Late Call (Call #1)(70)
Author: Emma Hart

I wipe at my cheeks and pull a denim jacket over my dress.

I meet his eyes and look away again. If I stare into them, I’ll give in, and I can’t do that. I’m too weak to even be Mia. The pain I feel is too much to pretend it doesn’t hurt.

A knock sounds at the door and I open it, seeing the porter. Aaron sees him too, and as he gathers my bags, Aaron’s gaze sears into me. It burns and it hurts. It breaks my heart all over again.

“Is my car ready?” I ask the short man pushing the cart.

“Oui, mademoiselle.” He disappears into the lift, and I place my hand on the doorknob.

“I’m begging you, Dayton. I’m f**king begging you not to go.”

“I was ready to give it all up,” I admit, my voice small and cracking with tears. “When you gave me my necklace again, I was going to tell you. I was ready to give it all up to be with you. I was going to call Monique, cancel the payment, and leave her. I didn’t think I could walk away from you again. I didn’t know if I’d survive another broken heart.”

“So don’t. Stay. Please.”

“You were right. True love never dies. It only fades, lingering below the surface until we’re ready for it again. Until fate puts us in the right place and the right time and that simmering love can come alive again.” I look over my shoulder, the tears falling thick and fast, and bite my bottom lip. “I love you, Aaron, but I have more integrity than to stay with a man who can lie to me so easily. I respect myself too much. I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

I run toward the elevator, needing to get away before I give in to the dam ready to break.

“Day! Fuck, Dayton!” he roars in a raw burst of pain.

The doors close and I hear him smacking his hands against it in defeat before I descend to the bottom floor.

The concierge is waiting for me and his eyes widen at the sight of my tear-stained face. “Mademoiselle, is everything all right with your family?”

“My grandmother has taken sick. I’m sorry.” I catch myself before more tears fall. “I can’t…”

He guides me to the car and helps me in. I whisper a thank-you as he closes the door and reach forward to close the partition.

The car pulls away, and I pull out my cell.

“Hello?”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“Dayton.”

“Don’t use that f**king tone with me, Monique. You knew he was married didn’t you?” Nothing. “Didn’t you?”

“He stipulated I not tell you. Client confidentiality.”

“Ha! Client confidentiality? Fuck that! What about the well-being of one of your girls, huh? Did it not cross your mind that it might be in my best interest to know my client, my ex-boyfriend, the man I’ve loved my whole goddamn life, the very same one whisking me off around the world, might be married?”

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love, Dayton.”

“I never stopped loving him. You should have told me. I should have known!”

I hear her exhale. A long, regretful sigh. “You’re right. I should have told you.”

“I’m on my way to the airport. Get my number changed.”

“I’m sorry, Dayton.”

“Fuck you, Monique. Fuck you.”

I hang up and drop my phone into my purse. And I give in.

I let the dam break, let the wall collapse, let the strength dissolve, and I cry. I let the pain run through my body without a second thought. Because I need to feel it. I need to feel it and remember why this never should have happened.

I bring my knees to my chest and stare out the window. Through my blurry eyes and chest-heaving sobs, I make out the Eiffel Tower. I screw my eyes shut and turn away, a fresh hit of pain filling my chest.

It doesn’t comfort me at all. Where it was once a reminder of a beautiful time, now it’s a mark of heartbreak.

Our journey has ended in the very city where it all began, and once again, I’m leaving Paris with tears streaming down my cheeks.

And without the man I love.