Page 38 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

So I tell Max about the apology, about how I ran into him in the Louvre, how he made me smile, how I panicked when he drove us through Paris, though obviously excludingotherthings we did in that car. His eyes widen when I tell him about Monet’s actual gardens and that monstrous yellow room in the house.

And now, after telling him about our night walk, one I don’t regret, despite catching the worst cold I’ve had in a while, I feel even closer to Reed him than before.

Like maybe, just maybe, he might actually miss me. Like this could’ve been something more than just a vacation fling.

“And now?” Max asks, that faraway look in his eyes telling me he’s picturing our happily ever after.

"Well, now… nothing." I hate to destroy the daydream he’s conjuring up, but it feels necessary or next thing I’ll know he’s taking me wedding dress shopping. "I'm here. He's probably back in America. We probably won’t meet again."

"Are you sure?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow, his eyes jumping to me. "Because from what you're telling me, I don’t think he’d have rejected the idea."

"Well, he never mentioned it or asked for anything beyond Paris." I bite my lip and avert my eyes, knowing full well that I didn’t ask him about it either. And I began to doubt that decision from the moment I climbed into the taxi.

"And let me guess," Max says with an eye roll, "you didn’t ask because you were afraid he’d say no."

My only answer is another sip of my coffee while I evade his sharp gaze.

"Just let me ask why. And don’t give me an ‘I don’t know.’ Iknowyou, Abby. You know."

"Because it was too good to be true," I finally whisper, my hold on the warm mug tightening, my fingers tapping against the porcelain. "He was too… perfect. I couldn’t trust it."

"Well, did you ever ask him?" He tilts his head but now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

"Sure. Like I’ll just go up to a guy and say, ‘Hey, you're basically the Disney prince I always imagined sweeping me off my feet. What’s the downside? Are you a drug addict? A murderer? Married?’" Oh hell, I considered neither off those before I spoke them out loud.

"Now you’ll never know," Max teases, finally leaning back in his chair again instead of being all in my face like a wannabe cop trying to intimate me to get more details.

"Please," I scoff and shake my head. "I’m sure he’s going to make a woman very happy one day. Unless he’s already married, in which case, I hope he breaks his dick."

"You're such a scaredy-cat sometimes," he teases me, and I subtly scratch my chin with my middle finger.

"I’m totally not," I try to object, but he shoots me a sharp glare.

"If you weren’t scared, you would’ve talked to him. If you weren’t scared, you would’ve asked if he’d want you long-distance."

"I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this," I sigh, tapping my fingertips against the cold wood of the table. "I had a vacation fling. Not every vacation fling is going to be the love of my life. You had plenty of those without declaring them prince charming and having me up your ass about continuing them."

“Well, the way you talked about him?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not how someone talks about just any vacation fling.”

I shake my head slowly, but more at myself than at him. I hate it when he makes sense; he always turns so smug.

"Well, this one might be a slight exception to the rule," I admit with a small smile. "But still, some things just aren’t meant to be more."

I shrug again, but freeze mid-movement, because I could swear I see Reed's face from the corner of my eye. My heartrate picks up, butterflies already launching in my belly.

"What the—” I turn to where I thought I saw him. “Holy shit!"

My eyes drift behind Max to where two girls are gushing over a fashion magazine, their heads stuck together, but my eyes are fixated on the cover and an all-too-familiar face.

That same face that smiled at me in the Louvre.

The very same face that looked at me so adoringly on our last night.

"That motherfucker lied to me," I whisper, stunned, feeling like someone dropped a bucket of ice-cold water over me.

Max looks at me, worried, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the image. It’s touched up and his beautiful face is hidden behind a thick layer of makeup, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Are you still having a fever?" Max extends his hand to touch his palm against my forehead, but I shake my head, grabbing his wrist and lowering it. Curiously, he follows my gaze and turns around.

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