Page 90 of Angel Eyes

Nora scoffed. “Nonsense. You can have great sex after a cruise too.”

James cocked an eyebrow. “Care to test that theory, Mrs. Russell?”

I cleared my throat noisily. “You know what? I think I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Nora said. “Because we could—”

“Quite sure. You guys go ahead. I’ll lock up the shop.”

We exchanged our goodbyes, and as soon as the door closed behind them, I released an exhale, slumping in my seat.

Last night should have been perfect. I had come so close to making things official with Juliet, so close to telling her how I felt about her. But then Elise showed up like a bad dream, pulling me back into that dark place in my mind where nothing but anger and pain existed.

You might end up hurting someone you love. Someone who is innocent in all this.

I shook away the memory of Lucien’s words and pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Juliet’s number. I would never hurt her. Except, maybe I already had? I groaned, tossing the device down on the desk.

How the hell was I going to fix this?

“Hey.”

I swung around to find Lily standing in the doorway leading to the back of the shop.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were here.” I nodded toward the front door. “You just missed James and Nora. I, uh, kicked them out.”

A smile unfurled from one corner of her mouth as she crossed the room. “Well, I can’t blame you there. Those two can be a handful.” She lifted herself onto the desk, her denim-clad legs dangling over the edge. “So,” she said, twirling a strand of auburn hair around her finger, “how was last night? You and Juliet seemed to be having a nice time.”

“Yeah, we were. But then, I kind of messed things up so …”

She hummed without looking at me, and an unexpected wave of guilt hit me as I realized this was the first time we had talked since the dinner party.

“Beer?” I offered, and she nodded as I retrieved two from the fridge. “It’s good to see you, by the way. I haven’t had the chance to ask, but how long are you in Paris?”

She twisted the top off the bottle. “Haven’t had the chance to ask or just haven’t asked?”

I scratched my eyebrow. “Well, you got me there.” Truth be told, if Lily had shown up a few weeks earlier, I probably would have made more of an effort to spend time with her. She was like a little sister, always tagging along with me and James whenever she visited. But this time, I had hardly paid attention to her at all. “I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted lately.”

“It’s all right. I get it.” She rolled the glass bottle between her palms. “A lot is changing in your life. Has changed already maybe.” Her eyes flickered to me, a question dancing in them I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“We’ll always be friends, Lil, no matter what.”

Her cheeks reddened, and she turned to look out the window at the pinkening sky. After a stretch of silence, she said, “You know, my mum always used to tell me I was a free spirit, flitting through life, landing in this place or that, but never settling anywhere. The only thing I’ve ever truly stuck with is ballet, and for a long time, I was okay with that. I never wanted to commit to any place or thing I wasn’t sure I loved with my whole heart.” She glanced at me before looking away again. “But then I met someone, someone who made me want to stick for the first time in my life, who made me believe I could be happy in one place, so long as he was there.”

My brows pinched together. “Who? Some guy in the UK?”

Did James know about this mystery guy? No way he did—he couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.

Lily let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, Gabriel. Not some guy in the UK.”

Her eyes bounced over my shoulder to a photo pinned to the wall of James and me at one of his cycling races the year before. My arm was slung over his shoulders as we smiled at the camera, his hair damp with sweat and my own noticeably shorter.

“Your hair is longer now,” Lily said, her words mirroring my thoughts.

I ran a hand through it, the locks curling around my fingers. “Yeah, it’s been a while since my last cut.” If I wasn’t careful, I would end up sporting a man bun like those hipsters who hung around Canal Saint Martin drinking oat milk lattes.

“So, what happened with the guy?” I asked, bumping my knee against hers.

“Oh.” She brushed a hand over her collarbones. “I never told him how I felt. I thought I’d have more time. But I think …” She swallowed, her throat bobbing as her eyes settled on me. “I think it’s too late now.” I stared at her, a hint of awareness tingling at the back of my neck, like I was missing something important. After another beat, she rose abruptly. “Versailles.”

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