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Everyone in the car is quiet.
“It’s time you moved on as well,” Joey says.
“What makes you think I haven’t?” I question.
“We all know you haven’t. There’s no denying that, Lucas.”
“I’ve fucked others.”
“You fucked one woman and then discarded her.”
“How the fuck would you know who my cock goes into?”
He shrugs. “I think everyone knows.” Raising a brow, he says, “Care to deny it?”
“No,” I grumble.
“That’s what I thought.”
I grab my phone and start searching for Chanel’s name, but nothing comes up, proving that she still doesn’t have social media. So I search her brother’s, which, of course, I find easily. Once I search through his page, I see photos of Merci and Brody engaged and an incredibly happy Chanel next to them.
Hold on.
It’s tagged.
Clicking on it, the name jumps out at me.
And it almost has my black heart crying out with joy.
Mia per sempre.
And it’s not a private profile.
It’s basically photos of different places as if she’s tracking everywhere she goes. But the one that stands out the most is her standing under the Eiffel Tower, a man down on one knee and her hands covering her mouth as he holds out a ring.
“Lucas.” I look up to Keir. “Enough!”
Somehow, he knows what I’m doing without even actually seeing. I slide my phone away but not before I send the link to Sergio, telling him to find out who he is. Now.
“So, he’s a doctor,” Sergio relays through the phone line.
“A what?” I ask, not believing what he’s just said. My little whore is engaged to a doctor. Who would have thought? I wonder if he appreciates the way she smells like I do? I wonder if he can make her come like I used to?
Does she love him?
And what even is love?
To women, it’s such a big thing. But to people like me, those words, no that word, it’s a burden.
“How did you even find Chanel? You said you weren’t going to look for her.”
“She was on my flight.”
“What?” he asks, confused. “You fly private.”
“She was a flight attendant.”
“Well, fuck. Was Keir on the flight?”
