Page 35 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

“I swear to God,” I mutter, rummaging through my rumpled sheets. “If this is Adam trying to send me to another fashion show, I swear to God, I’m going to—”

That’s when I see the name on my screen. Oh. That’s not Adam. It’s Zoey, my sister. I force myself to take a deep breath and roll my shoulders, trying to calm down before answering.

“Hey, Zoey. What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful.

“When are you coming back?” she demands without a greeting, but I’ll forgive it, because she sounds like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.

“Tomorrow. Why?” My whole body tenses. “Did something happen?”

“Everyone here is driving me up the goddamn wall,” she says, exasperation in her voice. “That’s what’s happening.”

“Don’t curse,” I scold her, rolling my eyes when she throws in some more curses for good measure. “What exactly is going on?”

“Tanner invited me to his place for the weekend, but Adam won’t let me go,” she complains, and I hear her footsteps, grinning when I realize she’s pacing too. It really is a family trait. “Because apparently, in Adam’s mind, all I’m supposed to do in high school is bury my nose in history books and spend hours every day doing schoolwork or working on college applications.” She takes a deep breath. “Reed, I need you to hear me, I can’t look at letters for another second or my brain is going to fucking explode.”

“Did you tell Adam that?” I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from chuckling. Yes, Adam is kind of a hard-ass, I know that better than anyone. The fact it’s now reaching my sister? The princess of the household, the baby of our little messed up family? I admit, it amuses me.

“Please,” she scoffs and I just know she’s rolling her eyes. “As if he’d listen to me. I’m just a teenager. So you need to move your ass back here and talk to him, maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“First of all, a ‘please’ would help your agenda a lot. Secondly, I hate to break it to you, sister dearest, but I don’t think that’s how Adam’s brain works. You’ll have to play him, manipulate him into thinking it’s his own idea.”

“I don’t care about his brain, I just—” She suddenly stops mid-sentence. “Wait a moment. Why do you sound so depressed? Did a designer cancel on you? Did someone steal your wallet? Did another model take you for drinks again? Are you hungover?”

“No, no,” I assure her with a chuckle and come to a stop by the window. The clouds are still heavy over Paris, like the world is trying to reflect how grey my life’s about to get.

Itfeelsheavy, just like every footstep I’m taking. As I glance down towards the street, I see Abby pulling her bags towards a taxi, talking to the security guy. I can see from up here how she turns on her charm, until he heaves her bag into the taxi for her.

“No, it’s not work,” I say softly and let out a deep sigh.

“If it’s not work, what’s with the melancholy?” she asks, her interest clearly piqued. “You sound like someone stole your last donut.”

“Eh, the feeling’s pretty comparable,” I say with a chuckle, watching Abby climb into the car. “And you do know I have a life apart from work, right?”

My throat tightens as I watch the car peel out of the parking space, slowly driving down the cobblestone road, a heavy feeling settling in my gut, the fear that I’m making a huge mistake, but I feel numb, unable to move, much less to think of a way to make it stop. It’s like I’m trapped in a nightmare, where I run as fast as I can, yet don’t move an inch.

“I think I might’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life,” I admit to Zoey, choking back the tide of emotion swelling in my throat.

“What’s her name?”

“I never said this was about a woman.”

“Oh, please.” I can’t see her, but Iknowshe’s pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“You’re my brother, Reed. I’ve known you since I entered this world. I can tell what you last ate, just by you saying ‘hello.’” She continues quickly before I can jump in to test out that statement. “I heard it in your voice. You sound just as crestfallen as you used to when you got dumped every other month back in high school.”

“You so cannot,” I can’t help but chuckle, though it’s a hollow sound with no real amusement behind it.

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” Glee drips from her voice.

“Of course you are,” I admit, letting myself fall back onto the bed, and greedily inhaling the fading scent of vanilla that suddenly surrounds me, her only remaining trace in this room.

“Well? Spill. What’s her name?” I contemplate telling her. What if saying it out loud makes it more real, keeps the wound open instead of healing with a clear cut by pretending it never happened?

Then I realize I can’t. There is no way I could pretend Paris didn’t happen. Likeshenever happened.

“Abby,” I whisper, reaching for the pillow she lay on just an hour ago and hugging it to my chest, then repeat her name louder. “Her name is Abby.”

“And? Are you seriously gonna make me fish for every bit of information?” I shake my head. That’s my sister, inpatient and unapologetically straight to the point.

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