Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Winnie? Winnie, are you here?” I took a good look around the living area, then headed to my bedroom, the first flash of panic rising in my throat.
I moved to the adjoining room he’d been using as a personal closet for the past few weeks, my heart in my stomach. It was…empty.
He was gone.
Gone.
His closet was pristine—no shoes, no hats, no colorful coats or scarves. The bathroom had been cleared out—no toothbrush, no luxury moisturizer he claimed made him look five years younger, no fancy shampoos and conditioners, no makeup strewn across the counter.
I was well aware of Winnie’s capacity to fill a room. His presence was tangible and magnetic. I could feel when he was near…the scent of him, the aura of him.
But I was unprepared for the complete…absence of him.
I ransacked the space, hoping to find clues. I tossed pillows around, pushed aside the curtains, looked under the beds.
Nothing.
Just nothing.
I spotted the tiny Eiffel Tower ornament he’d bought weeks ago next to a note scribbled on a sheet of hotel paper on my desk.
We took Paris…together. Think of me when the Eiffel Tower shimmers at night and know that I’m thinking of you.
Yours, Win xo
I read the note over and over. He hadn’t said good-bye, per se, but this was obviously a “thanks for the good time, glad we met, have a great life” letter.
I replayed our conversation that morning. No, we hadn’t talked much. We’d made love, and it was wonderful. Perhaps a little desperate or maybe that was me. Last night, he’d said a job interview had come up, and his old life was calling. I’d told him we’d make it work, but he hadn’t replied. He’d already made his decision.
And it wasn’t me.
I fumbled for my phone and called him.
No answer.
I texted.
Nothing.
My heart clenched. It was as if someone had ripped open my ribs, reached into my chest, and crushed it in a vise grip. I wasn’t new to heartache, and I wasn’t new to being left behind. I’d been someone’s second choice and quite frankly, it was bollocks. But Winnie was nothing like Colin.
This wasn’t a repeat.
This was just…something wonderful that ended too soon.
One week later, I was a pathetic mess. I couldn’t eat or sleep and…I was worried. My mind was so firmly stuck on a man who lived a continent away that my concentration on ancient history had gone tits up.
And I couldn’t let go. I left Winnie countless voice messages and texts.
“You must be home now. Please call me.”
Text me if you’d prefer. I just want to know that you’re okay.
“Professor? Professor?” Raine jostled my arm, his brow knit with concern. “Are you all right? You were zoning out.”
Again.
I pushed away from my desk, nodding like a puppet with a broken string. “Fine. I’m fine. Did you need something?”
“No, do you?” he countered, leaning on the corner of my desk.
“No, I’m—I’m not so fine.”
“I know. You’ve been so quiet this week. What’s wrong?”
“No, I’m—I don’t know what I am.” Heartbroken, mentally ravaged, chronically sad…take your pick.
“Are you ill?”
“No, I’m—” I raked my fingers through my hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “Why did you send Winnie to Paris with me, Raine?”
A slow smile lit Raine’s face. “Because he’s fun. And I figured if anyone could get you to leave your post for an hour or two a day, it would be Win.”
“Oh.”
“You told me it went well. I saw the write-up about the event on the World Archeology page and they said—”
“Everything went well,” I intercepted. “Yes, Winnie was…helpful.”
“Good. I’m glad. I talked to him yesterday. He interviewed for a new job and he starts next week. I thought he’d be ecstatic ’cause the timing couldn’t have been better, but he sounded blue. Like…really sad. That’s so not Win. I think he misses Paris.”
“Oh, right.”
Paris.
“I think he misses you too,” Raine added.
My gaze snapped to his, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
He knew? I had questions, but nothing I said would make any sense at the moment. We were thousands of miles apart, and there was a good chance we were both bloody miserable.
Either way, there was something I needed to say. Something Winnie needed to know. It wasn’t too late. There was still a chance. I just had to do something crazy like—
“I’m going to LA, Raine.”
Los Angeles was beautiful in October with blue skies, endless sunshine, and a lovely breeze off the Pacific Ocean. The traffic, on the other hand, was hideous. My driver played a medley of songs with a frenzied electric drumbeat as we crawled at a snail’s pace on the freeway and east on Santa Monica Boulevard toward West Hollywood.
Palm trees warred with billboards for scenery on the congested roads. It looked nothing like London.
I stared out the window, painfully aware that I had no plan whatsoever. I should have done this in Paris. Flying to California on a whim reeked of desperation. Accurate description but perhaps not something I was keen to advertise.