Page 97 of Tempted To Be Mine

“I’ll be fine. Go. Make Sebastian happy. Create some art.”

He smiled. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“I’ll call you.”

He leaned in and dropped a tender kiss on my cheek. I reached for him, pulling him back for a proper kiss. I memorized the feel of his lips against mine.

When he pulled back, I had to force myself not to cry. Damn the hormones.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

“Have fun out there.”

He kissed me again and then he was gone. I was alone.

I lay there and let myself think about what I would do. I told myself I’d sleep on it before I did anything. I had slept on it and the answer was the same.

I got out of bed and went through the motions without thinking too hard. I showered and started packing. If I focused on the task, I didn’t have to think about what it meant.

The note was the hardest part.

I sat at the small desk in my room, pen in hand, staring at the blank paper. How did you explain something like this? How did you say goodbye to someone who didn’t even know you were leaving?

It was a Dear John letter. I never imagined I’d be the type to write such a thing. I started and stopped a dozen times. Everything felt either too much or not enough.

In the end, I kept it simple.

Jeremy,

I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Not the job, not us, not any of it. I need space to figure things out. Go kick ass. The campaign is just the beginning.

I’m sorry.

Lucy

I hated every word. It didn’t explain anything. But how could I explain when the truth would only hurt him more?

I left the note on his pillow, where he’d find it when he came back. Then I grabbed my bags and walked out of the chalet without looking back.

The hired car waited out front for me. The man was nice enough to take my bags while I got into the back seat. I stared out the window and tried not to think. Thinking led to feeling, and feeling led to crying. I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not until I was safely away.

At the airport, I booked the first flight back to LA. It wasn’t direct. There was a layover in Frankfurt and another in New York. Nearly twenty hours of travel stretched out ahead of me. Twenty hours to sit with what I’d done.

I found a seat at the gate and pulled out my phone. There were already messages from Jeremy. Photos from the shoot. A selfie of him looking cold but happy. I turned the phone off and shoved it in my bag.

The flight to Frankfurt was turbulent. I spent most of it gripping the armrest and trying not to throw up. I was certain first class got less turbulence, if that was even a thing.

The nausea was worse now, whether from the pregnancy or the stress or both. The flight attendant brought me ginger ale and crackers, looking at me with concern.

“First trimester?” she asked quietly.

I stared at her, too shocked to lie. “How did you know?”

She smiled sympathetically. “I’ve seen it before. Congratulations.”

Congratulations. Like this was something to celebrate. Like I wasn’t running away from the father of my child because I was too afraid to face him with the truth.

“Thank you,” I managed.