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His mom looked at the fence separating the two properties then back to their home.
‘That’s a long story,’ she said.
‘Then tell me.’ Gage leaned back against the trunk of the old tree. ‘Seems I’ve got all the time in the world.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVE PUFFED OUT a breath, blowing at a strand of unruly curls that had fallen across her face. She wiped her hands on her dusty jeans and looked around at the packing boxes now filling her Paris apartment. She’d made a few hard choices after leaving Gage and America behind.
The agony of that decision still sliced right through her, stinging as fresh as a papercut, but she’d finally concluded that she deserved more. All her life she’d danced to the tune of others. She was tired of living the way everyone else expected, and now she’d had enough. This time was her own.
So she’d flown back to France, given notice that Knight needed to find another CEO for the French operation, and had walked away from it all. Putting hatred and anyone determined to hang onto it behind her. She’d seen the way that emotion destroyed. It had no place in her life anymore.
As soon as she packed up her possessions here, she’d move and start growing the plants she loved. A simple life worrying about the soil, sun and scent and nothing much else. At the same time she’d try to heal her broken heart, though she knew that there were some things from which she might never fully recover. Putting her heart back together was one, because some of the pieces were missing. They probably always had been.
But thoughts of heartbreak weren’t going to get this apartment packed, and the drive to move and move forward was the only thing keeping her upright. Kitchen, she’d do that next. As Eve grabbed a box and began taping it, her intercom sounded. It was the apartment’s concierge. She answered.
‘Mademoiselle Chevalier, a delivery.’
She breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. Send them up.’ The extra packing boxes she ordered. At a knock, she opened the door. Only it wasn’t packing boxes, but two men, each holding a vase of flowers.
These weren’t just any flowers either, but blowsy English roses in a riot of pinks and apricots. Perfect, rambunctious blooms spilling from their containers, filling the hall with a glorious scent.
Her heart throbbed as she gripped the hard wood of the door, frozen. Staring like a fool at the men, who were only trying to do their jobs. She shook herself out of her inertia, stood back and let them in, asking them to place the roses on the dining table and sideboard.
‘Is there any card?’ She didn’t really need one. There was only one person who they could be from. A surge of emotion welled inside, threatening to break her. She bit her lip to tamp it down.
One of the men shrugged. ‘Non. Only flowers.’
They left and she moved to close the door but one of the men stopped her with a wry smile.
‘There are more.’
She stood back as the flowers kept coming, filling her apartment. Magnificent vases were placed on every flat surface with roses bursting from them as she directed where they should go.
She looked around at all the colour overwhelming the space and realised it had never really been a home to her because it hadn’t held all of her heart. Those missing pieces she’d left years ago with Gage. He’d always kept a part of her, always would. She wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. He wasn’t her future. That was now a quiet, peaceful life. Let Gage and her father wage a war of revenge and attrition. Too much had been lost, and for what? She was sick of the game and the hand she kept being dealt, so she’d folded. Tossed her cards on the table and walked away.
The final vase was placed on a small side table, which looked like it would topple under the weight of the outrageous arrangement.
‘Is that all?’ she asked, looking around the room that seemed more like a florist’s shop than an apartment now.
‘Not quite.’
She stilled. That voice, the deep burr of it igniting a fire in her that would probably never go out. She whipped around.
Gage stood there in the doorway to her apartment, cradling in the crook of his arm a large bunch of purple and lavender roses wrapped in petal pink paper and Cellophane. He wore soft, faded jeans and a crumpled shirt. Stubble shadowed his angular jaw, his golden hair all messy, as if he’d raked through it with restless fingers. It looked like he’d rolled out of bed, thrown on clothes left over from a long night before and run over here. But he couldn’t have done that. Instead, he’d travelled halfway around the world. To see her.
Her traitorous heart skipped a few beats.
He was so beautiful it hurt. The way his worn clothes hugged the muscles of his strong body. The planes of his face more angular than she remembered. Honed. Determined. His blue eyes like the summer skies in Grasse that would always haunt her. She’d loved him her whole life, no matter how many times she’d lied to herself, trying to convince her wounded heart they’d never had a chance. Every part of her was attuned to him, even when they’d been apart.
It was something she had to come to terms with because he couldn’t be the man she wanted. She needed to put the warring behind her. She deserved more than being a pawn on a chessboard built of loathing. The terrible thing was that Gage deserved more too but he wouldn’t see it. She couldn’t bear to witness the man she’d loved for most of her days becoming a slave to hatred, being eaten away by degrees.
‘May I come in?’ he asked, still standing outside the door, not even a toe over the threshold.
She somehow convinced her trembling legs to move and stood back, whilst he edged past. She shut the door with a soft snick behind her and he followed her into the lounge area.
‘These are for you.’ He held out the bouquet. She took it from him and buried her nose in the velvety petals, inhaling their scent. Lemon and raspberries.
