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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


 

15

 

“I’m not coming to LGI,” Christian addressed his family as they were finishing their Sunday night meal.

His grandmother and mother looked at him with mirrored expressions of surprise. His father watched him expressionlessly. 

“But Christian, why?” his mother asked. “You’ve done well with the cafe. We all think you’re more than ready to join the company.”

The truth was that LGI had never been a priority in his life. The only reason he’d pushed to involve himself in the business was because of his grandmother’s illness. But she was now semi-retired, thankfully healthy, and the pressure to join had been reduced significantly. 

He couldn’t imagine himself sitting in some high-rise office running someone else’s investments when he’d experienced working for himself and finding fulfillment in it. 

“I know I made a promise.” He turned to his grandmother, reaching gently for her hand. “I made a promise to you. But my heart was never in it. I know how much the company means to you but the Brew House ... it’s becoming just as important to me.”

His grandmother’s eyes searched his and they softened. She patted the back of his hand with her free one. “I want whatever is best for you, child. If it’s that important to you, I would never stand in your way.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders, and he leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Now, when are you getting married?” 

His mother piped up, “I know a girl who would be perfect for you, Christian.”

He groaned. “Come on.” 

His father’s chair scraped against the hardwood floor as he pushed his seat back. “Come see me in the study,” he said before walking out of the room.

His father’s office was a dark and sombre room. It was exactly what you’d expect from Graham Laurent, tall wooden bookshelves, leather wingback chairs, a heavy desk that dominated the room. It exuded power, wealth and lofty expectations. Christian had always hated it. 

“I want to buy the Brew House,” he said, after his father had settled into the chair behind his desk.

His father raised a brow. 

It had been a little over three months since he’d set out to make the Brew House a success. And he’d done so.

“I have investors,” he continued. “Carson and George both want to be part of the future of the brand.” 

“You think a couple months of modest success suddenly means you can run a successful business?” his father said acerbically.

He let the sarcasm roll off his back. “Hardly. But you’ve seen the figures. Considering what we started with, our numbers are more than good for a new business.” 

“And six months from now if the cafe is hit and things get a little bit tough, what are you going to do? Are you going to run back to Europe like you’ve run away from everything else in your life?”

An image of big brown eyes flashed through his mind before he shook it away. “Whether you believe in me or not, I’m going to do this. And if it’s not the Brew House, it’ll be something else.” 

Something almost like amusement flashed across his father’s eyes but just as quickly it was gone.

“Whether you sink or swim, that’s up to you.” He opened up a folder on his desk and started to peruse it. Christian knew from years of experience that meant dismissal.

“Come to my office with your investors next week. We’ll get the ball rolling from there,” his father said without looking up from his work. 

Christian bit back a smile. “I’ll do that,” he said before turning away.

“Good work,” his father said from behind him and he stuttered to a stop. They were the simplest words said without any fanfare and yet for some reason Christian was blinking back tears. 

“Thank you,” he said through the lump in his throat.

It wasn’t much, but somehow in that moment, it was enough. 

...

 

He found himself there again. He knew the road by heart now. Probably could get there with his eyes closed if it wasn’t massively reckless. 

A light was on, low and dull. Someone’s bedroom. He’d been watching it for fifteen minutes, hoping foolishly that she’d appear at the window so he could see her face.

He shouldn’t be there, sitting in his car in the dark like some serial killer, but it was only on days when something good had happened or he was lonely or he thought about her that he felt this urge to see her. He somehow managed to restrain himself from showing up there more than once a week.

The desire to see her was even more powerful that day. There was a time when her presence was a constant in his life, when he’d turn around and she’d be there celebrating along with him.

It had been two months. Two months since he’d walked away from her, two months of wondering about her, thinking about her, missing her. It killed him how much he did, how much her presence had become so vital to his well being, to his feeling of happiness. 

But he didn’t know how to reach out to her, not after all this time, not when so much of him didn’t quite trust her. So he stared at the window one more time then willed himself to drive away.

 

It was Saturday morning and the Brew House was full. Alana stepped around a family of four standing in line and marched over to the counter where Christian was working the espresso machine. 

“I think I liked this place a lot better when it was underground,” she said wryly once Christian had finished the order.

He laughed. “You know businesses are supposed to make money, right?" He lifted a mug. "What do you want?"

“One of those French vanilla thingees,” she said and without asking her to clarify he went to work.

“I think it’s safe to say that the B house is a success.” She gestured to the customers. “Congrats, Christian.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t do it by myself,” he said looking around, his eyes falling on each of his employees. 

Alana followed his gaze. “They’re good people.”

He placed the cup in front of her and watched as she took a slow sip. 

“Delicious,” she said breathily before looking up at him. “So, for dinner tonight, do you want me to bring anything?”

He eyed her amusedly. “Do you even know how to cook?”

“Hey!” she said indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I make a mean baked potato.”

He chuckled. “You’re a culinary badass.” 

“You know it.”

“The only thing you need to bring,” he said indolently, a slow smile spreading over his face, “is you. That’s more than enough.” 

She watched him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He let his gaze wander lazily over her. There was no intent behind it other than to tease her and make her blush. 

“Like what?”

“Like that! Like you’re going to eat me for dinner.”

“Alana,” he said, pretending to be shocked, “you’ve got a dirty mouth.” 

A blush spread over Alana’s cheeks and he grinned.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” she said with a huff and he started to crack up at the look of exasperation on her face. But his laughter was contagious and after a moment, she joined him. 

“You’re yourself again,” she said when their laughter had died down.

He looked at her curiously and she tried to clarify. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that sparkle in your eye. Ever since Tay...” her voice drifted off. 

He gave her a slightly mocking smile. “You can say her name. Taylor.”

She made a face. “Ever since Taylor left, you’ve been a lot more serious.”

“I’m serious because I’m running a business,” he said with a short laugh. “I don’t have time to worry about that kid.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. He was so nonchalant that it was suspicious. She asked casually, “Have you spoken to her since?” 

“No. That’s all ancient history,” he said with a shrug. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work. We just opened the roof deck, you should go check it out.” 

After one last smile, he turned away and as she watched him she wondered if he was really as casual as he was acting or if it was all for show.

Then she shook her head. Who was she kidding? Of course it was for show. 

She took another heavenly sip of her latte and came to a decision.

There was no other way for it. Since left to their own devices, nothing would change. She’d just have to bring these crazy kids back together. 

 

“Please say you’re coming to my masquerade party!”

“I don’t know if I can.” Taylor avoided Alana’s gaze as she took another spoonful of her toffee ice cream.

Alana had spent the day helping her find something nice to wear to her convocation. Funny how they’d gotten close after her fallout with Christian. But Alana had seen her leaving with her things that day and she’d gotten the full story out of her.

She’d been confused but supportive, saying somewhat vindictively that Christian probably deserved it after all the hearts he’d broken over the years. “Besides, I wouldn’t dare judge you. I’ve done plenty of stupid things in the name of love myself. And you do love him don’t you?” 

Taylor hadn’t needed to say anything, the tear streaked face and the look in her eyes had given her away.

From then on, Alana had been a good friend to her and she was grateful to have someone she could confide in.

“Lies!” Alana said, swinging an arm packed with multicolored bracelets in the air. “You’re just afraid that you know who will be there.” 

“Not really,” she lied. “My grad’s that day and my family’s taking me out to dinner.”

“What time’s your reservation?”

“Seven-thirty,” Taylor mumbled.

“Perfect!” Alana clapped her hands. “My party starts at nine-thirty. No one’s going to show up until ten-ten thirty anyway, so you’ll have more than enough time to make it.” 

“Alana...”

“And if you’re worried about you know who he won’t even be in town.”

Taylor felt a surge of relief and disappointment all at the same time.

“Last I heard he was going to LA to do some coffee thing, so the coast is clear.” Alana grabbed Taylor’s free hand and clasped it between her own. “Will you come, friend?” she asked beseechingly. 

Taylor knew she didn’t have a choice. It would probably make her the world’s worst friend if she missed Alana’s twenty-first birthday and the only person she wanted to avoid wouldn’t be there.

The thought of him made her feel a pang in her chest. Even now, he still had power over her emotions.

She hadn’t seen him since that day in his office, although she’d passed by the cafe now and again in hopes that she would catch a glimpse.

She sent him money every week, trying to pay back what she owed him. He’d never asked for any of it back but she wasn’t the kind of person to run away from her responsibilities and the last thing she wanted to do was be beholden to someone who didn’t want anything to do with her. 

“Okay, I’ll come but no promises that I’m wearing a costume.”

Alana clapped excitedly. “Just wear a mask and it’ll be all good. It’ll probably be for the best anyway. I can’t have you upstaging me on my own birthday!” 

Taylor laughed. “Oh please.”

“No, seriously. With a little makeup and your new hairstyle, you’re super hot, Taye. Your legs are to die for. I actually wish you would go back to being a boy because I don’t need the extra competition.” She gave Taylor a wink and all Taylor could do was shake her head and laugh. 

Sure she’d changed her look a bit since she’d left the coffee shop but Alana was overreacting.

Not that she’d been ashamed of her style before, it was just that four years of university had really stilted it. Jeans, jogging pants and hoodies were more conducive to overnighters at the school library and racing from work to school than dresses. And the thirty minutes it took to do her hair and makeup was a waste of valuable time. It was one of the reasons why she’d impulsively cut her hair off earlier in the year. 

But now that school and all that subterfuge with Christian was over, something inside her had been screaming for change. For a fresh start. She’d updated some of her wardrobe, purchased some makeup basics and taught herself how to work with her ever-growing natural hair.

She’d forgotten how it felt to get first and second glances and while it made her a bit uncomfortable after so many years of being under the radar, the ego boost wasn’t a bad thing.

Alana tossed her cup in the trash and stood up. “Now that that’s been decided, it’s time for you to help me find the perfect shoes for my dress.”

Taylor groaned and got to her feet. Beauty really was pain.

...

 

Friday came quickly. Taylor closed the cab door and made her way carefully up the path to Alana’s party.

The mask felt awkward on her face. It was black and gold, glittery and delicate, and tied securely with organza around her head. With her emerald silk dress, she felt like something out of a fairytale.

She shook her head to clear the fanciful thoughts and handed her invitation to the man in a tuxedo at the door. It was just like Alana to make a twenty-first birthday such a huge event.

The party was being held in an old building across town. The space was expertly designed with draped silk and soft lights, peacock feathers and crystals. The combination of brick walls and wooden floors with those delicate materials created an atmosphere that was decadent and mysterious. Perfect for a masquerade party.

She walked slowly around the room, keeping to the edges as she looked for Alana. She second-guessed her decision to come. She didn’t know anyone here other than Alana and at a quarter to ten, when she’d arrived, the room was barely half-full, so it was impossible for her to hide behind the crowd.

Thankfully Alana saw her and came running up to her squealing, glimmering in her silver dress. “You came! Come, I’ll introduce you to some of my besties.” Alana took her arm and dragged her across the room. She should have known that Alana wouldn’t let her be a wallflower, even if she’d wanted to.

 

Christian eased through the crowd. He nodded to an acquaintance as he saw Carson’s tall frame on the other side of the room. He grabbed a champagne flute and made his way over to him. 

“Why can’t your sister go clubbing like any other twenty-one year old?” he asked as he walked up beside him.

Carson grinned, a flash of white against his gold mask. “Because she’s Alana.”

Christian nodded because that was answer enough. “How long you plan on staying?”

“Maybe another hour.” Carson raised a brow. “Why? Is something on tonight?” 

“Remember Jake Noble? He’s in town for the weekend and wants to…” A flash of green stopped him in his tracks. His eyes followed the movement, watching the wisp of green with intense eyes.

Carson muttered something behind him but he didn’t hear it, his feet had already started moving toward that elusive bit of green.

He didn’t know what force was propelling him other than pure instinct but it kept his eyes focused and sharp. Then the crowd shifted and it was gone.

The music pulsed around him as his eyes flickered through a crowd of sweeping skirts and elaborate masks. He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn’t stop the desperate feeling that if he didn’t find that silk green dress, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

 

Taylor laughed at one of Alana’s friends on the dance floor. He was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, cape and all, and he kept using it in some elaborate dance move that was both hilarious and incredibly lame. 

She was having a surprisingly good time. Alana’s closest friends had taken her in quickly. They’d formed their own little group and had spent most of the night dancing and laughing.

While it wasn’t totally packed on the dance floor, there was still a decent crowd, and the heat was starting to get to her. She waved at the group and pointed up toward doors that led to a balcony upstairs. Leaving them, she made her way through the crowd, upstairs and outside.

It was a beautiful night, so clear that she could see a few stars in the darkened sky. Not many people had made it outside, although she could see a few amorous couples in the shadows. She turned away, feeling a pang at what she didn’t have, and made her way to a vacant corner.

There was something about the night, about the setting, that felt somewhat magical. She didn’t consider herself a romantic, not really, and yet she could feel the essence of it – of romance surrounding her.

The wind made her dress flutter and goose bumps rose on her flesh at the shot of cool air. It was colder than expected but the fresh air was refreshing. She rubbed her arms, deciding whether to stay out a bit longer or to make her way back inside when a voice intruded her thoughts.

“May I?”

Her eyes widened as something was draped over her shoulders. She looked down at the pale pashmina before turning slowly towards the voice. 

“Alana said you might need this.”

Their eyes met. Dark blue colliding with rich brown.

“I...” She stared at him. “Thank you.”

He was handsome, beyond handsome in a black suit and mask. It gave him this aura of mystery and darkness. It made him seem unattainable which made him all the more attractive. What was it about unavailability that increased desire?

It struck her then how strange it was that she was there. That in some weird stroke of luck ... or misfortune ... he’d walked into her life and made her part of this existence; of model friends, penthouse apartments, and masquerade balls.

How had she slid into any of it so easily? How had she managed to capture a man like this even briefly? In that moment, parts of it felt like a dream.

She looked away, clutching the shawl even closer as if needing it desperately for protection.

He’d been watching her and she knew the moment when his eyes left her face because she physically felt the loss.

“It’s a nice night.”

She glanced at him in surprise. She’d expected him to walk away, positive that he had nothing to say to her. He was leaning forward, resting his arms against the railing, his eyes focused on the outside world.

She looked away. “Yes,” she said, her voice coming out in a murmur. “A beautiful night for the birthday girl.”

It was a bit ridiculous, this polite, ultra correct conversation, but she didn’t know how to break it without stepping on a landmine. 

“Mother nature wouldn’t ruin tonight. Alana wouldn’t allow it.”

She smiled a little at that. “She does tend to get her way, doesn’t she?”

“Always.”

There was something about the way he said it that sent warning bells off in her head. In fact, she should be furious with Alana. She’d lied about him being away and now she had forced him into Taylor’s presence.

Yet she was happy that he was here. Although the encounter was awkward, his presence lifted something inside her. She was already dreading the moment when he’d walk away.

“Lucky,” she said softly, “to always get what you want.”

She felt his gaze again. “We don’t always want what’s good for us.”

“It doesn’t stop us from wanting it though.”

She looked at him and their eyes caught. Held. A spark of something hot flashed between them.

“No,” he said, voice low. “It doesn’t.”

Suddenly those heady emotions of the past came storming back and she desperately wanted to touch him, to have his arms around her.

“How do you stop it?” she whispered, partly to herself.

“What?” he asked, eyes hooded beneath the mask.

“Wanting what’s not good for you?”

“Time.”

“Time only makes it harder.” 

“Distance.”

“I think distance would make you want it even more.”

The conversation was getting perilously close to landmine territory. She didn’t care. She needed him to know that she hadn’t stopped caring about him or wanting to be with him. That her feelings were just as strong as they were before.

“Maybe it’s not something you can stop.” He took a step towards her and she swallowed hard. Her pulse hammered against her throat.

He let his hand flutter over her skirt in a butterfly caress. “Maybe it’s... not as bad for you as you thought.”

“Christian Laurent is that you?”

The feminine shriek behind them shattered the moment. Taylor turned her head to see a woman in a pink gown making her way over to them and her hands curled in frustration at the interruption.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” the woman declared as she shifted slightly so that her back was turned to Taylor.

“Rebecca, it’s been a while,” he said with a short nod.

“Where have you been? No one ever sees you out and about anymore.” She tapped his chest in rebuke.

“I’ve had a few things going since I got back.”

“Oh right! I heard that you were running some little shop on the east side.”

Taylor rolled her eyes at her tactlessness and Christian saw it. A corner of his mouth went up in a barely there smile. It warmed her from the inside out.

Rebecca caught the look and turned to give Taylor a thorough once-over. “And who is this?”

Christian started at her for a few seconds too long and she looked away, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Taylor,” he said finally. “Taylor Mooreland.”

“Hello,” Rebecca said before Christian could introduce them properly. “I’m Rebecca Clarington.” She stretched out her last name as if to emphasize its importance but Taylor just stared at her blankly.

“Nice to meet you,” she said politely.

Rebecca’s face twitched before she turned back to Christian with a glittery smile. “Do you remember my brother James? He’s inside. He’d love to say hello.” She slid a hand around his arm and started to shift forward.

He glanced at Taylor and with a small shrug – as if to say he had no other choice –let Rebecca drag him away.

Taylor felt panic as she watched him go. They’d been so close to turning a corner, she could feel it. If she let him go now, would she ever see him again?

“Don’t go!” she said, her voice coming out like a lash. A few people on the balcony turned at her voice but she ignored them, her eyes on Christian as he turned.

“I miss you. I miss laughing with you, talking to you. I miss the way you used to tease me.” She didn’t care that Rebecca was eyeing her like she was last year’s designer shoes. She had to get through to him. “You know what's crazy? Coffee doesn’t taste right to me anymore. I think I can only have it at the Brew House. With you. I got a passport.” She was rambling but she couldn’t stop. “I’ve been saving up to go somewhere amazing this summer. And all I’ve been thinking about is Italy or Paris. Because you’ve been there. Because they’re places that you love so much.”

His eyes were unreadable as he watched her and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “I know I have no right to say any of this but I want you to know that the way I feel hasn’t changed.”

Rebecca glared at her and tugged at Christian’s arm. “Are you coming?”

Christian removed Rebecca’s hand from his arm and in one heart stopping moment she thought he was going to come back to her but that quickly faded when he spoke.

“I can’t do this right now, Taylor,” he said, shaking his head, and with horror she watched him turn away.

The words felt like the slamming of a cell door. It felt like finality. Taylor blinked back tears as she watched him leave her again.

It had taken two months for it hit her like a ton of bricks.

It was really over.

...

 

Taylor crawled out of bed around two in the afternoon feeling hopeless and empty. Why hadn’t she learned her lesson? Why did she keep doing this to herself? Maybe she deserved it after what she’d put Christian through all those months.

But why wasn’t she good enough to forgive? If he had ever truly cared about her, he would have given her another chance, especially after last night. After she’d put herself on the line and practically begged him to love her back.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and dragged herself to the kitchen.

Her brother looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “You look rough.”

She looked down at herself in an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

“Just sayin’.”

“You can keep sayin’ it elsewhere.”

He shrugged and grabbed a banana. At the door, he turned to look at her. “Just say the word and I’ll beat him up for you.”

She gave him a wet smile. The kid was too perceptive for his own good. “Thanks buddy.”

He nodded.

She watched him leave before raiding the kitchen. She found a box of cookies, a bag of chips and a can of soda. Breakfast of champions.

She was ripping open the bag when the doorbell rang.

Even though no one could see her from the front door, she scrunched low in her seat. She didn’t need anyone she knew seeing her like this.

She heard low voices and then blocked them out. She was munching morosely on a mouthful of chips when her mother walked in the kitchen. “I’ll have to talk to this young man of yours—,”

“He’s not my young man!” Taylor said out of habit.

Her mother continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “—if you’re going to keep coming home crying.”

“It’s not him. It’s ... it’s me.”

“Does he still blame you for that dressing up as a boy business? I still don’t understand why you did that.”

Taylor silently groaned, blaming herself for sharing the story with her mom in a moment of weakness.

“Because I was stupid, okay? Because I thought for some dumb reason I needed him in my life no matter the cost.”

“You should have told me.”

Taylor stumbled out of her chair and stared at Christian in shock. He was standing in her doorway, dressed immaculately as ever, looking too good to be real.

Why did he have to find her like this? At her lowest? “I – I ... have to go.” She tried to rush past him but he grabbed her arm before she could go.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Let’s have some honesty between us. Not as a boy. Not wearing a mask. As you are.”

She sighed. How could she even argue that point?

“Why don’t you guys talk outside?” her mother suggested, shooing them towards the door.

Taylor led him to the front and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Why are you here? I thought after last night...” She looked away.

“I didn’t want to talk with Rebecca there.”

Is that what he’d meant when he said he couldn’t do this “now”? That he couldn’t have that conversation with everyone around? A small kernel of hope began to flower inside her.

“You should have told me,” he repeated, watching her. “As soon as you knew how you felt.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes tightly before opening them again. “I know and I regret it. I wish you knew how much.”

“Last night I saw you in that green dress. I saw you and something inside me cracked.” He reached for her, startling her when he caressed her face. “I was so confused and hurt, I blamed you because I trusted you more than I even trusted myself. But I realized something last night. It didn’t matter to me. None of it. The only thing that matters,” he cupped her face between both hands, his eyes bright as he looked at her, “is being with you. Man or woman, Taye, I love you.”

She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming but he was still standing there, holding her face as if it was something precious and the look, that look in his eyes made her feel like she’d just been given the greatest gift.

“Me too,” she finally whispered and he crooked a brow at her.

“After all that, that’s what I get? Me too?”

She smiled, big and bright, happier than she’d been in  ... she couldn’t actually remember if she’d ever been this glad about anything before in her life. “I love you, Christian.”

His eyes went dark. “Good.” Then he was sliding his arms around her waist, dragging her forward and kissing her.

He kissed her as if she was his lifeline. Urgently, desperately, with a need that took her breath away. His tongue coaxed and teased, stroking the inside of her mouth until her legs wobbled. It was all she could do not to melt into a puddle beneath his feet.

He pressed her against the door, his hips grounding slowly against her and she made a low sound in her throat, aching, her fingers sinking into the silky thickness of his hair.

“I like you like this,” he said, dropping his head to make slow love to the curve of her neck. He dragged his teeth lightly against her skin. “I’m glad you’re a girl.”

She took a quick, harsh breath barely managing to say raspily, “I can tell.”

He laughed quietly in the curve of her neck and she smiled at the sensation.

“Come to Paris with me,” he said after a time, when their breathing had calmed a little and she pulled back with a start.

Her shock amused him. “I remember someone saying something about planning a trip. So...” He reached for his phone with one hand, the other at her waist making lazy patterns against her skin, and flicked through it before handing it to her. On the screen showed two tickets to Paris and printed on one was her name: Ms. Taylor Mooreland.

“Can I be the first stamp on your passport?”

She stared at him, overwhelmed by a feeling of love so strong that it actually brought tears to her eyes.

“I love you.”

He grinned, wrapping both arms around her waist to drag her back towards him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said with an enthusiasm that would probably embarrass her later and kissed the corners of his mouth.

“Man, a free trip and you’re all over me,” he said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. “Laurent, will you just shut up and kiss me?”

His mouth curled in one of those patented Christian smiles, as he pressed her back against the front door. “Mooreland, it’d be my pleasure.”

 












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