Page 62 of A Win-Win Situation

Me

I need the code for the door

Lucas

What door?

Me

The door to your apartment from the staircase

A minute or two passes and I still haven’t received a code. A little flutter of panic runs through me and it escalates when I start to overthink.I’m going to die here. I’ll stay here forever. Lucas will come home and he’ll probably worry—I hope—then call the police and after further investigation, they’re going to call me a missing person.

My phone buzzes in my hand. Okay, maybe I’ll make it out of here after all.

Lucas

*950915#

As I press the last button, the sound of the lock clicking echoes through the hallway. Relief floods through me as I push open the door and step inside, finally escaping the endless staircase. My whole body is aching after that grueling workout so I head straight to my bathroom, eager to wash away the sweat and exhaustion with a soothing shower.

After I finish washing up, my mind once again drifts to Lucas.

Is he alright? And why did he leave me here, alone, when we really need to talk?

I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up my phone, scrolling through social media. I come across a French gossip site and the first image I see is a picture of me and Lucas. It’s one of the photos the paparazzi captured of us outside the hotel.

He’s holding me close to his body, and I’m leaning against him, my hand on his chest. We’re gazing into each other's eyes, smiling.

Wow.

We look like a real couple—anyone would believe it. I close down the website and just before I put my phone away, I notice an unread message from twenty minutes ago, just before my shower. It’s a message from Lucas.

Lucas

And it's our apartment.

The word "our"lingers in my mind as I stare at his message.

Our apartment.Not just his, but ours. It’s a small thing, but it means a lot. The word "our"hasn’t crossed my mind once, especially considering it won’t be "ours" forever.

It’s almostten o’clock in the evening and Lucas is still not home. I’ve had time to make food, eat it, organize my stuff, watch a movie, take a nap, and now I’m reading the book I brought with me on vacation. Or, at least I’m trying to read, but my mind keeps wandering to Lucas, wondering where he is. I keep telling myself to stop being so worried. He’s a grown man who can take care of himself.

I try to focus on the words on the page, and I somewhat succeed when I finally reach the part where the couple give their relationship another go. I love a second-chance romance, and this one is keeping me on my toes. The spice in it is immaculate—their desire and hidden love for each other almost palpable.

The male main character's dirty talk is incredibly arousing to me. Whenever I read it, I can't help but wonder if there are actually men out there who desire their partner so passionately and who genuinely crave their satisfaction.

The sound of the elevator opening interrupts my reading. I look up from my book and see Lucas walking in, appearing a bit disheveled and tired. His steps are a tad heavier than usual, and his eyes carry the weight of the day, a weariness that reflects in their subdued gaze. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his curly locks appear thoroughly tousled from his hand running through them several times.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, but I quickly compose myself and ask, "Where have you been?"

"Had some work to finish up. Lost track of time."

I want to believe him, but something feels off.

I close my book, set it aside, and sit up to make room for Lucas on the couch. It’s a silent plea for him to sit next to me. I'm left feeling simultaneously grateful and disappointed as he takes a seat but says nothing. I look over at him and meet his gaze, his eyes are filled with an emotion I can't identify precisely. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say anything, he beats me to it.

"I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, and the day before, and for not giving you a chance to explain. I overreacted, and I am sorry for any hurt or misunderstanding I may have caused. You didn’t deserve that." His tone is gentle and apologetic, and there’s now a softness to his eyes that conveys his regret. The weight of his words settles in the air and I can't help but feela sense of relief washing over me. Are we finally going to move past this mess?

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