Carter

Whoever said misery loves company is fucking wrong. I don't want to look at Leonard Jaime, I don't want to talk to him.


I'm fucking pissed and it's all I can do not to throw shit on the ground and toss Leonard out the window of the nearly-finished build in San Esteban.

As we do a walk-through with Sims and a team of inspectors, I glance over at my friend. He's haggard. He looks like he hasn't slept, either.

Some of this shitshow is my fault. I could've told Evangeline I loved her enough for the both of us. I could've spoken up in that moment. Before Mark came home, instead of saying that when they told him was their business, I could've been a true partner in the throuple and talked out how and when to break the news to him. Instead, I shoved the responsibility into their laps.


Any problem that someone in a relationship faces is a problem for everybody in the relationship. It should've been all three of us against the problem, not me just waving my hands and telling them to work it out.

So I'm mad at myself, just as much as I am at Leonard.


The inspection ends. Everything is looking good.

'I don't know why we don't leave this in Sims's hands and fuck off to the next job," I say as Leonard and I take the construction elevator down to the ground. 'It's not like we have anything to keep us around."

'Don't fucking say that. Evie's coming back."

'She isn't responding to our texts," I say. 'She's moving on. In her mind, there's nothing to come back to."

He whirls around and looks as if he'll throw a punch. His hardhat is crooked and his nostrils flare.

'Go ahead, hit me," I say. 'I know you're pissed. Let it out. Doesn't fucking change the fact that you fucked up."

'Fuck you, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

'Don't I?" I stand taller, squaring off against him. 'When it came time for you to actually admit your feelings, you fucking flinched."

It's as if all the energy leaves him, and he deflates.

'I didn't hear you volunteering your undying love, either," he mutters.

'You're right." The elevator brings us down and we step out into the bright sunlight. I blink against it, shielding my eyes from the truth. 'We both fucked up."

* * *

Evangeline

Today's the day that Antoine is supposed to meet me in the twentieth arrondissement to look at the company housing available to me.

Before I leave the hotel, I see yet another text from Thomas, begging me to get back together.

No, I write. Then I text my mom. Thomas is still trying to talk to me.

She writes back, Stop inserting yourself into their relationship.

When she says that, it makes me want to shut down entirely. Still, I persist, Chanel still wants to go through with this wedding when he's talking to me?

She does, Mom writes back. Leave her alone, and leave Thomas alone. None of this is about you.

I arrive late, having gone down to the metro going the wrong freaking direction—a rookie move, but I blame my distraction on my mother—and Antoine is waiting for me. Instead of looking annoyed, his face brightens when he sees me.

'Evangeline!" He steps forward and does the two-kisses-on-the-cheeks thing in greeting. 'Ça va?"

'Ça va," I say.

'And you are ready to see the beautiful apartment that can be yours?" He stands to the side and opens his arms like he's displaying a priceless artifact.

'I'm ready," I say.

He unlocks the front door and we step into a little lobby. 'It isn't Palace Everbleu, but it isn't the worst."

'Palace Everbleu? Is that in France?"

He gives me a shocked look. 'No, it's the home of the Caperna royal family. Surely you know this? Caperna is so close to California, is it not?"

'It is, but I don't go there or anything."

'You haven't caught sight of the princess, even? She travels to Los Angeles and San Esteban quite often."

'You know what the princess of Caperna is doing?"

'Me and my friends are fans," he says, pulling up his phone. 'Look."

Sure enough, he has several sites and apps, most of them centered on discussing the comings and goings of Princess Ruby. I never would have imagined someone in France to be obsessed with the royal family of a tiny country off the coast of California, yet here we are.

'Anyway," he says, pocketing his phone, 'shall we look at the empty apartment?"

'Yes, let's."

We walk up three flights of stairs because, in Antoine's words, 'the elevator is unreliable, but that is part of its charm, no?"

Antoine unlocks a door at the end of the hall.

Calling the apartment 'small" would be generous.

'Well? What do you think?" Antoine focuses on me instead of the mouse-sized apartment, clearly eager for my reaction.

I'm sweating from the walk up those stairs. The air is cramped and humid. I doubt this place has air conditioning—most apartments don't, especially in older buildings like this one.

While the apartment is small, it's also clean and tidy. It comes furnished, and while the furniture is old, it's been taken care of and cleaned.

I just can't picture myself living here.

'It's a nice place," I say.

He sighs. 'You do not seem happy with it. You can be honest with me, Evangeline."

'There is nothing wrong with it," I say, 'except maybe that the elevator doesn't work and there's no air conditioning."

'You Americans and your air conditioning," he says with a smile.

I smile back, but it feels brittle and strained.

'You have had your heart broken recently, yes?" His deep blue eyes seem to see through me.

'Yes," I agree.

'So you are not interested in creating a new relationship," he guesses.

'That's right."

Sighing, he leans against the wall. 'That is always my luck. But I am sorry for your broken heart. If you stay in Paris, we will be friends."

'Yes," I say. 'We'll be friends."

'Our parents will be most disappointed."

'Is your mother single?" I ask. 'Maybe they can date each other and stop trying to set us up."

He laughs. 'She is single. Maybe it will happen."

'Should we go on a date, so they think that their attempt to set us up worked?"

'Non," he says, with emphasis. 'Why would we do that?"

'To keep them happy."

He gives me an incredulous look. 'Why would a false connection make either of them happy? Don't parents want their children to be happy, first?"

His words hit me in the chest. In an ideal world, yes, parents would want their children to be happy. It's never been that way with my mother. No matter what I have done for her approval, the hoops I've jumped through, the sacrifices I've made to the altar of Chanel—it hasn't been enough. It never will be. The one good thing about Dad whisking me off to France is that I'm out of her reach and ignoring her calls and texts. She flipped out over the wedding planning and my maid of honor duties, saying that Chanel's wedding trumps my 'little vacation."

But Dad isn't like Mom. He does want me to be happy—in fact, he's told me this a thousand times, in a thousand different ways.

What he doesn't understand right now, though, is that Leonard and Carter were a part of my happiness. Loving them, feeling loved by them—that was happiness, for me.

Can I convince him that there was more to it than what he is obviously struggling so hard not to imagine?

Even scarier: if I try, is he going to turn his back on me?

I couldn't bear it.

He's leaving Paris tomorrow morning, to go back home for a couple of weeks before another trip. If I want to talk to him, it has to be tonight.