to let me feel self-conscious, constantly petting me, kissing me, and telling me I was beautiful. It was perfection. A dream come true, really.
I realized with absolute clarity that I was falling in love with him. It was impossible. But I was. He was sweet and caring and made me laugh. I wanted to share his bed every night, sleep wrapped up in his arms, chase away his demons, and make sure he was well fed. I wanted to be the one to take care of him. The last person he saw before bed and the first person he saw when he woke. He was mine. Totally and completely. Even if he didn’t know it yet.
When I looked at him, I didn’t see the model in the magazines. I saw a man with basic needs and desires I wanted to fulfill. I wanted to be the one he called out for in the night, the one who caressed and soothed him back to sleep. The one who fed him, who cared enough to get him off those shit pills. It pissed me off that no one had cared enough to do these things before me.
At the same time, I was entirely grateful that I got to be the one.
He was mine. And I knew then that I loved him. Not the idea of him, not the model, or the prestige or luxurious lifestyle. I loved this man, this broken, sensitive, dirty-talking man.
I wanted to give him everything: all of me, my family, and everything he never had. But it still wasn’t enough because he deserved all that and more.
Loving Ben Shaw was the most terrifying feeling. It was like being on a roller coaster with no lap bar, freefalling without a parachute, and dying of heart-squeezing breathlessness all at once. I had no idea if he was even capable of a committed, traditional relationship. But it didn’t dampen my feelings. I loved him with my whole being, whether or not it was returned. It wasn’t a choice. And that scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
With the TV humming low in the background and providing the only light, Ben spooned his big, firm body around me. We’d dined on some of the best fresh ravioli I’d ever had and were full, sleepy from sex, and drifting off to sleep. Ben pressed a sweet kiss against my neck and murmured about how good I felt in his arms when three dumb little words tumbled from my lips: “I love you.”
I held my breath after I said it. It was entirely true, but crap, I hadn’t meant to just drop it on him like that. Now, or maybe ever.
Ben remained silent but I knew he’d heard me. I’d felt him stiffen just slightly when I’d uttered those three little words. After a few heartbeats’ time, he pressed another kiss to my head and said good night again, his tone final.
My heart thumped wildly in my chest. I didn’t plan to just blurt it out like that, but when I did say it, I certainly didn’t expect to be met with utter silence. My stomach cramped with nerves, and I was wired and nowhere near sleep. But I had to lie there, acting like nothing was wrong. . . . Shit! I wanted to cry. Instead, I bit my lip and stayed quiet, focusing on keeping my breathing deep and even.
All too soon, Ben’s body shifted closer and his arm around me became dead weight. He groaned softly in his sleep. I envied that he could fall into a peaceful sleep right now. My mind churned with unanswered questions as I tried to relax. It was going to be a long damn night.
21
Emmy
Ben had promised that this evening’s afterparty would be much tamer than the crazy Fashion Week parties. Tonight was a private affair celebrating designers on the rooftop of the La Manufacture hotel, located in the textile district of Paris. Many of the major clothing brands would be there. Ben mentioned that Braydon was back in town for a shoot, but apparently I wasn’t supposed to get excited about the possibility of seeing him tonight. I assured Ben it had nothing to do with our night together; I was just relieved that I’d know someone there besides him and Fiona.
Ben, Fiona, Gunnar, and I rode together in a limo to the event. A smug little grin curled on Gunnar’s lips as he watched the way Ben pressed a hand into my lower back; anyone could see that his eyes and hands seemed to know me intimately.
Fiona silently pouted the entire ride there.
It was awkward, to say the least.
The chilly night air enveloped the rooftop. Strands of little twinkling white lights adorned the terrace, and the view to the city beyond was breathtaking. Tuxedo-clad waiters circled the crowd, holding silver trays of peach- colored cocktails. I didn’t know what they were, but Ben and I each took one.
He took a sip and shook his head. “You can have mine.”
I tried the drink. It was fruity and sweet. Delicious. “Happily.”
Gunnar and Fiona each headed off across the party and mingled. Fiona annoyingly air-kissed the cheeks of the industry people she greeted.
I spotted Braydon across the rooftop, leaning against the railing as he took in the views. I tugged on Ben’s sleeve and nodded toward him.
Ben chuckled. “Go on and say hi. I’m going to grab a real drink and then I’ll come join you.”
Braydon happened to turn just as I approached, like he could somehow sense me coming.
“Jellybean!” He carefully lifted me from my feet. And although I was double-fisting the two peach cocktails, I didn’t spill a drop.
I chuckled at the silly nickname. “Hi, Braydon.”
“Where’s your man?”
I nodded to the bar. Ben was on his way toward us, holding a glass of amber-colored liquor for himself and a bottle of beer I presumed was for Bray.
“Hey, buddy.” Braydon clapped him loudly on the back and took the beer from him. “Got her back, huh?”
“Yep. Thanks for your advice, man.” Ben smiled and pulled me to his side to kiss my temple.
I was a little self-conscious of him touching me in public. Fiona still didn’t know about us, and I was worried what she’d do when she found out. Ben and I had discussed it and decided to keep things quiet for a little while longer.
I noticed a glass of champagne marked with lipstick sitting beside Braydon’s empty bottle. “Is someone here with you?” I asked, nodding toward the glass.
His eyes went to Ben’s, and his expression looked pinched. “Yeah. London’s here. She just went to the restroom.”
Ben tensed beside me. Before I could ask who London was, Gunnar came to retrieve Ben. “There’s a designer from Gucci here, and he wants to meet you.”
“Sure.” Ben looked directly at me. “Is that okay if I leave you with Bray?”
I nodded. “Of course. Go.”
I eyed the champagne flute again. The lipstick was a pretty shade—blood red. I could never pull off that bold of a color. I’d look like Bozo the Clown. I tended to stick to sheer glosses mostly. “So, who’s London?”
“London Burke. Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”
“Are you two dating?”
“Not really.”
“Oh. Did she and Ben . . . date?”
“Something like that.” Ben’s ex was a Victoria’s Secret supermodel. Translation: Fuck my life. He didn’t offer any further explanation, and I didn’t press. There was something about the situation he didn’t want me to know.
London never returned for her glass of champagne, and Braydon did his best to distract me. He asked about where I lived in New York and talked about his drunken adventures over the past couple of weeks, but my eyes continually watched for Ben’s return. An hour later, with still no sign of him, I excused myself from Braydon. After consuming three of the little peach cocktails, I was in desperate need of a restroom. And I wanted to find Ben.
I ventured inside, used the restroom, and reapplied my lip gloss, studying myself in the mirror. I was
