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Rejection should come easy to me. My grandma was the only one in my family that I connected with, and it was probably because she was a bit of a black sheep too.
In my parents’ eyes I chose to be poor and useless. Those are the words they used to describe me. I'd grown up with money. Not a ton but enough that in our town everyone knew who my family was. Our family name held weight. One no one thought I could ever live up to.
I just didn’t fall in line. My parents hated that they couldn’t control me and make me bend to their will. That’s what led to my parents pretty much casting me out. I know they did it to try to scare me. I’m sure they thought I’d come crawling back. Then I lost the one person who understood me. Everything in my hometown felt irrelevant to me then. I didn’t care if they wanted me. I knew it was only a matter of time.
My grandma left me whatever she could claim as her own. She’d married into the Newman last name. Most things were accounted for in trusts or locked down tight. Unfortunately, I was very familiar with the inner workings of my family. I grew up watching my mother follow every command in order to stay in that world. It only made me want to get out more.
I felt so caged in. I think they wanted me out anyway. It was way too easy for them to open the door and let me go free. Of course, no one wants to feel as though their whole life is being controlled, but you do want someone that wants to keep you.
I wouldn’t agree to any of the men they tried to marry me off to like it was two hundred years ago. My parents thought if they arranged a marriage for me that I’d eventually fall in line. With each suitor I turned down, they started to believe I didn’t want a family. They couldn’t have been more wrong. That’s what I want more than anything. I might be traveling the world, but unfortunately, I do it alone. My social media following has grown like crazy, but that doesn’t fill the loneliness I hide behind my smiles when I pose for a picture.
I was always an outsider with my family. Even when I was little. It didn’t help that I had two older sisters that my parents deemed perfect. I bet they’d be Finn’s type.
Knowing I can’t hide in the bathroom forever, I wash my face and try to calm my puffy eyes, not wanting Finn to know I cried. I don’t think he meant to be cruel, but his words had sparked memories of my childhood. The small smirks my sisters would get when they could push me to tears. They took pleasure in causing me pain.
Finn isn’t being mean, only honest, and I can’t fault him for that. That doesn’t stop the hurt, but I will try to hide it. I don’t want to guilt him. Then he’ll pity me.
I take a deep breath before I finally step back out of the bathroom. Thankfully, he’s not right there in the bedroom. I grab clothes and dart right back into the bathroom and get dressed for the day. I’m going to give him an out, and it will be easier if I’m dressed and ready to leave right after. Then it won’t be awkward… or more awkward than it already is.
When I’m finally ready, I exit the bathroom with a smile on my face as if nothing is wrong. I definitely learned that trick from my mother. My eyes land on Finn when I enter the main space of our suite. Once again, there is a ton of food. I speak before he can.
“You don’t have to come with me today. I’m sure you have work things, and I’m used to being solo.”
“I want to go.” He stands, pulling out one of the dining room chairs for me. My manners get the best of me, and I sit down, not wanting to be rude. “We should eat first.”
“Right.” I grab a fork and dig in, trying to play it cool, but Finn watches me like a hawk. “Are you going to eat?” I say after a few minutes. I’m unable to stand the silence or staring. Why stare at me if I’m not his type?
ChapterEleven
FINN
I’ve had to fake a lot of things in my life, but nothing has been harder than trying to pretend that I don’t want this woman. As she sits across from me, pushing the food around with her fork, my instincts are to scoop her up, carry her into the bedroom, and do things to her body until she weeps with joy.
I try to kill those thoughts because even though she can’t read my mind, I’m giving off some energy that she doesn’t like. Why that matters, I don’t want to examine.
“What are your plans for the day?”
She sets her fork by the uneaten plate of food. “I thought about walking around the Champs-Élysées and the Tuileries. The trees are about to bloom. Maybe I’ll have some churros and hot chocolate from one of the vendors.”
Neither of us look at the basket of croissants and pot of hot chocolate sitting in the middle of the table. I wipe my mouth with the napkin and get to my feet. “Let’s go then.”
“Right now?”
I glance toward the thin and tall French doors that open onto a small balcony. “The sun is out. The weather app says it’s about fifty degrees. If you wear pants and a jacket, we should be comfortable.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the weather but…are you sure you want to hang out with me? I mean, you said I wasn’t your type.”
“I’m not going to do anything in public,” I growl.
She flushes. “Of course not. I wasn’t even thinking you would. I’ll go and change.” She scurries into the bedroom and slams the door behind her.
I walk slowly over to the doors and stare out toward the Seine. What am I doing with her? Why am I trying to force her to spend time with me? Do I think I can make her fall for me if I ply her with churros and chocolate? I’m in Paris to kill someone, not to holiday.
The bedroom door opening interrupts my thoughts. Georgia appears in a long denim skirt, navy blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and a beige and black plaid coat draped over one arm. “I’m ready.” She lifts up a foot to display a pair of dark blue boots. “I’ve even got on my practical footwear.”
“Are we climbing a mountain today?”
“You never know.” She smiles, and it seems genuine as if whatever had upset her this morning has passed. Maybe she just really loves hot chocolate and churros. I’ll have to make sure she gets them every day.
