Page 33 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)
TWENTY-ONE
LONDON
West asked Alden if he could give me a ride home so I could change before heading over to Charleigh’s flower shop.
Neither West nor I wanted to leave his bed, but when one of the managers at West’s beer garden called to tell him a brewer was there waiting for his scheduled meeting, we quickly cleaned up and raced out the door.
West wanted to be the one to drive me home, but I told him no, I didn’t want him to keep his client waiting.
Besides, I don’t mind Alden’s company.
He doesn’t say much on the ride over, barely looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I’m glad because I know I can’t wipe the stupid smile off my face the whole ride over from Brooklyn to Manhattan.
Every inch of my body is alive with the memories of West’s touch, his kisses, his cock in my mouth earlier. Inside me. Last night and this morning.
It’s surreal, like being inside a dream.
I also finally got to see the necklace. The one tugging on my memory like the end of an invisible string. I stared at it, hoping it would tell me something. Anything. I hoped it would tell me that I wasn’t just making up that feeling I got every time I looked at it.
But nothing came.
Other than the coincidence of it being Big Ben; the same clock tower I find myself sketching time and time again. The same clock tower that shares the same home as my name.
I want to believe there’s something deeper to all of this.
I want to connect all the dots, but as hard as I try, I can’t.
Every piece is still a jumbled mess, and the more I try to fit them together, the tighter I feel the walls closing in around my mind.
Like it isn’t ready for whatever is hiding on the other side of the curtain.
Tears prick at the back of my eyes as the same disappointment I’ve felt time and time again since the accident settles in my fractured heart.
I shove the small setback aside and focus on the good.
West.
After stepping out of the back of West’s car, I say goodbye to Alden and take the steps up to Selene’s apartment two at a time.
I need to brush my teeth and change into clothes that are mine. I wouldn’t mind spending the day in West’s entirely too large sweatpants and T-shirt if I wouldn’t end up looking like I was drowning in cotton.
After jiggling my key in the doorknob, my phone rings from the small handbag I took with me to the club last night.
It’s about a quarter of the size of my regular everyday purse, so my phone isn’t difficult to find.
Hoping it’s West, excitement bubbles in my chest, inflating like a balloon.
It’s ridiculous, but I already can’t wait to be with him again.
Thinking back on the reasons I was pushing him away seems so ridiculous now that we’ve crossed the line we set. Ridiculous because, deep in my bones, in my soul , everything about him feels right and in place .
Being with West feels as natural as breathing.
My chest deflates when I see it isn’t West calling, though.
Instead, it’s an unknown number. Annoyance digs at me, figuring it’s probably one of those scam companies calling to tell me I’ve been preapproved for some fifty-thousand-dollar loan or some insane number like that.
I ignore the call and drop my phone and handbag onto the tiny kitchen counter once I step inside the apartment.
“Selene?” I call out. “I’m home.” I stand between the kitchen and hallway, waiting for Selene to poke her head out from her bedroom, but she doesn’t.
Other than a quick check in text last night, letting me know she made it home, I haven’t spoken to her. At least not fully since watching her walk out of our VIP section, Holt following after her.
I let her know I was staying with West and would explain it all to her today.
After telling me it was fine as long as I spilled every single detail to her, Selene had dropped the conversation, promising to talk with me at home. I was expecting her to be here. Especially with how adamant she’d been about finding out about all the sordid details of West and me.
Glancing around the apartment, I find a small, pink note on our coffee table.
Had to pop into the flower shop for a few hours. Meet me there. Since we’re talking men, bring some coffee, with extra espresso.
P.S. Oh, Charleigh’s first shop, not her new one. xoxo
I drop Selene’s note with a small smile and make my way to the bathroom.
I crank the shower faucet all the way and strip out of West’s clothes.
I fold them neatly before stuffing them into one of my artist canvas bags to give them back to him when I get to The Veiled Door later.
I wait nearly five minutes for the water to reach a tolerable temperature, then welcome its soothing warmth.
I think about all that’s changed in the past few days.
My hands are aching to work, aching to create. As I’m scrubbing shampoo into my hair, I think about the pair of hands I’ve been slowly working on over the past several months. The lines and creases. They remind me of West’s hands, now that they’ve explored my body.
I’m lost in every memory of the past twenty-four hours when the realization dawns on me. I’m tired of running from my past. I’m tired of sifting through the puzzle pieces, forcing myself to not pick them up willingly.
I know my panic attacks are caused by the flickers of my past. There’s tragedy weaved into it, and the thought is fucking terrifying, but I know if I don’t lean into my memories and remember, I’ll never feel complete. I’ll forever feel half-myself, with nothing but unanswered questions.
Being with West has breathed new life into my life, and I want to start living it.
I’m rinsing the shampoo from my hair when it feels as if the stars are beginning to align. I’ve stepped out into the daylight and let go of everything I’ve ever let hold me back.
Closing my eyes, I run the water over my hair, sifting through every flash of memory I can think of.
The sign reading Albany.
The hands covered in dirt.
Someone’s voice telling me I’m alive.
Then another.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the sense of panic trying to take over. The feeling is similar to the one I got in the club last night when the stranger came up behind me.
It’s vile, and my stomach sours.
Make one peep out of that pretty little mouth, and I swear to God, I’ll slit your fucking throat right here.
My eyes snap open. I bend over, gasping for air, sputtering and coughing.
My hand flies to my throat, and I swear I feel the sharp edge of cold metal.
I run my fingers over my taut skin, but there’s nothing.
No scar, no evidence of anything. My body wracks and spasms as I grip the edge of the tub with my other hand, struggling to breathe.
The water is freezing cold as it slides down my back. Though it could just be from the memory. The darkest memory I’ve yet to pull.
Panic builds inside me, and I second guess whether this is a good idea. Should I lean into the memories? Or is this a mistake? At this point, I’m not even sure I have a choice. Every single one comes without warning, happening when I least expect it.
The saying usually goes ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’, but for me, it’s my mind. My mind wants me to remember, and now that I’m slowly getting them back, I’m absolutely terrified down to my bones.
I shut the water off with shaking fingers and wrap a warm towel around me. Concentrating on my breathing, I force the darkness away, and focus on the good.
The light.
Meeting my sister.
My art.
West.
The feeling I had when I walked into Selene’s apartment slowly edges its way back in, and I’m thankful for the relief. Maybe the voice has something to do with the sign I envisioned last night when West and I were talking about Albany .
Quantum entanglement.
A tiny, barely-there smile finds the corners of my mouth. No, it must be coincidence that West is from Albany when I swear I’ve seen a wooden sign painted with the word Albany on it.
I get dressed under a haze of the memories I’ve conjured, and when I leave Selene’s apartment, I’m trying as hard as I can to leave the memory I experienced in the shower behind.
With my canvas bag of West’s clothes and Julianna’s ripped dress slung over my shoulder, I take the subway to the Upper West Side. To Charleigh’s flower shop. I’ve only ever been there a few times, but of those times, I’ve always enjoyed it.
The shop is small and intimate. Although I’ve never been to Paris, it reminds me of a flower shop you’d find there, covered from front to back with flourishing bouquets and plants.
The scent when stepping through the wooden door is overwhelming, and one I welcome.
It’s refreshing when coming from the streets of the city and people on the subway.
I find my sister finishing up with a customer. She hands the woman her freshly wrapped bouquet with a smile, and her eyes find mine.
“Oh, good. You got my note.” She sighs.
Clutching her flowers to her chest, the customer gives me a smile before leaving.
I stop at the counter and pass my sister her coffee.
“I didn’t think you had work today.”
“The other girl who works this shift got sick, and Charleigh was already scheduled to work at her second location.” She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear.
Her large, gold earrings sway as she tips her head back, taking a sip of her triple espresso.
Despite having to wake up early today, after a night like last night, she appears surprisingly restful.
“Thank you for bringing this. ”
“You could have just sent me a text.” I giggle, setting my bag on the counter. “Risky leaving a note. You could have been waiting for me all day.”
“I know, but I knew you would find me.” She shrugs and sighs. “I’ve been trying to stay off my phone. Social media has been a little much lately. After months of pouring over my manuscript, I’m giving myself a break from technology.”