He would want me to know he had her.
The men drove away.
I stood in the roundabout with my hands on my hips, still terrified by the turn of events. I’d let my anger get to me, and now I found myself in a worse situation than I was in before. I could pretend I didn’t give a damn about her, but that wasn’t true.
I did care about her.
And I had to know she was okay.
I had to.
2
Sapphire
New York was exactly the same as it was before.
Overcrowded, polluted, and loud. I couldn’t see anything in the distance because there was always a building in the way. Direct sunlight was impossible to feel because the skyscrapers cast shadows everywhere.
But it was home.
Andrew lived in a large penthouse with his wife and two sons. At ten thousand square feet, it was a mansion at the top of the building. It wasn’t a three-story Italian villa, but it was still a dream house. Decorated fabulously by a professional, it definitely felt like a home for his family. It must have cost him over fifty million dollars to own a piece of real estate like that.
He was nice enough to let me stay there since I had nowhere else to go. He offered to give me money, but I refused to take anything unless it was a paycheck—wages for work I had done.
So in the meantime, I was staying with him.
I had a private bedroom with my own bathroom, and his two sons were hardly ever home because they were both in private school. When they weren’t studying, they were participating in their other academic activities. His wife was involved in their education, so she joined her two sons everywhere.
I was home alone most of the time.
My floor-to-ceiling windows gave a wonderful view of the city, but whenever I looked outside, I was always disappointed there were no golden fields to stare at. There were no vineyards or ancient castles. There was no breeze. The windows were sealed in place, so I couldn’t even crack them open.
The two places couldn’t be more different.
When I arrived in America, my phone stopped working, so I tossed it in the garbage. Andrew got me a new one, so I carried that with me everywhere I went. I wondered if Conway would ever call me and realize I didn’t have that phone anymore.
I’d like to believe he would. But maybe he wouldn’t.
I had his car returned to him when I left. I didn’t want to leave it on the side of the road for someone to steal. I wanted to make sure when I left I didn’t take anything of his with me. The clothes in my bag were all paid for by him, but leaving those behind wouldn’t make much of a statement.
I still proved I didn’t need him.
A week had come and gone, and I was finally used to the time change. When I went to sleep, Conway woke up. And when he went to sleep, my day was already started. We pretty much lived on different planets at this point.
Now I could move on and forget about him.
Forget about the only man I’ve ever loved.
My first.
I was still crying over him every night, still living with the deep pain in my chest from his rejection. Who knew confessing my true feelings would drive him away like that? A part of me wished I’d never said anything to begin with.
I’d still be sleeping with him.
I’d still be happy.
But now I had to move on and start over. I had to say goodbye to Vanessa and the rest of the Barsettis.
I had to say goodbye to the love of my life.
Andrew gave me a week to get back on my feet before he put me to work. He took me to his studio the following day, a large skyscraper in Manhattan. I used to pass by the building every single day on my way to work, and I never thought I would actually be able to walk inside.
His studio was much bigger than Conway’s, covered in lighter tones like white and blue. It was commercialized, reminding me of something I’d seen in a fashion catalogue. Conway surrounded himself in masculine colors, painting the area around him to match his dark mood.
I needed to stop comparing the two designers.
Andrew showed me around the facility, introduced me to the other models, and then escorted me into his office.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
I crossed my legs and looked at him over the desk, seeing the city behind him. It was overcast with thick rain clouds, but according to the weather, it wasn’t supposed to rain until tomorrow. Fall had arrived in New York far sooner than it arrived in Italy. “Sure.”
He was a man in his forties with kindness in his eyes. He brought his hands together on the desk in front of me. He was nothing like Conway. He was transparent, polite, and easy to talk to. He didn’t possess the intensity Conway did. Perhaps that was why the designers had such different levels of success.