AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tomás snorted. “I’m not quite that bad, but I…” He sighed. “I’ve never been in a relationship, so I don’t have experience navigating these things.”
“Never? Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so surprised.”
He was quiet for a bit. “I never wanted to be in one. With our jobs, it didn’t seem like it could ever work. We travel so much and… It’s not as glamorous as it seems. It’s hard work and requires sacrifices, like taking great care of our bodies, eating healthy, doing whatever is needed to stay in shape. I never saw how I could combine that with being in a relationship. Plus, there was Tiago, you know?”
I’d never seen this side of Tomás, and I almost felt guilty, as if I’d gotten him to divulge something he’d wanted to keep hidden. “Now that he has Cas, have things changed?”
If I hadn’t been studying him, I would’ve missed the flash of pain in his eyes. “Everything has changed, and I’m still trying to figure out what’s next for me.”
“I’m sure it’s been a big shift for both of you.”
It was like a mask slid into place, the pain now hidden behind his charming smile. “I’ll be fine.”
His message couldn’t have been clearer if he’d put up a billboard. The silence settling over the room felt heavier than the blankets tangled around our legs, almost stifling.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, thank you for everything.”
“Yeah, that was…intense.”
I chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, it was.” I fidgeted with the corner of the sheet, not knowing where to rest them or what to do. “I’m sorry about the crying. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”
“No harm done.”
He got up from the bed, sleek as a jaguar, and grabbed his clothes. My belly fluttered. Funny how in everything we’d shared, I hadn’t thought of him as Tomás Banner once, except for now. As if he’d become the model again instead of the man I’d known.
“Is there anything else you need?” Tomás asked, hesitating by the door, his voice laced with concern. But I also sensed the underlying desire for distance, for space to process everything that had happened between us.
“No, I’m good.” I forced a smile despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me.
“Okay, then I’ll give you some privacy. You can use the shower if you want. I’ll use the one in the other guest room.”
“Thank—”
He’d closed the door behind him. Wow, okay. He’d perfected the art of love ‘em and leave ‘em, that was clear. Not that I blamed him. He’d already gotten more than he’d bargained for with my crying fit.
With a deep sigh, I got up from the bed. Time to go home. No way in hell would I use the bathroom and risk still being here when Tomás was done with his shower. I’d been dismissed…and I could take a hint.
8
TOMÁS
Paris in the summer sucked.
Ella Fitzgerald might’ve sung a whole ode to Paris, stating how she loved it in every season, but I didn’t share that sentiment. Then again, she’d adored the city because her love was there, and that was definitely not the case for me.
Sure, Montmartre—the artistic neighborhood of Paris—was gorgeous with its many historic buildings with ornate facades, cobblestone streets lined by trees, lampposts with dangling flower baskets, and of course the iconic Sacré Coeur church perched atop a hill. The air was sweet from the flowers along the paths leading up to the Sacré Coeur, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee and delicious pastries wafted from the many little coffee shops and bakeries, the pâtisseries. I’d indulged in their crepes or macarons on occasion, and the coffee here was amazing. The French added a hint of nutmeg to their brew.
But I wasn’t feeling the charm of the so-called city of love today. The heat was oppressive, the sun beating down mercilessly and turning the streets into a veritable furnace. Me wearing a suit didn’t help matters, even if it was a linen one that was supposed to help you stay cool. Cool my ass, which was swampy. Ew.
Crowds of tourists gathered around us, all gawking as we did the photo shoot, and my mood was plummeting rapidly. I adjusted the sunglasses—the product I was hired to sell in these pictures—and ignored the beads of sweat on my forehead. That was the makeup artist’s problem. With each click of the camera, I struck another pose, doing my best to maintain an air of aloof sophistication despite the sweltering heat.
“Chin up a bit,” the photographer said, his French accent thick. “Now look off to the side like you’re lost in thought.”
I had no clue why I was so irritated. I’d done plenty of photo shoots under conditions far worse than these, and I’d born them all stoically. Yet today I couldn’t manage it. I liked Paris well enough, and shooting here was always a pleasure and an honor, but all I felt was the sticky heat clinging to my skin and the frustration gnawing at my insides.
“All right, Tomás, give me a sexy smirk,” the photographer said, his nasal voice grating on my nerves. “Imagine you’re undressing someone with your eyes.”
Could he even see my eyes through the dark glasses? Probably not the best time to ask, so I swallowed the sarcastic comment. I followed his directions, forcing myself to focus on the task. But as I leaned against the railing and stared into the lens, my mind wandered back to Forestville, to Tiago and Cas and the cozy little life they’d built together.
