I’m dirty, tired, and I’m about to lose my shit if this dick at Customs doesn’t hurry up and wave me through. Obviously, travelling with my knife roll raises all sorts of questions, and it takes every ounce of my restraint to smile and explain, again, that I’m a chef, it’s an essential part of my job, and they can’t confiscate it. Do they do this to Gordon Ramsay? I bet he flies on his own private plane, so he probably doesn’t have to go through this shit.
“Let me just try my supervisor again,” the weedy looking guy says in his nasally voice, pulling his walkie-talkie off his belt, twiddling the button until it screeches to life.
“Danny, Danny, I need you at the Customs desk. Over.”
I huff out an exasperated breath and fold my arms across my chest. I’ve been travelling for almost twenty hours, and I have zero patience left. I catch a whiff of my own body odor and scrunch my nose up—I need a shower and a warm bed, now.
After what feels like a millennium, a bald man I assume to be Danny appears through a door marked Private and begins talking to the guy who’s currently ruining my life. They have a whispered, heated discussion, and Danny looks over at me and rolls his eyes, shoving the other man out of the way so he can approach me.
“May I see your passport?” he asks, smiling kindly and I feel slightly more hopeful that he’s at least competent at his job.
“Sure,” I sigh, pulling it out of my carryon bag and handing it over. Danny opens it and looks from it to me several times.
“Miss Landon, you’re a chef by profession?” he asks, now looking down at my knife roll which is spread out, showing the tools of my trade.
“Yes, I’ve just finished working in Paris and attending Le Cordon Bleu culinary school. My knife roll is essential for me to work, and it costs several thousand dollars so I’m not in a position to replace it if you…” I can hear my voice getting high pitched and teary, but Danny holds his hand up to stop me.
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Landon.” He flicks his eyes toward the other man, and he looks less than pleased. “I’m so sorry you’ve been waiting, but Joel is new and was just being over cautious. You’re free to go. Please accept our apologies.”
Relief floods over me. I was running on adrenaline, but now that this is done, all I feel is weak and lightheaded. I still don’t feel safe, and I won’t until I’m out of the airport.
“Thank you. I appreciate the speed at which you dealt with this.” I shoot Joel a shitty look. “I suggest you train your staff a little better in the future.”
I quickly grab my knife roll and hotfoot it away before he can change his mind.
With no other luggage to collect, I find the car rental office and collect a mid-size coupe. I’ll have to buy a car at some point, but for now, this will do. My first stop is the hotel I’ve booked in the city so I can at least recover from my jet lag before I have to face my brother. Tomorrow, I plan to drive out to Matt’s new house on the Sound, but I need a shower, a meal that isn’t served in a plastic tray, and a good night’s sleep before I have to deal with the Spanish Inquisition.
When I finally make it to the hotel, I’m thankful that check in is simple and quick. As I step into the elevator, I feel a more acute sense of panic than I’ve felt during the whole journey. I’m on the final stage, but part of me is still convinced the doors will slide open on my floor and Etienne will be standing there, ready to take me back to Paris. As the elevator pings through the floors, my breathing picks up until I’m virtually panting with anxiety. When the doors finally open, I’m immensely relieved to find the floor is deserted.
“Get a grip, you idiot,” I admonish myself, taking a huge cleansing breath and heading toward my room, fumbling slightly with the keycard. When I’m finally inside, I flick the lock and the security bar and press my back against the door, sliding down it until my knees are drawn up under my chin.
I can’t believe I’ve finally made it. It feels like I’ve been travelling for weeks, which I have, in a way. I realized it wasn’t working with Etienne about six months ago when I agreed to move in with him, and he couldn’t hide his drinking or controlling behavior anymore. The first time he left his mark on me, I slapped him back, called him an asshole, and stormed out of the apartment.
Because fuck him!
However, that night he arrived at the Bistro with a huge bouquet of red roses, lots of regret and tears in his eyes, along with promises it’d never happen again, and that he’d quit drinking so much.
Like a fool in love, I believed everything he said.
For a while, it was perfect between us again. He took me on trips down the Seine where we’d drink champagne and he’d tell me all about the history of the amazing architecture; we’d eat at the most expensive restaurants, and we’d visit vineyards and his family’s chateau. He’d make love to me like no one had before, and I thought we could make a life together.
At the same time, he couldn’t stop drinking too much red wine during service at the restaurant, and I couldn’t live up to what he expected me to be. I was either too loud, too sulky, too busy, or too American. Sometimes all of the above. Nothing I did was ever good enough and he seemed to take sick delight in reminding me how his girlfriend should act. He’d humiliate me in public and physically punish me in private. I was embarrassed to admit to all of it; saying it out loud would make it real.
Eventually, I’d had enough and confided in Zac. He went crazy and I had to talk him out of going to Etienne’s restaurant and beating the shit out of him. But once he’d calmed down and I finally admitted I needed his help to leave, we began to put the plan into action.
And now, here I am. Back in the States. Too ashamed to go to my folks’ place in Florida, my only other option was Seattle. I know my brother can be an overprotective meathead, but at least he’ll ask fewer questions than our parents.
Hunger and the need for a shower finally urges me from my place by the door, and I set about unpacking my jammies and toiletries. The hotel is basic but clean and comfortable, and thankfully has a twenty-four-hour room service menu. My body has no clue what time it is, but it’s dark outside, so I figure I should eat something and go to bed. I quickly shoot a text off to Zac to let him know I’m safely at the hotel, and I strip off my jeans and sweater as I walk into the bathroom. The hot water feels like a rebirth, and I stand under it until my skin tingles and the pads of my fingers turn wrinkly. At that moment, despite the fact I’ve freed myself from Etienne, I allow the tears to flow down my cheeks, mixing with the shower water. It’s a combination of happiness, sadness, and relief. I may be at the lowest point in my life; I have no home, no job, no friends who aren’t thousands of miles away. My life may be fucking pathetic. But it’s once again my own.
Hopefully, things will look better in the morning.
The Sat Nav voice tells me to take the next turn down what looks like a dirt track, and as I bump along, I worry I’ve put too much trust in modern technology. Any minute I’ll plummet into the Sound because the stupid device has taken me on a wild goose chase.
I feel much better than I did yesterday; the shower, the food, and the rest have done me a world of good, and I finally feel prepared to grovel at my brother’s feet and ask him for a place to stay while I figure out what to do next. I don’t think it’ll come to that, though.
As I continue along the track, still hoping I won’t end up in the water, I begin to notice expensive-looking cars parked on the verges; huge SUVs, Lamborghinis, Audis, and a Tesla line the track and fill the space in front of my brother’s large house. Luckily, there’s a small space in front of the garage that I manage to squeeze my car into, next to a massive orange Hummer.
From the looks of things, Matt and Mila are having a party, and I don’t know if this will be a curse or a blessing. At least he won’t be able to tear me a new one with a house full of guests. However, I don’t really want to explain my sudden appearance in front of what I assume will be a room full of hockey players. My stomach fills with nerves as I climb out of the car, being careful not to ding the expensive Hummer with my door.
I suddenly notice the pink bunting hanging from the front porch and the pink and white “It’s a Girl” balloons swaying lazily in the breeze. Are they having a baby shower? Is Mila pregnant? How the hell did I miss this piece of news?
A little pissed at apparently being left out of the loop, I stomp toward the porch. I’ve been in France, not outer space. That brother of mine sure has a lot of explaining to do.
Just as I’m about to throw the front door open, it pulls away from me and the doorframe is filled by the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He literally becomes the door, taking up all the height and much of the width with his huge body. As I drag my eyes up his torso, I take in the way his muscles bulge underneath the soft looking flannel shirt. The sleeves are stretched tightly over his biceps, and it looks like one hard flex could cause them to split open like the Incredible Hulk. When I finally reach his face I’m greeted by a short blonde beard with hints of red around his chin, full soft lips, shaggy blonde hair, and eyes so icy blue they could be chipped from a glacier. His heavy brows are drawn together, but as his eyes drink me in, his lips kick up into a breathtaking smile.
We hold each other’s gaze for an embarrassingly long time, and eventually I drag my eyes away so I can try to peer around this behemoth of a man.
“Is Matt home?” I ask in a voice that’s tight with anxiety. This huge gatekeeper doesn’t seem to be letting me past.
“Who wants to know?” the giant asks, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow and folding his thick arms across his chest. He has a slight accent that I can’t quite place.
Jesus, what is with everybody? Am I destined to only encounter idiots now I’m back in America?
“I don’t think that’s any of your damn business,” I snap, stepping forward and pushing against his chest. “Can you move out of the way, please?” However, it’s like trying to move a mountain, and even when I put all my weight behind it, he doesn’t budge.
A deep chuckle that seems to vibrate through his chest and travel through my fingers makes me look up at the man blocking my way, and I find myself dazzled by his smile. It’s open and kind, but also the most infuriating thing I’ve ever seen right about now.