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“No.” I shake my head wildly, feeling the panic welling up inside of me. “I don’t want to go—it’s not my home, Liam, it’s yours. None of this is mine, not even you—”
“Not this again.” Liam groans. “Ana, I’ve told you, the engagement—”
“You’re hers. In every way that matters, you’re hers—”
“No! Not in every way that matters.” Liam raises his voice, and now I know for sure everyoneislooking at us, but he doesn’t seem to care. “In every way that matters, Ana, I’m yours. I love you, and I know you. You can’t mean that I don’t—”
“If you did,” I whisper brokenly, “you wouldn’t have given me shoes that show my feet. No ballerina wears open-toed shoes, but especially not one as destroyed as me. And if you knew me,reallyknew me, if you’d listened to everything I’d said—you would have never taken me to the ballet. You’d know how much it would hurt me to see it, how much it would hurt to remember that I’ll never dance again, that I’ll never be the prima I was meant to be—”
Liam’s eyes widen. “Oh god, Ana—I didn’t mean it. I thought—fuck—I thought you’d enjoy seeing it again, that it would bring back the good memories. I thought it would be something that reminded you of happier times—I—” He rubs his hand over his mouth, his eyes glistening. “Fuck, Ana, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—”
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, backing up, the shoes still clutched in my hand. “You don’t, and it won’t work. It can’t work, Liam. I’m sorry.”
And then, before he can say another word, before he can reach for me or try to stop me, I turn and flee from the opera house, out into the street.
TEN
ANA
Imake it three blocks before a strong hand grabs my wrist, hauling me sideways and knocking me off balance, and a pair of arms go around my waist, pulling me back.
“Liam, let me go!” I shriek, swatting at the hands, writhing in his grasp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t—”
“It’s not Liam,petit.”
I freeze in place, going very still as I hear that familiar French voice sweeping over my senses in a way that feels almost dizzying.
“Alexandre?” I whisper, and slowly, as the arms around my waist loosen, I turn in their circle so I can face the man holding me.
It can’t be him. Itshouldn’tbe. But it is. In the streetlights, plain as day, I can see his every familiar, handsome feature—the sharp cheekbones and jaw, the aquiline nose, the shining blue eyes that I’d once loved so much.
“Come with me,petit,” he says, his hand closing on my elbow and pulling me into the alleyway. “Before he catches up.”
“Alexandre, I can’t—Alexandre!” I yank backward, struggling. “I’m barefoot. I can’t go through an alley like this. My feet—”
“Then I will simply carry you,petit.” He scoops me into his arms before I can protest, carrying me through the alley to the next street over, whistling for a cab as we emerge. “My little doll needs not walk, if she does not wish to.”
“Alexandre, what are you doing? How did you?”
“I followed you to the opera house. Shh,petit, I know what you are thinking, the word going through your head. But it is not like that, not at all. I wanted to see that you were safe, that you were happy. And as far as I can tell, you are neither of those things from the way you were tearing down the street crying. So.” He steps forward as a taxi pulls up to the curb, opening the door and depositing me inside as he slips in next to me. “We’ll go to my hotel, and you can tell me what happened.”
I blink at him, stunned into silence by how quickly everything has happened. Alexandre is giving the driver the name of a hotel, and it occurs to me that I could fight, kick, scream, beg the driver to call the police or scramble out of the cab. But I can’t quite bring myself to do it. It’s not just the shock of being suddenly grabbed by Alexandre out of nowhere. It’s the fact that, at this particular moment, I’m not entirely unhappy to see him.
My night with Liam had gone from magical to horrific in a matter of seconds. I’d felt as if I were in a dream, as if everything were perfect between us. Then I’d been slapped in the face with how little he seemed to understand what would really make me happy and what would make me feel as if my heart were being torn out of my chest.
And now, sitting here next to Alexandre, seeing him for the first time in weeks, feeling his touch, breathing in his scent, I feel as if I’m being ripped in two all over again. I’m falling in love with Liam. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But at one time, IlovedAlexandre.
I’m not entirely certain that I don’t any longer.
We ride in silence back to Alexandre’s hotel. He doesn’t ask me questions or try to touch me until we reach the curb, and he steps out to open the taxi door. He reaches for me then, sweeping me into his arms bridal style. I’m transported back to the Paris apartment in an instant, though we’re still very much in Boston.
He ignores the looks we get as he walks through the black and gold tiled lobby to the elevator, some confused, others suspicious, and some adoring, as if we’re some romantic just-married couple, the husband carrying his new wife up to their bridal suite.
I’d imagined marrying Liam just a little while ago, though it feels like ages now. I can’t imagine marrying Alexandre. Despite all my feelings for him, it’s not a dynamic I ever imagined—or one that I’m sure I would want.
He sets me down just outside his door, opening it and ushering me in. The room is large and luxurious, with a huge bed and a jacuzzi tub ensuite, an open door leading to a bathroom, and a small living area to the left side near the balcony, with a comfortable-looking sofa and lacquered coffee table.
“What do you think,petit?” Alexandre asks, seeing me look around the room.
