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She breathes in a deep, shuddering breath. “Believe it or not, I didn’t say anything to you in Paris because I was afraid it would look exactly like this. Like I was trying to use you to get to a story. I didn’t want to potentially sway a monumental decision with supposition from an old case. A case where I failed once already to make any connections.”
“And after we slept together?”
Her chin drops.
“You could have come to me.”
“I should have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” The word is barely a whisper. “I didn’t.”
There it is. We’ve trusted each other with so much. Something so small shouldn’t have such an enormous impact on what we’ve shared the past few days.
Except it does. She didn’t trust me. I can’t trust her.
Won’t trust her, a little voice whispers.
I silence it, quickly and ruthlessly. This is what comes from opening one’s heart. The high is enjoyable as long as it lasts.
But inevitably, it come crashing down.
She starts to walk past me.
“Where are you going?”
“To pack my things.” She stops on the opposite side of the table and looks down at me. “Drakos needs your attention now.”
I surge to my feet, coffee sloshing over the rim of my cup and splashing the snowy white tablecloth. “Of course it needs my attention.” I plant my fist on the table and lean forward. “How could I focus on anything else when the future of the most important thing in my life is at risk because you hid things from me?”
Silence falls like a death knell.
I don’t know how long we stand there, me with fury pumping through my veins and her with grief echoing in her eyes.
Finally, she moves. The smile she gives me is so heart-wrenchingly sad that a perverse part of me wants to reach out and pull her into my arms, to offer comfort. To apologize for the unforgivable thing I’ve said.
Except it’s true. Without Drakos, I have nothing. I thought that Juliette might care for me. That I could risk caring for someone again. That we could be more than just names on a contract.
But she didn’t trust me. Just as I no longer trust her.
The pain drains away, leaving me feeling like I did the day I met my father. Hollow, hopeless.
“I did. And I’m sorry I put your company at risk.”
She glances down. I see her reach for the rings on her left hand, but she stops.
“I will still honor our agreement. But if you decide that we can no longer continue—”
“We will continue. You signed a contract. I expect you to honor it.”
“I will.” Her voice is soft. Heartbroken. “Goodbye, Gavriil.”
She walks away, the sound of her bare feet on the deck fading as she moves inside. I look down at the table, at the coffee still spreading and scarring the tablecloth with an ugly brown stain.
I know this is the right thing to do.
This is the right thing.