The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(111)

She smiles up at me with her big eyes. “Better late than never.”





KATE

I sit at the window seat and stare out over the road as the rain comes down.

Even the weather is miserable. Like a dark heavy blanket of sadness.

I glance at my watch, Elliot will be in France now.

I get a vision of the two of them sitting in a romantic location, staring into each other’s eyes.

I’m in a literal hell.

“Is everything alright with your meal, ma’am?” the waiter interrupts me.

“Oh.” I look down to see my untouched cold dinner. “Yes, I’m sorry . . . I’m . . .” I pick up my fork. “A little distracted.”

“Perhaps some wine?” The waiter smiles hopefully.

“Yes.” I nod. “That would be lovely.”

He raises his eyebrow as he waits for something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“What wine would you like?”

“Oh.” I shake my head, embarrassed. “Surprise me.”

“Very well.” He disappears into the kitchen and I take a forkful of pasta into my mouth.

Ugh, my stomach rolls and I clench my teeth to stop the gag reflex.

I make myself swallow; food is the very last thing I can handle tonight.

I don’t even want to go home to my roommates, because then I have to pretend that everything is okay . . . or tell another lie, or worse still, tell them the sordid truth.

Neither of the tasks I feel capable of while I’m this weak.

I’ll just wait until everyone goes to bed, it’s easier that way.

It’s 9 p.m. and . . . in a few hours, I will know.

Elliot will either call me . . . or he won’t.

I know he will . . . he loves me, I know he does and I believe in us. He will call me.

He has to.

I’m not in this alone. I haven’t imagined this entire thing. We do have something real.

I know we do.

I can’t be this gullible.

I force another mouthful in and my stomach rolls and I heave.

I think I’m going to throw up.

One a.m.

I walk up my street toward my house in the rain. With two bottles of wine under my belt, I should be happy.

What I am is . . . devastated.

He’s with her.

I take out my phone and check it for the ten thousandth time tonight.

“Call me,” I whisper angrily. “You fucking call me, goddamn it.”

I screw up my face in tears. Why is this happening? What on earth did I ever do to deserve such fucking shit in my life? I lost my parents, my sister is the devil, and now the man that I love . . . doesn’t even love me back.

“Why?” I cry out loud. “What have I done to deserve this?”

I get to my apartment and I can’t face going inside, because then I have to sleep.

And then it will be morning, and too late to go back on what happened last night.

And I will know what he did.

I get a vision of Elliot and her waking up in bed and him being all witty and charming and wowing her with his sexuality and her falling madly in love with him.

How could she not?

There’s a lot to love about Elliot Miles.

I drop to sit on the bottom step and I stare into space. And as the rain comes down on top of me, wet, afraid, and alone . . . I cry.

It’s the silence that kills you. The things that aren’t said.

The closure you never got.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours. Four thousand, three hundred, and twenty minutes.

Too many seconds to count.

The clock ticks in my office. It’s like a megaphone, loud and annoying, reminding me of how time’s going by . . . with not a word.

Not even a text.

He’s with her.

I know that now, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

I really thought he loved me.

My faith in humanity is smashed to smithereens.

Did he even care about me at all? He couldn’t have . . . nobody could treat someone that they care about like this. The joke of it is that he doesn’t even know that I know what he’s doing in France.

Was that his plan, to just disappear on a business trip and ghost me . . . let me down easy? Push me to end it with him?

Maybe I’ll never hear from him again . . . nothing would surprise me any more.

It’s like I’m grieving a death all over again.

I still haven’t told my flatmates . . . I can’t.

I don’t feel strong enough to talk about it . . . so I avoid going home.

I’ve been going to the movies, loitering in restaurants. Spending five hours in the gym. I’ll do anything rather than bring this up and show everyone how weak I really am.

I hate myself for being so weak, I thought I was stronger than this.

Wednesday.

“Knock, knock.” A soft tap sounds on my office door. I glance up to see Christopher and I instantly get a lump in my throat.

Go away.

“Got a minute?” he asks softly.

No.

I force a smile and gesture to the seat at my desk. “Sure.”

He sits down and leans back and crosses his legs; his eyes hold mine.

He knows something.

“What is it?” I ask.