of her life almost completely and I think that helps. Doesn’t hurt that Spencer is so attentive, wanting to make sure she’s safe. He’s so in love with her and I can’t help but think of my relationship with West.
I don’t tell my sister much about us either. I spend time with Whit and Summer, and I don’t even bring up his name. It’s not that I’m trying to hide him or keep him a secret from everyone, I just don’t want to have to explain to them what’s going on. Especially when I don’t even know what’s really going on.
I’m in the dark, just like everyone else.
We’ve already been here for two weeks and West spends most of his days away at the New York offices of Fontaine, or at the lawyer’s office. Going over the paperwork, making sure everything is in order for the transition. This deal is so huge, he knows that people are watching. Every single moving part has to fall into place perfectly or it could be a potential disaster.
Today he’s been at his attorney’s office all afternoon, while I’ve been stuck in this apartment bored out of my mind. When he finally texts me that he’s almost finished, I send him a text in return, demanding he take me out to dinner.
West: Be ready in thirty minutes. Meet me downstairs. I’ll let you know when I’m there.
Within thirty minutes, I’m out on the street after carefully making my way down the steps, clad in a cream-colored sundress with tiny pale pink flowers scattered all over the fabric and a flat, brown leather sandal on one foot, a walking boot on the other. It’s awkward and it makes getting around difficult most of the time, but it definitely helps.
My hair is scraped up into a tight bun on top of my head and I have no makeup on, deciding to go natural. I might not look my best, but I feel good. Better than I have in weeks and I practically skip toward his car—a boring old BMW, I miss the Aston Martin—when he finally pulls up to the curb.
The window slides down, revealing West sitting in the driver’s seat wearing a crisp white shirt with black trousers. No tie of course. It’s too hot for one and he’s got his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his torso like he’s some sort of sex-crazed dancer in a 1970’s disco. All that he’s missing is a gold chain.
“What is up with the shirt?” I hobble over to the car so I can lean in through the passenger side window.
He grins, not even offended. “You don’t like it?”
“The longer I get to know you, the more buttons you leave undone on your shirts. I don’t think I like it.”
West jumps out of the car and rounds the front, opening the door for me like a gentleman. “Get in,” he instructs with a wave of his hand.
I settle into the seat, amused at him slamming the door and jogging around the car before he slips back into the driver’s seat. “Are you telling me you don’t want me wearing my shirts like this?”
“I don’t want women seeing what I’ve already got.”
“You trying to keep me under wraps?” Oh, he appears even more pleased with himself. I should not indulge this man’s ego.
But it’s like I can’t help myself.
“Maybe,” I tease.
He touches my leg, his fingers curving around toward the inside of my thigh. “I like the dress.”
“Thank you.”
“You look pretty.” He removes his hand, and I miss it.
“Even with the boot?” I point toward the unwieldly contraption on my foot.
“Especially with the boot.” He frowns. “Is your ankle bothering you? Should we do this another time?”
“Oh my God, no. I need to get out. Please. I really haven’t gone anywhere since we got here.” Oh, I did go to my sister’s “tea party,” which turned into an epic disaster. We were having so much fun hanging out with family and friends. Even my father was enjoyable, regaling us with stories of his youth.
Then our mother showed up to cause a scene and ruined everything.
Typical.
“I have a suggestion for dinner.” West pulls out onto the street, merging seamlessly with the heavy traffic.
“Where do you want to go?”
“There’s a French restaurant that opened up not even a year ago in Soho and everyone raves about it.” He glances over at me quickly before returning his attention to the road. “I want to take you there. In honor of where we first met.”
“You mean Paris?”
He grins, his gaze sliding to mine. Oh, he looks handsome. I really don’t mind the open shirt front. It’s quite sexy. “I mean Paris.”
“Where you met the stupid girl who pretended to be French and you forgot to mention that you’re fluent?”
“Ha, yeah.” He settles his hand on my leg once more, his touch possessive. “And the woman wasn’t stupid. She was just—young. And beautiful. I was completely gone for her.”
I smile, ducking my head. I love it when he says things like that. “You were so cocky.”
“Was I?”
“Definitely.”
“I thought I was more … persistent than arrogant.”
“You were that too.” I shake my head, remembering the night vividly. “I was a terror.”
“A sexy terror.”
“Rude and abrasive. I said the worst things.”
“I loved every moment of that night.” His fingers slide up, terribly close to my panties. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
“You still would’ve got the tattoo?”
“I definitely would’ve got the tattoo. I don’t regret that decision at all.”
“I don’t regret mine either.” It means so much, his words on my skin. I stare at it sometimes in the mirror, after I’ve gotten out of the shower. When he wrote the words and how it tickled. The meaning behind the words, and how much he matters to me.
He’s the most thoughtful man. I’m so lucky he’s mine.
“Is this place good?” I ask, changing the subject. “The restaurant we’re going to?”
“That’s what I keep hearing. Plus, it looks fun.”
“Fun?”
“The food is good. The drinks, excellent, and the atmosphere is … sexy.” He smirks.
“Sexy?” I keep saying everything like it’s a question. How annoying.
Yet West doesn’t seem bothered at all.
“There’s an evening burlesque show. Red lights. Bottle service. It’s like a big party every single night.”
“How sexy will I feel with this stupid boot on my foot?” I glare at it, suddenly hating that I still have to wear it.
“You’re sexy no matter what.”
“And I’m not twenty-one yet.”
“No one will care.” His hand slides up, the side of it brushing the front of my panties. “They’ll let me in. It won’t matter.”
“Oh, and I can’t get in on my name?” I arch a brow, feeling challenged.
He laughs. “Fontaine is currently in everyone’s mouths.”
“Better not be.” He sends me a questioning look. “I’m the only one who should have a Fontaine in my mouth.”
More laughter, and it sounds so good. “Trust me, baby. You are.”
THE RESTAURANT IS JUST as West described. Moody elegance with an impressive bar that nearly takes up an entire wall. We walk into a crowded lobby, my gaze scanning the room, noting that every table appears occupied.
No need to worry, though. West drops his last name to the host and without hesitation the man leads us to a quiet table with deep blue velvet booth seats. I scoot in somewhat awkwardly thanks to the boot, West directly behind me, settling in so close I worry how we’ll eat without elbowing each other in the face.
“What do you think?” he asks once the host leaves us alone. He glances around the room as he slides his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers dangling close to my bare shoulder.
“It’s beautiful.” I check the drink menu, concentrating on the many choices listed. Our server appears, asking if we’d like any drinks to start and West lets him know what we want without hesitation, ordering the cocktail that sounds closest to an espresso martini on the menu.
“How did you know that’s what I wanted?” I ask him once the server leaves.
“I know what you like.” West smiles at me, his fingers tickling my bare shoulder. “What do you want to eat?”
“I need to look at the menu first.” I scan my options, deciding on the fish while West declares he’s going to order the filet mignon. He gives me an update on what’s going on with the House of Fontaine and I let my gaze wander around the room, noting how happy everyone looks here. People are smiling and laughing. Conversations are loud and every server rushes around the place with big grins on their faces.
“Why are you smiling?” West’s arm drops to my shoulders, pulling me in close, and I lean my head against his side, sighing when he kisses my forehead.
“Everyone in this restaurant is smiling. It’s so … refreshing.”
“You haven’t been happy?” The concern in his voice is obvious.
I pull away slightly so I can look into his eyes, noting the faint worry there. “My entire life, I don’t think I’ve been happy. Not really. Until …”
“Until what?” he asks quietly.
All the noise surrounding us blurs and all I can concentrate on is West. His handsome face and beautiful eyes. The way he’s watching me, his arm a solid weight on my shoulders, his fingers drifting over my skin. It’s as if he can’t stop touching me, and I rest my hand on his thigh, needing the contact.
“Until I met you,” I admit.
He yanks me in for a crushing hug, and I’m thankful for the booth seating and how it allows us to touch each other easily. “I almost fucked everything up.”
“What do you mean?”
He lets go of me, though he remains close, his arm still slung around my shoulders. “I was an idiot for not contacting you sooner. For letting you go for two years. I could’ve lost you. I did lose you.”
My heart pangs. “You earned your way back in.”
“And I was in pure panic mode the entire time,” he admits.
“You were?” I’m surprised.
He nods, his gaze never straying from mine. It’s like he can’t stop looking at me. “I thought for sure you’d reject me. I deserved to be rejected. What I did … I hurt you, Carolina. So fucking bad. I feel terrible for how I treated you. It wasn’t fair, how I left and never contacted you for two entire years. Like … what the hell was wrong with me?”
West sounds tormented. He looks even worse. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are ruddy. He’s so upset at the thought of what he did to me, and that makes my heart swell with emotion.
“It’s okay.” I touch his cheek, cupping the side of his face and he leans into my palm, his eyes falling closed for the briefest moment. “Don’t let it bother you. Not anymore. We’re together now. You were young and you were overwhelmed. Grieving.”
“I was drowning,” he adds, turning his face so he can kiss my palm, his warm lips sending a shiver up my arm. “And then I realized one day I had to work my hardest to get you back into my life.”
“When you saw me at Whit’s wedding?”
“Before that.”
My mouth drops open. “Before that? What, when you were dating Madison and realized she looks like me?”
He starts to laugh, my hand falling away from his face, and I try to be mad, but it’s no use.
I can’t be mad at him. Not anymore.
“No, before Madison. When I came back to New York with my mother. I knew you were in London. The invitation to your brother’s wedding sort of fell into my lap and I felt like it was fate.”
Fate with a lot of help from my scheming mother, but I don’t mention that.
“I knew I would always be with you,” he continues, his gaze glowing as he takes me in. “And now here we are.”
My smile is small, pleasure suffusing my body at the idea that we were always meant to be. “Here we are.”
The server appears with our drinks and takes our dinner order, rushing away the minute West finishes speaking. I lift my glass in a toast and West does the same, waiting for me.
“To us,” I murmur.
He clinks his glass with mine. “To us.”
We drink, never taking our eyes off of each other, and the alcohol slips through my veins, warming my skin. My belly. I keep sipping, eventually finishing the entire glass in a short amount of time. I can’t help but laugh when a bunch of servers come out of the back dressed in costume, looking like they’re about to fight in a revolution, wearing white wigs and carrying fake guns that shoot out glittery confetti. The lights dim and music starts to play. People start dancing, taking their white cloth napkins and twirling them above their heads. Some of them are even dancing on the bar top. Bottle sparklers shine in the darkness and all I can do is stare.
It’s not even nine o’clock and we’re in full party mode.
“Fun, right?” West murmurs close to my ear.
Nodding, I turn to him, letting him kiss me. No one is paying attention to us, and even if they were, I have enough alcohol coursing through my veins already that it doesn’t really matter.
I’m enjoying myself too much to care.
