Andre says nothing as I walk away, trench coat swishing around my calves. I抦 annoyed with myself. A fling with a Frenchman sounds perfect. It抯 been weeks since I had sex. I can track it to one night, even. After Crew chased Evan away, I didn抰 cast my metaphorical net out again. I turned down the two men who approached me later that evening. I knew I抎 have the same problem with them that I would have had with Andre.
I抎 pretend it was Crew kissing me. Touching me. I refuse to do that. It would be a concession of the worst sort. I抎 rather be celibate than let one man fuck me while pretending he was someone else.
It would let Crew win in the worst way.
He only has as much influence over me as I allow him to have.
The street is crowded with chatter and laughter. I don抰 stop at any of the rowdy bars I pass, which are all filled with Andres with arousing accents and smooth suggestions. The only spot I stop at is a wine shop on the same block as my hotel. I pick up a bottle of Bordeaux and carry it like a newborn into the lobby and up the stairs to the third floor.
My room is spacious, and yet I head out onto the tiny balcony that juts off the side of the hotel and overlooks the Seine. It抯 barely large enough for the one chair out here. I kick off my heels, shed my coat, and use the corkscrew provided in the room to open the bottle. I rest my toes on the wrought-iron railing and stare at the city lights, occasionally taking sips of the tart wine.
I could be in Andre抯 bed right now, having sweet nothings whispered in my ear in French and warm hands running across my skin. Instead, I抦 quickly nursing the bottle equivalent of my third glass of wine. I抣l feel like shit in the morning.
My flight leaves early tomorrow, so I抣l be back in Manhattan by noon. I抣l likely have to face him before brunch with Sophie and Nadia the following morning.
It抯 been complete and total silence from Crew since I left after the wedding. No asking if I landed safely. No wondering when I抦 coming home. Nothing at all.
Exactly what I wanted梬hat I thought I wanted.
Instead, I think of him saying I抦 not pretending. Recall the feel of his lips against mine. Chastise myself for doing both.
Crew is a cliff. Dangerous. Challenging. One wrong step could be catastrophic.
You抮e stronger than this, Scarlett.
I抦 not, though. Not when I抦 alone with no chance of facing consequences. That抯 confirmed when I slip my phone out of my pocket and log into the security app for my penthouse. It抯 just past one a.m. here. Crew is reliably home by seven p.m. Earlier than I ever used to return. I wonder if his schedule will change once I抦 back in New York. If he抣l avoid being in our shared home, the same way I will.
I flip through the cameras until I find him. He抯 in the kitchen, talking to Phillipe. There抯 sound but I don抰 turn it on. I drink wine from the bottle and watch my husband梥till bizarre to think, let alone say梩alk to Phillipe while eating a plate of pasta. His suit jacket is off, but his tie is still on, hanging slightly crooked as he twirls pasta on his fork and smiles.
He抯 home and alone.
I fall asleep watching him.
I missed Manhattan.
I didn抰 realize how much until I step onto the tarmac outside the private wing of JFK. The sight of the skyline is an unexpected relief, like treating a wound you just realized was inflicted. My lungs fill with the scent of exhaust and wet cement. The commotion wakes me more than the espresso I downed on the plane.
A car is waiting. I climb inside and instruct the driver to take me to my office. Leah, my assistant, and Andrea, the head of my editorial section, both know the real reason why I spent the past two weeks in Paris. The rest of Haute抯 employees know it was a work trip, just not as part of a new endeavor.
I抦 going to need to delegate most of my responsibilities at either Haute or rouge梬hat I抳e decided to name my clothing line梑ut I haven抰 decided how to handle either yet. Managing both might be possible once I have more of a design team in place for the clothing label. I抦 happy to spend as little time at my penthouse as possible. Juggling two demanding roles is a certain way to accomplish that.
My arrival back at the office causes a stir. I stride past the cubicles and down to my corner office, half-listening to Leah as she trots beside me, spouting off everything I抦 supposed to handle today.
I feel like shit. I changed out of a wrinkled sundress on the plane, into the tight sheath dress I抦 wearing now. The stiff fabric feels constrictive. My head is pounding and my limbs feel heavy. Three hours of sleep and most of a bottle of wine might not have been setting myself up for success today.
Crew抯 fault.
Two weeks away from him were supposed to settle me. Remind me of how little my life has changed and that my priorities haven抰 shifted. Scarlett Kensington can be the same person as Scarlett Ellsworth was.