Page 1 of Close Contact
The hallway stretched endlessly aheadof me as I walked away from his door.Callum’sshirt was soft against my skin, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric—a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind.
My pulse still pounded from Marco catching us. Callum’s words echoed louder than I wanted to admit. The way he’d touched me, looked at me like I was more than just a body… and then I’d pushed him away.
God, I was a mess.
When I reached my door, I fumbled in my pocket, only to come up empty. Panic flared briefly before I remembered that I’d handed my key card to the bartender last night to charge the drinks.Of course. I groaned, dropping my head back. Fine. Just a quick trip downstairs, and then I’d be in the solitude I so desperately needed. I turned on my heel and headed for the bar,trying to tuckCallum’sshirt into my denim skirt to make it look less conspicuous.
The bar was completely empty—it wasn’t even seven in the morning—except for a bartender washing glasses.
“Hi,” I greeted. “I think I left my key card here last night.” He gave me a knowing look, but could I blame him? Had I spent the night in my room, then clearly I wouldn’t be here right now.
The bartender set the glasses down and walked over to the register, then held up a card to swipe it. “Room 1902?”
I cleared my throat. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Do you have your ID on you?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I scrambled to dig my ID out and handed it over. After a moment, he returned both my ID and room card back. I thanked him and scurried back to the elevators. The two minutes I’d spent down here felt too long when I just needed to be alone.
Back in my room, I packed with mechanical efficiency, shoving clothes into my suitcase without much thought. My mind was too busy cataloging everything I needed to compartmentalize:Luminis, the growing media storm,Callum.Especially him.I zipped the suitcase shut with a sharp finality. There was no time to dwell. The only way out was through.
Once I’d checkedinto my hotel in Monaco after nearly eight hours of travel, I couldn’t get to the gym fast enough.
I was still insanely sore fromCallum, but exercising when sore was the best remedy.
The gym was nearly empty when I arrived, the air sterile and humming faintly with the sound of fluorescent lights and elliptical machines. I skipped my usual stretches, stepping onto the treadmill and jamming the buttons with more force than necessary until the belt started moving. I needed to run, to move, to escape from Callum and the way he consumed me from the inside out.
Skipping stretching would prove to be a mistake, but today was not about finesse; it was about outrunning demons. The rhythmic pounding of my sneakers against the belt quickly drowned out the world around me. My legs burned as I pushed the speed higher, my lungs straining with every breath.
I tried to exorcise the acheCallumleft behind, but I could still feel the way he kissed me as if it meant something—and itdidmean something. I knew that.
No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t outrun the voices. My ex’s mocking tone echoed in my ears, his words slicing through my resolve.You’ll never make it without me.
I pushed harder, sweat dripping down my temples. My parents’ faint praise for me, always overshadowed byÉtienne’s accomplishments, played on a loop in my head.They love me more now,I thought bitterly.Because I’m useful. I’ve stepped into his spotlight.
All the praise he effortlessly garnered while I fought for every scrap of recognition, and yet I was expected to always be the supportive sister.
Pain shot through my legs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I needed to get away. I didn’t want to be me anymore. I didn’t want to exist in the spotlight, let alone in the shadows of my brother’s accomplishments. I didn’t know my place anymore.
Push through,I thought, cranking up the speed until my breath came in ragged gasps and my legs burned with the exertion. Yet no matter how fast I ran, the voices clawed at me,echoing hollow affirmations meant for him, never for me. Sweat drenched my skin, but it felt like failure seeping out of my pores, and still, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
My lungs screamed, my vision blurred, and finally, my body gave out, sending me stumbling against the console. A gym staff member rushed over, concern etched on his face.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, brushing him off as I grabbed a towel. “Ça va, ça va.” My chest heaved, my thoughts still spiraling.I can’t break now. Failure isn’t an option.
By the timeMarco and I boarded the jet for Monaco, my head was replaying the morning in fragments. Her lips, her panic, that final kiss that had felt like a door slamming shut and still somehow left it cracked open. The bittersweet “Peut-être à Monaco” and explanation ofau revoirover text, the feel of her body molded to mine.
Marco lounged across from me, unusually quiet. I stared out the window until the clouds broke over the Riviera, my stomach coiling tighter with every mile closer to reality.
“So what’s the plan?” Marco asked eventually, voice casual.
I didn’t look at him. “It’s not about a plan. It’s about giving her what she needs.”
He scoffed. “And what’s that? Because if it’s space, you might as well cancel your season. The girl’s got walls higher than Spa’s runoff.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Fuck, did I know. I knew she was scared. She didn’t trust herself to be wanted without being used. I knew the last man made her feel small. And I knew exactly how she tasted when she forgot all of that.
