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I bite my lip.
I want to tell him the truth.
I want to tell him the whole truth andnothing butthe freaking truth.
But I can’t betray Sasha. Not now, we’ve come this far.
So, my hazy mind brings me another truth to declare.
“I keep thinking about you naked, and now I can’t look at a banana the same ever again.”
William snorts. “So that’s what this is all about… Come on, then. Let’s sober you up. Climb into bed, and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
I grumble to him as I crawl in. “Don’t leave now… the party is only getting started.”
William’s soft chuckle fades as he walks out.
Meanwhile, I close my heavy eyelids and sigh as a wave of nausea rushes over me.
I can't help but feel I've missed an opportunity to connect with William.
The night, with all its interruptions and missed chances, weighs heavily on me as I pull the covers to my chin, wondering what could have been if only the evening had gone differently.
Now, I’m too drunk and exhausted to save it.
Before William can return with the coffee I’m out like a light.
WILLIAM
Emily's behavior at the restaurant was erratic, a stark contrast to the serene woman I'd wandered through the greenhouse with.
There, she was calm, collected, almost ethereal.
Tonight, she was like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, never staying long enough to be truly known.
As I lie in bed, I can't help but think of how endearing she was, despite the chaos.
There's a vulnerability to Emily, a genuine quality that becomes even more apparent when she's flustered. The memory of her slightly tipsy laughter, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, brings a smile to my face.
Under the blanket of darkness, my mind plays tricks on me.
This is no longer a business deal, there could be something more there.
Emily fit so nicely in my arms as I carried her to bed, holding her felt like the most normal thing to do. Like breathing.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh, I muse. Maybe she just had an off night.
The thought is comforting, and I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt, to try for another date.
My phone rings, slicing through the silence.
It's my father, and his tone is anything but comforting. "William, why are you gallivanting in that small American town? You should be in Paris, meeting with Madeline Lonelle!"
I sit up, rubbing my temple. "Dad, we've been over this. I'm not interested in Madeline that way. I'm following up on something important here."
"Important? More important than securing our family's legacy in the art world?" His voice is a mix of incredulity and irritation.
“A meeting with the Art Queen, actually. And I’m staying with her granddaughter.”
