Whirling around, I see Susanna coming for me at full speed, her expression full of pure determination. I forget about my suitcase, abandoning it so I can run toward her, meeting her halfway. I pull Susanna into my arms and swing her around and around with my face buried in her hair, breathing her in one last time.
“I couldn’t leave you without giving you a proper goodbye,” she whispers.
I pull away so I can study her pretty face, see the tears filling her eyes, streaking down her cheeks, and my heart cracks wide open. “We can make this work.”
She blinks up at me, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“You and me. Me and you. Us. We can be together. Long distance,” I explain, not sure where this is coming from. All thoughts of doing the right thing flew right out the window, I guess.
“It would be very long distance between us. You do realize this, don’t you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I know, baby. But I think we can make it.”
She says nothing, still blinking up at me with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. “I think you’re completely mad.”
Mad? Oh. Right. She means crazy. “But that’s your favorite quality about me, am I right?” I grin and she rises up on tiptoe to kiss me on the mouth. I cup the back of head, keeping her there, and when I finally break the kiss, I murmur against her lips, “Tell me you want to give this a shot. That you want to be with me.”
“I don’t know…” Her voice drifts and I kiss her again. Hard and fast.
“Just say yes,” I practically demand.
She’s smiling through the tears, nodding continuously. “All right. Yes. Yes. We can make this work.”
“You’re right.” I kiss her again before she reconsiders what she just said. “We can definitely make this work.”
“This is never going to work.”
I hang my head at Evie’s words, disappointment leaving me weary. That’s the last thing I want to hear from my best friend. The moment I walked into my tiny flat, I was overwhelmed with such sadness I called Evie and begged her to meet me for dinner. She grumbled and complained and finally agreed, and now here we are, at one of our favorite restaurants in my neighborhood. We were seated quickly, the waiter giving us menus and taking our drink orders, and when he walked away, I launched into a quick rundown of my last few days spent with Cannon.
Well, almost everything. Some things are better left unsaid, you know? They’re private. Sacred to me.
Yes, I will really keep to all that private, sacred talk this time around. There’s no need for me to spill every single detail about my time with Cannon.
“You don’t think it will?” I finally ask her, my gaze locked on the menu, even though I already know what I’m going to order.
“Susanna, be realistic. He lives in San Francisco, you live here. He’s a celebrity, you’re the daughter of an earl, but you’re not a celebrity. Well. Perhaps you are, but not like he is. Right? Or am I wrong...” Her voice drifts and I lift my head to find her watching me.
“I’m definitely not a celebrity. I’m no Meghan Markle,” I practically sputter, making Evie laugh.
“Right. Okay. Well, he makes millions, and most likely gets endorsements for posing in underwear or something along those lines. And there are probably loads of beautiful women throwing their panties at him on a daily basis. Without you around, he will slip up. He’s a man. That’s what they do,” Evie explains, smiling up at the server when he brings her the dirty martini she requested earlier. “Thank you, you’re a doll.”
He smiles in return, puffing up his chest.
I say nothing, just glower at both of them until he finally flees.
“He’s not a cheater,” I say, watching as she gulps down the dirty martini like she’s been wandering the desert for the last month and finally came upon an oasis. “He told me he’s over that whole football groupie scene.”
Evie practically snorts into her drink, then sets it on the table. “Of course he’ll tell you that. He’s saying what you want to hear.”
She doubts all men after having a few bad experiences. Okay, some of them were really bad, awful experiences, but she doesn’t have the best taste. It’s the wildness in her—all that spontaneity is bound to get you in trouble sometimes, right?
“He’s not a liar either,” I say in his defense, but she doesn’t answer me. Just shoots me a look that I’m full of crap. “And besides, I was ready to let him go.”
I was. Really. I walked out of that hotel room with my head held high and my tongue firmly between my teeth. I wasn’t going to beg and plead, and I wasn’t about to make any outrageous suggestions.
I cried in the elevator. And I cried in the lobby. Then I waited, fully planning on torturing myself while I watched him leave the hotel without any knowledge that I was lurking there like some sort of deranged stalker.
When I saw him, my chest grew tight. My heart raced. I even became dizzy. The misery was etched all over his face, leaving him looking raw and vulnerable, and I went into pure survival mode.