my superpower. It’s where all my strength comes from.”
Another pause, and her words tug at the back of my mind, worrying me. Reminding me of what she said when she told me about her husband. How business was her saving grace, what pulled her out of her grief.
That’s . . . concerning.
More than I expected.
Her words worm their way through me.
I’m so happy.
It’s only been my greatest dream.
I’m so damn close to her dreams. Maybe too close?
“Yes. Take it away, and you’ve got Scarlett Kryptonite.” She laughs, waving a hand airily, then she calls out to me. “Cole says I’m addicted. That I need deals and profit-and-loss statements to be happy.”
I fasten on a smile that I don’t truly feel as I say, “And Paris too. Don’t forget Paris.”
Her eyes glitter like diamonds. “Of course. Paris is my heart. It’s a prerequisite.”
I know that. That’s the problem. That’s why my gut is telling me something, why my mind is flashing warning signs.
You’ll hurt her. That’s all you ever do. You’re too close, and you’ll destroy her dreams because that’s what you do.
I try to fight off those words, but they’re digging into me, clawing into my heart. I damage everything.
And I’d hate to do that to her.
Scarlett does need Paris. She does need business. She craves deals. She eats them up.
She doesn’t need them simply for nine-to-five sustenance. She needs them for air, for life, for happiness.
Paris and work, work and Paris.
They helped her heal from her pain. They were the twin supports she needed.
What if I hurt them?
My mind spins at a rapid pace.
I could ruin something she loves.
Worse. I could destroy it.
If we don’t work out—and we won’t, because how could we?—I’ll taint business for her. And then I’ll taint the thing she needs most.
Her city.
As I imagine a life with her beyond this tryst on the road, a life spilling over into Paris, the dire consequences smack me in the face.
Paris is her happy place.
Her comfort.
Her soul mate.
When we fall apart, what will happen to the things she loves, the things she needs?
I don’t want to kill Paris for her.
I don’t want to cause her more pain.
To scar the city she cares so deeply for, or the work she cherishes.
Surely that’s all I’d do.
She’s already recovered from her pain. She made her way to the other side. She found her violin, and she found it in business, she found it in Paris.
Am I truly selfish enough to risk that just for a few more moments with her?
Even if I want more than this week, even if I am dying to tell her that I’m madly in love with her, chances are I’d eventually ruin us.
I head to the shower.
Once I’m in the bathroom, I turn on the tap, step under the water, and blast it on high. I wash off the night, washing away my confessions. As I scrub soap over my body, I stare at my scar—the reminder that everything beautiful can be broken.
All the images I’ve kept locked up, haven’t revisited in ages, pound through my mind again.
The kitchen, the knife, the ambulance, the mistrial, the wall.
What if everything precious shatters once again?
Screw what if.
There is no what if.
Everything wonderful does die.
The only question is how it will happen.
And when.
27
Daniel
When we make a final stop in Champagne, only spending a few hours visiting an inn there, I can’t escape the sense that time is unwinding.
Time is running out for us to enjoy this make-believe romance.
We have business to do, and we are all business at the final inn, checking the details, peering into the corners, conducting our due diligence before we board the train to Paris.
As we cross the countryside, we roll up our sleeves, rub our palms together, and prepare a budget for the potential acquisition.
Cole texts that he wants to meet us before we put in the offer. We make plans to catch up with him at the Paris office near the train station. As we rumble along, one hundred miles away from the city that Scarlett considers her soul mate, we power through work.
Once or twice, I get the sense that she wants to dip into a what-if conversation.
I’m secretly praying that she’ll toe the line. That she’ll say, This ends when we return to Paris, just like we planned.
That would make life easier.
Then I won’t have to say the hard thing.
When we’re only fifty miles away, she clears her throat. “Daniel, do you want to talk?”
A bolt of tension slams down