AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I tuck my phone away and walk over to where Crew is standing.
“He needs to know where we’re going,” he says, nodding toward the driver.
“Versailles?” I suggest. I’ve been before, but it’s been years.
Crew’s smile is blinding. “That sounds a lot like sight-seeing.”
“I heard you love sight-seeing.”
He smiles. “Is it a better offer?”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
Jacques is already seated at the table when we enter the restaurant. Our trip to Versailles ate up most of the afternoon. I fully intended to head back to the hotel and change before dinner, but there wasn’t time.
Not that it matters. Jacques is far more focused on Crew than what I’m wearing.
I get a cursory greeting before he starts bombarding Crew with questions. I mouthtold youat Crew when he glances at me. His answering smile makes my insides feel like shaken champagne.
Today has been wonderful and terrible. I’ve thought about starting my own fashion line since college. This trip is the culmination of years of planning.Hauteserved as an unplanned springboard to making connections in the fashion industry that maderougemore attainable.
A clothing line might be a pursuit most people look down upon. It’s not as refined as finance or any Wall Street dealings. My father certainly thinks it’s shallow and silly.
But that’s the beauty of dreams: they’re yours. No one else’s. You don’t need permission or justification to pursue them. You can give them relevance and importance and meaning all by yourself.
Unfortunately for my heart, Crew doesn’t seem to share my dad’s opinion. Between strolling the gardens and wandering the halls of the palace, he asked me questions aboutrougeand listened to the answers.
Either he’sextremelydedicated to getting me into bed, or he actually cares how I spend my time, energy, and money.
I spend most of dinner studying him. This is the first time I’ve seen Crew in what isn’t his element. He’s not here to pursue a deal for Kensington Consolidated. I doubt he knows much, if anything, about the fashion industry. Jacques isn’t someone he’d have common acquaintances with.
And yet, he’s thriving.Charming. This was meant to be a business dinner. Every meal I shared with Jacques during my last trip here was spent brainstorming or flipping through sketches. Tonight, there’s no sign of the manic energy usually buzzing around him like a swarm of bees, tossing out ideas at the speed of light. Jacques is relaxed and laughing. So is Crew. I’m the interloper growing more and more annoyed as they chat like old friends instead of strangers.
This is my trip. My endeavor. My domain. Our lives were supposed to stay separate. Suddenly, they’re so entangled I can’t look past him.
I excuse myself and head to the restroom after we finish eating, not even sure they’ll notice my disappearance. After I’ve used the bathroom, I linger at the sink, dabbing my face with a paper towel and checking my teeth for food.
When I open the restroom door, Crew is leaning across the opposite wall with his arms crossed.
“I know your French isn’t great, but you’re not blind. The stick figure wearing a dress means this is the women’s restroom. Men’s must be down there.” I jerk my head to the left, where the hallway extends. On a scale of one to bitchy, I’m at an eleven.
He says nothing at first, which is the worst possible response. Crew has become the one person I can rely on to challenge me. I crave that from him, more than financial security or fidelity. I want him to see me as an equal and as a partner—because that’s the way I see him. The muscles of his jaw shift as he visibly clenches it, holding in whatever he was going to reply with. I wait, and it spills out. “What the fuck, Scarlett?”
The question is basically spat at me. I want to smile, but I don’t. “What the fuckwhat, Crew?”
“I can’t win with you. No matter what I do. I came here to support you. And I watch tennis for hours and try to get to know you and make small talk with your—I don’t even know what Jacques does for you—and you act like I’m in your way!”
He’s too good. At all of this. I know how to play the game of secrets and lies and deceit. Of betrayal and sweeping mistakes under the rug. I know how to handle the Crew I talked to at Proof, who looked at me with total indifference. The guy who would greet me with a perfunctory, blandYou look niceand then ignored me for the rest of the night. I’m not equipped to handle the Crew who came here tosupportme. Who makes me feel special—same as he does with everyone else. He’s the sun and I’m Icarus, after he learned his lesson.
“I didn’t ask you to do any of that!” I snap. “I didn’taskyou to come. I didn’twantyou to come.”
He shakes his head. Laughs. Scoffs. “If this is youtrying, I can’t imagine how you’ll act when you’re about to file for divorce.”
I don’t react to them, but I feel the words hit me like a physical slap. I meant it when I told him I’d try. He’s staining that moment, that memory, dragging it through this ugly argument. I spent all afternoontrying. If I hadn’t, I would have been holed up in the hotel working. Ignoring each other except to exchange insults wasn’t tenable. Neither is the happy couple we pretended to be today. I’ll always have one foot out the door—always be waiting for him to turn into some version of my father—focused on nothing but keeping the keys to the kingdom.
Crew told me he could have married someone else earlier. We both know why he didn’t. If my last name wasn’t formerly Ellsworth, he would have. He has qualities that can’t be bought, like charisma and charm. More to offer than a handsome face and a bank account trailing zeroes.
People genuinely like him. They indulge me because they know I can be a powerful friend and a ruthless enemy. Because I’ve found fear far more effective than love.
