Page 41 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

STORM

I should have followed my instincts, and as soon as I saw her flirting around Lorenzo day one here, I should have said something to him. I knew something was happening, and I knew the skank had been way too close.

It’s too late for that now, and I toss my things fast.

I put my important things into my small daypack, and I stay focused. I am still wearing the Dior dress, earrings and high heels, but I have no time to change.

As I throw the bag over my shoulder, I avoid the third call from Lorenzo.

I run from the room with my passport, and the few things I really need. Pausing, I pull off the high heels, and I sprint down the passage on the top floor.

Reaching the stairwell, I run down the marble steps two at a time. The cold marble is smooth, and white, and I hold onto the dainty expensive shoes for some reason.

I know there is a good chance he is now in the elevator, and I hope like hell, I can sneak out a side lobby door.

As I reach the lobby, I wipe my eyes and peer carefully out.

I slip on my shoes, lift my chin, and I walk like I am not breaking down inside.

As I sneak around the lobby wall, I stay as low key as possible. I pass behind people in dinner suits, sipping martinis, champagne, laughing and talking about movies.

After sliding out the large side door, I catch my breath, and slip into a French cab.

On the way to the airport, I book the next flight to Paris. Then, another onto NYC. The timing is tight, and I hope to make it. I have to get to the apartment in NYC and I must do it before him.

My eyes are puffy and red, as I look in the mirror at the airport.

I wash tears and makeup from my face, and I enter a stall. After pulling off the Dior gown, I yank on jeans, and a T shirt. I pause before packing the stunning black dress. The dress was a gift, and it can be a gift, again.

This time for someone who needs it, or who finds the right guy. I have no need for it, and it simply means pain.

I hang the Dior dress on the door, and I move fast.

After a short flight to Paris, I run for the next gate, high heels in my hand.

I board the jet for the long flight to NYC, and I booked a window seat. Here it will be safer to cry alone, and work out, how I messed up my life so bad.

I then do, and I let it all out.

I know I was stupid, to have thought he would want me. And how I could possibly compare to models, and glamorous sophisticated women?

I’m just a small-town girl. With a makeover, and weird hobbies.

Even if I started to love the new me. I am a fake. I am no one.

I arrive at JFK, and half asleep, I wash my face in the bathroom. After staggering away, I find a café. My mind is still churning fast. My eyes are swollen from crying, and I chug two strong coffees. As I take a cab to the penthouse, I ignore all his calls and messages.

There is nothing to discuss.

Why would he ever change from fucking half the models in the world. Why would he want me, over them, and anyone he could get, and have?

Finally, I arrive at his, or what was our apartment.

Alfred, who has been looking after Falcon while we were away, is out, thankfully.

I peek out the elevator door and I realize I’m ahead of Lorenzo.

Quickly, I yank off the high heels, and I walk straight into our shared bedroom. I toss all my things on the bed, and I move like a messed-up assassin.

I know he could walk in any minute, and there is no way I want to see him again.

Especially here, in our old place.

It takes me twenty minutes, but I soon have everything I own, in my bags. I do not take anything we’ve bought together. Like the things from farmers markets, and the weird coffee cups that match.

I neither take the clothes he bought for me, or the other gifts. The Dior, Valentino, exotic lingerie or amazing shoes.

Quickly, I walk into the kitchen, and I freeze.

I walk past the large bouquet of flowers, before I backstep to check the card. They are for Lorenzo, and they are from Sophia.

Without thinking, I launch the vase and flowers across the room. They shatter on the tiles, and I feel better.

The happiness turns to shame and disgust.

I used to be better. Better than that.

I suddenly remember the little good I’ve done since coming to NYC, and I remember Falcon. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I run upstairs.

Slowing, I sit near the bird, and I know I need to keep it tight.

The large bird flaps both of its wings near it’s kennel-like home, and I slide nearer it, and sob.

The Peregrine is not far away, and could walk away, flap away, or start to shred me with its talons or beak.

I give zero Fs, and it just flaps its wings and makes a crying sound.

After a minute, it stops flapping, and it moves towards me slowly.

Finally, it feels clear, and I realize, one day, I will survive. I have to, this cannot be it. As I breathe, sniff, and calm, I look down. I notice the falcon is leaning against my leg.

It still has those scary black eyes, that give away nothing, but it feels like it is watching me.

Feeing broken, stupid and foolish, I sniff, and find my center. I then wrap a protective arm around the big bird.

Knowing it could leap up, and tear an eyeball out, within a split second, does not scare me. I have nothing left to lose.

The bird makes a soft cry-like sound again, then it shakes itself like it is fluffing itself up.

I lean my face down, and I rub my wet salty cheek against its soft brown feathers.

Knowing I will never return, I sweep my eyes around the building top for the last time.

The view. The statues. The chopper. The rose garden. The herb garden. The BBQ and the white sofa.

This is it.

Remembering the cheat may arrive at any time, I realize it’s time to go. I’m nervous about saying goodbye to Falcon, but, it has to be done.

Slowly I look down at the large bird.

It leans against my leg and makes a small cry. Our eyes seem to meet, and I suspect it knows I am leaving.

I look at it closely, and I wipe my wet eye. “Bye baby.” As I stand, the Peregrine cries out, and it flaps, and runs. The wings bite, and the falcon flies a few feet.

I smile, and almost laugh.

At least there is some hope in the world.

As I move quickly downstairs, the main door suddenly buzzes. My heart pounds hard, before I realize if it’s Lorenzo, he’d just come up. He would not buzz.

“Hello,” I say nervously, leaning on the button near the elevator.

“Madam, it is Alfred,” the clear British accent says.

“Hi,” I say.

“Madam, are you alright?”

“Yes. No.” I say, before letting out a long breath. “Any chance you can take me to the airport?”

“I’ll be right up.”

I walk to the kitchen, and plan my simple note. This will be our last contact, ever.

Alfred drives me to the airport, and we travel in silence. I want to talk to him, and I want to say something. Only I can’t.

We finally arrive, and I climb out of the comfortable Bentley. My legs feel shaky, but it has to be done. I need to start my new life.

Alfred places my three old fashioned bags on a large trolley, he’s a good man.

I can see he looks sad, and I suspect he knows somethings up. I’m usually chatty, and bouncy, but today I’m wearing dark glasses. I’m also cold and distant.

I have a soft spot for the sweet older gentleman, and I know he helped keep me alive after nearly freezing.

From what I can gather, he’s more used to demanding models and stroppy heiresses sending him out for muffins or coffees, and not a quiet girl like me.

The dear man has a kind heart.

I have never asked him for any kind of luxury, but I feel sick for not saying anything today. I feel like a coward, but I have nothing left to give.

Before I know it, I’m giving him a hug outside the airport.

I know I’m holding onto the older man, and I hope it does not come across as creepy. He is simply kind, caring and trustworthy, and I hope the hug instead of a long explanation, suffices.

Finally, I wipe a fresh tear, and step back.

“Good luck, Madam.”

Standing on tip toes, I peck his cheek. I cannot say anything, because I’m too close to losing it.

Alfred’s mustache turns up, and he tilts his head. I then leave the man in his tweed jacket, and tie, and I push all I own into the airport.

Numb, on the plane, I fly south for South Carolina. Suddenly, I remember my car is in Lorenzo’s garage, and I moan. As I tell myself to get my life together, I remember, a friend at work in the NYC library. The one that needs a car.

I send her an email, and I tell her if she collects it, it’s hers. I can easily courier her the key, and it’s one less problem in my life.

I lay back, and I work out what I will say to everyone. To Madison, to Mom and even to Anastasia.

I decide not to call or message anyone for now, and I don’t want them worried. I will see them, and in person, tell them when the time is right. All except for Anastasia, who I likely won’t ever get to see again.

I will need to say something to mom’s friend, Martha one day, too. The woman who is close to him .

Supposedly she told Lorenzo, not to come near me, and that I am off limits. Even forbidden.

What the heck was I thinking?

I know I’d come on to him, and I’d tried everything in the book for him to take me.

I sigh, and realize, I have three new problems. One, my job. I will email them tonight, and explain it’s a family emergency. It basically is.

Two, me. How the heck will I ever love, again?

And three, me. How can I ever sleep with a normal guy again, and one with normal needs?

Actually, there is a fourth. How will I ever come again? Like that? And if I never find another who can do those things to me, will I be a mess?

Or am I already ruined?

After arriving in Charlotte, I rent a cheap sedan, and I drive west towards my hometown.

Everything has happened fast. I moved to NYC under six months ago, and I’m about to look like a loser. Returning looking weird, or with a stylish haircut is one thing. I however do not have a job, a car, a life, or a man.

I drive to a small lakeside town, that I adored back in the day. It is cute, and I pull up to the water.

After sitting lakeside for an hour, and wondering what to do with my life, it finally comes to me. I still have several graphic design clients, and designing is what I really love to do.

Maybe I can get more.

I love books, and I love reading, but maybe helping to manage a library is not really me.

I want to create.

By the end of the day, I’ve signed an agreement to rent a cabin on the water. It’s cute, wooden and the view is stunning.

It’s not the biggest cabin, but it’s away from everyone, and I can focus on work. Also, rebuilding my life. It’s just me and the ducks, and ripples in the lake.

I get busy, and I plough all of my pain and frustration into my design work. I complete the designs, for my current clients and I stay up the entire night. As the crickets chirp, and the stars shine down, I design and build, a hot website for myself.

The next day, I spend a third of my savings on advertising the site on social media. I have no idea if people will see my site and designs, and two days later I start sweating.

Flipping burgers for money, is the last thing I want to do. But, in reality, it could become necessary.

My site is not getting many visits, and I start to feel sick.

I have another problem, and it’s the last thing I expected. Because I had gotten so used to him making me come, and so darned often, my body starts to go through some kind of crash.

Like cold turkey.

I am mentally not craving him much, but my traitorous body is.

I start yoga again, and I start doing twice as much as before. It does not help, at all. Waking in the middle of the night, and thinking of him inside me, messes with my head.

After two days of experimenting, I find a way to cope. The only way I can sleep properly, is to run for an hour a day.

I have to exhaust my body, just like he’d done to me, often leaving me in a pile.

Used. Fulfilled. Satiated. Dripping.

The son of a bitch has not only broken my mind, but he has also broken my body.

That night a call comes in, and I check my screen. It’s from Anastasia. Nervously, I take it, and I walk onto the deck.

She tells me Lorenzo called her, and he wanted to know I’m alright.

I tell Anastasia very little, because I don’t want him to look bad to anyone. I just say we are best alone. Apart.

Deep down I feel heart broken, and I fight not to cry.

Anastasia tells me she thinks there is more to it, but I tell her, I think I need a quiet life. And a simple one. I breathe deep, and I stand in the moonlight as we talk. Finally, I promise to stay in touch, and we finish with a giggle, after I send her my love.

After another day of sweating, and me in near panic mode over wasting a third of my money advertising my website, I check my site tracking panel.

I double blink, and look, again.

There must be some kind of mistake. Over five hundred people viewed my site yesterday, and something seems to have changed. I also have emails, thirty in my inbox.

After checking, I find six orders, and they are coming in from all around the country.

My crazy designs are actually working, and maybe, just maybe, my imagination will put food on the table.

Celebrating with a six pack of local beer, and a talk with a local old timer grounds me.

His hound, and the lake edge, are the icing on the cake.

Even if I feel sick, and can’t stop thinking about Lorenzo, the beach in the Hamptons, and weirdly the falcon, I like being surrounded by nature.

The sunsets help too, as with the ducks, peace, and space.

At least my design career is taking off and working for me! I am still a mess, but I am a mess with means, and a plan!

The shock of going from perfectly content, and the glamorous champagne jet setting life, to jeans, and beers overlooking a lake, has been fast and hard.

But I am here, and I am alive.

I may be hidden from the world, but things are predictable.

I still get messages from him, but I receive no more calls. I have never replied, and most of his messages mention a ‘misunderstanding,’ or that he has ‘not returned to my old ways.’

He has not used words I would consider acceptable.

Like ‘sorry,’ or ‘love.’

Maybe we’re different people after all, and maybe we were never meant to be. I also suspect this now. That I am meant to be alone.

Forever.