We could stretch my paycheck from The Ranch for a few months if we didn't switch to the fancy San Diego rehab center right away. I could find something full-time, and pick up some weekend bartending shifts again. The pay would be garbage compared to The Ranch, but at least I knew what I was doing.
Money would be tight, but we’d be okay.
The rest of the day was a blur of normal Ranch stuff. Mixing drinks at the bar. Nodding along to some tech CEO's boring story about his startup. Smiling at guests. Playing the role, but with this new feeling of “this isn't my real life anymore” making it easier somehow. By evening, I was beat but feeling okay, ready to crash early.
I was about to head out when my wristlet buzzed—new client assignment right now. Curious, I checked the nearest tablet. The alert was blinking but didn't have any details.
“Great,” I muttered when I saw the location. Villa 6. Ricard's villa. The place where we'd watched Iron Man on the couch, cooked dinner in the kitchen, swam in the pool at midnight. Where I'd felt more like myself than anywhere else at The Ranch.
Seriously? The universe couldn't give me a break? Some new rich dude was staying in Ricard's villa the exact same day I decided to quit? Talk about twisted timing.
For a second, I thought about claiming food poisoning from dinner, or maybe a migraine. But that would just delay the inevitable. If I was going to finish out my contract like I'd promised Ibrahim, I needed to suck it up and do the job, no matter how much it sucked to go back to that villa.
With a sigh, I accepted the request and dragged myself toward the villa. Each step felt like I had cement blocks tied to my feet. On any other night, this walk would've been nice, calming.
Instead, it invoked memories of Ricard.
Villa 6 came into view, and my stomach did this weird flip. Same red roof tiles. Same fancy entrance. Same everything, except the person inside wouldn't be him. Some new client would sleep in that bed, use that shower, sit at that counter where we'd eaten breakfast together.
I stopped at the bottom of the steps, trying to get my head in the game. Just another client. Just one more performance. One more reminder of why this job wasn't for me. I promised myself I'd be professional, a Perfect Companion, even if inside I felt like I was held together with duct tape and wishful thinking.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed the steps and knocked on the door, keeping my eyes down on this one cracked tile I'd noticed the last time I was here. I heard the door open and felt the air-conditioned breeze hit my face, but I couldn't look up. Couldn't face seeing some stranger standing in the doorway where Ricard should be.
I stood there like an idiot, totally unable to look up. What was I doing? This wasn't fair to the new client. Whoever they were deserved at least eye contact.
Be professional. Get through this.
Okay. Three, two, one... look up and smile. I can do this.
Before I could move, I felt a finger under my chin, gently tilting my face upward. That touch. I knew that touch. My heart went from zero to a hundred in half a second as I raised my eyes and saw...
Ricard. My duke.
Holy. Shit.
He was standing there in the doorway, tall and perfect against the light coming from inside. No fancy suit this time, just a simple white button-down and dark pants, his hair all messy like he'd been running his hands through it. Those blue eyes locked onto mine with an expression I couldn't figure out. Nervous? Hopeful? Scared?
I froze, my brain short-circuiting. This wasn't possible. He was supposed to be on a plane back to Europe, handling his brother's mess, doing duke stuff. Not here. Not looking at me like... like what? Like he'd come back for something important?
About fifteen emotions hit me at once, like getting slammed by a wave. Joy that made my chest hurt. Anger about our fight and how he'd basically called me just a hooker. Total confusion about why he was back at all.
And underneath all that, this stupid, dangerous hope bubbling up that I was trying hard to squash.
Hope was what got me hurt in the first place. But there it was anyway, refusing to stay buried.
Chapter 25
Ricard
He didn't look up, and that small gesture, that unwillingness to meet my eyes, sent a spike of pain through my chest. In the brief days of our separation, he seemed to have changed. His shoulders were held with a new tension, his posture more guarded than I remembered.
I reached out, unable to stop myself, and placed my finger beneath his chin, tilting his face up toward mine. The simple contact sent an electric current through me, a reminder of everything I'd been missing in the hollow days since walking away from him.
His eyes widened when they met mine, shock and something else, something vulnerable and wounded that made my breath catch, flashing across his features. Those expressive eyes that had haunted my dreams now searched mine with a guarded hope that was painful to witness. For a moment, we stared at each other, the distant sounds of laughter and music from the main plaza floating on the air.
“Ricard?”
“Hello, Theo.” I stepped back, gesturing inside, struggling to maintain composure when confronted with the raw emotion in his eyes. “Would you come in? I'd like to talk to you.”
