Page 11 of A Simple Reminder

“Oh, look, he’s awake. He just followed you back. Should we ask him to join us?” Adeline asks as she hands me back my phone as if nothing happened.

I need to sit down, but all bar stools are occupied. The hint of panic builds quickly into a wave that tightens my chest. The misty sweat from all the dancing suddenly feels ice-cold against my spine, sending a shiver through me as I clutch the phone tightly.

Well, it seems to be too late to remove that follow request now.

SIX

LIAM

Since meeting her this morning, Sophie has been consuming my thoughts. She's like that song you can't get out of your head, where the melody lingers forever and ever. Sometimes, it gets infuriating. Like now, where I can't shake off the image of her—the way she spoke so passionately and the way she looked at me with so much shock and a hint of defiance. I’m not disappointed, but I’m not excited either. Every detail about that woman seems etched in my memory, down to her freckles.Thereareprecisely thirteen freckles on her face.

I swing open the refrigerator door, the cool air rushing out to greet me as I reach for a bottle of ice-cold water.

My uncle’s apartment is on Greene Street in SoHo. It’s a spacious penthouse with high ceilings and large windows that flood the open plan with beautiful natural light. The windows also give a panoramic view of the city, which is especially stunning on a clear day.

However, the terrace is my favorite spot. It’s massive, with room for grilling, outdoor dining, working out, and lounging under the stars.

I take a long swig, relishing the cold liquid as it soothes my parched throat, before placing the bottle on the smooth Crema Marfil marble counter. The shock of the cold jolts me awake, momentarily clearing my mind from the whirlwind of thoughts about Sophie and the hotel.

I can't afford to get distracted.

I need this to work, not only for the business but also to keep my promise to my uncle, Ammo Antoine. After he passed, he left me a letter that broke me. In it, he clearly stated how much he believed in me and that he knew I would thrive if I dared to take on more responsibility. So here I am.

My brother also trusted me enough to send me here to make sure this hotel opens. That’s exactly what I’m going to do, with Sophie by my side.

She’s fantastic—her eye for detail is unmatched, the kind that turns ordinary spaces into something extraordinary. I’ve seen her sketches, and the way she pairs colors and textures in a way that shouldn’t work but somehow does. Her drive is relentless; she doesn’t just work hard—she pours herself into every project.

I should trust her enough to let her work without my constant oversight. But the thought tightens my stomach into knots. Some call it a control issue but Ireallyneed to make sure everything turns out right, and I can't shake the feeling that I need to be there every step of the way. It’s also an opportunity to spend more time with her.

I might need to hire an extra interior designer to keep things professional. There’s a name I have in mind. He’s also very talented–of course not in Sophie's league. However, I’ve had his résumé sent to me a few times, and now might be the right time.

With those thoughts swirling in my mind, I head to the bathroom to shower. As I reach for the back of my T-shirt and pull it over my head, I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. Intricately designed tattoos spread over my chest and arms, each holding memories and stories. They're more than just ink; they're a part of me, a reminder of where I've been and what I've overcome.

The two that mean the most to me sit on my forearm and my left ring finger. The one on my arm is of a pair of wings I got together with my brother twenty years after the passing of our parents. I don’t remember much of them. I was about three years old when they died in a car accident. My brother, Lucas, was five at the time, but we were lucky enough to have our uncle Antoine and his wife, Marie, take us in. They became our family, our rock in a world suddenly turned upside down.

I trace the outline of the wings. The tattoo serves as a reminder of the love and protection we’ve always had from the start and the promise we made to always look out for each other.

The one on my ring finger was done with someone else ten years ago. It serves as a reminder of a different time.

A smile creeps up on my face, which it always does when I think about it.Nasib. The Arabic word for destiny is written there.

I step into the shower, feeling warmth as the water cascades down from the rainfall showerhead.

With a touch of a button, I adjust the setting, controlling the water temperature and pressure to my liking. I like it scalding and hard. The hard pressure of the body jets massages my muscles, easing away any tension accumulated throughout the day.

With a deep breath, I reach for my cedarwood and citrus-infused shampoo displayed on the built-in shower shelf. I’ve been using the same shampoo for years, so the scent calms me when I lather the rich foam in my hair. I close my eyes, allowing the soothing sounds of the water and the smell to envelop my senses completely. But just as I relax into the tranquility, her face appears in my mind, vivid and unrelenting. Beautiful. Familiar. Completely unwelcome. The memory surfaces unbidden: her wide eyes locking onto mine that night on the Ferris wheel, her vulnerability slicing through my defenses in a way nothing else ever could. I try to push the image away, but it clings to me, relentless and unshakable.

Her laughter, her touch, her smile—all of it comes rushing back, weaving itself into the fabric of my thoughts. And then, as if to twist the knife, the memory sharpens, honing in on the one detail I can’t forget.

Her left ring finger.

Completely bare, the ink that once mirrored mine gone as if it had never existed.

Why?

Did she regret it? Regret us? Was it too painful for her to keep, or was it just meaningless?

The questions claw at me, tearing apart any attempt at rational thought. I can’t help but wonder if she thought about me as the laser erased what we once had or if she’d moved on so wholly that removing the reminder was as easy as breathing.

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