My heart crashes to the floor and shatters into thousands of jagged bits. A tear slaloms down my cheek, and I wipe the traitorous evidence away as quickly as I can. Neither one of them notices since they’re focused on each other.

  My fingers shake, and I hurt.

  I hurt everywhere.

  “Why did you do this?” Christian asks his brother in a heavy tone.

  Erik slams his fist on the table in excitement. “I needed to be a man and solve my shit. So I made her a ridiculous offer for her shares, and she said yes. I figured she’s realized her gambit failed, and I bought out her shares for more than they’re worth to get her off my back and out of my life. She signed the papers Oliver’s firm drew up, and I’m the majority shareholder again.” He beams again, no clue that his news has cracked me in two. “I now pronounce you ex-husband and ex-wife. Why don’t you let me buy you breakfast, so Elise can be on her way to the airport?”

  I sit in stunned silence, unsure what to say to anyone but the waiter. I ask for a coffee, but when I’m halfway through, I can’t take it any longer. I can’t take sitting here across from Christian while Erik prattles on about next steps for the firm and deals he wants to put together. He fires ideas at Christian, who weighs in matter-of-factly, as if he’s ended one business deal and is embarking on another.

  Why on earth should I stay? I’m not needed. This is business for them. We don’t need to play pretend anymore.

  I stand. “I need to go.” I do my best to erase the sound of tears from my voice, but I’m not sure I’m successful. “Flight to catch.”

  “Your trip is today?” Christian asks, curiously.

  I nod as I step away from the table so I can hail a taxi. Erik and I say goodbye, then I answer Christian. “Yes, Nate moved it up by two days. I called last night to tell you, but Erik answered.”

  “And invited you to go along to see Jandy?” he says, as if he’s putting puzzle pieces together.

  I nod, swallowing in the words, because if I speak I will break down.

  Christian signals to his brother that he’ll be right back, then he follows me down the sidewalk, his brow furrowed. “Did you know he was going to make the offer?”

  I shake my head, forcing myself to speak as evenly as I can. “No idea. He said he couldn’t face her alone.”

  “He went in there on his own and did it?”

  I take a breath. “He said he needed company, and I said yes because I wanted to be helpful.”

  He nods a few times and hums. “You’ve always wanted to be helpful.”

  “I suppose.”

  He says okay, and I can’t read his expression or tell what he means. Then he speaks quietly. “He thinks we want to be over.”

  My heart jams its way to my throat, as a cruel, fresh new realization sets in. Maybe this is fate. Maybe fate is trying to save me from jumping off the cliff. “We can be free now, I guess.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice sounding heavier than usual.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes as a taxi down the block turns on its indicator light, signaling that it’s coming my way. “I want to be happy.”

  I thought that was with him, but his happiness isn’t with me. It’s better I know that now, so I can keep moving forward. Absently, I run a finger over the taxicab charm necklace.

  “You found it?”

  “Diana, the other wife. She was in town. She brought it to me.”

  He knits his brow. “That’s who you were seeing last night?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head and drags a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing her.”

  “I planned to. I didn’t have a chance yet.”

  “Listen.” His voice is heavy. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

  I nod as the green car wedges itself along the curb next to me. “I’m sure we’ll have paperwork to file.”

  He grabs my arm. “I’m not talking about paperwork. I’m talking about us.”

  The cab driver honks, and that’s my cue. “Of course.” We need to define the terms of the untangling just as we did the entanglement. “I should probably focus on my new account, though, when I’m gone. How about we work out all that stuff when I return?” I paste on a cheery grin as I grab the door handle.

  He grabs it too, reaching for my hand. “Let me ride with you. Let’s talk now. I can’t let you go on this trip with this hanging between us. Even if we don’t need to be married, I still want you in my life.”

  Wanting me in his life isn’t the same. It’s not the same as what I want.

  I want him. I want him as my husband, my Friday-night lover, and my business partner, all rolled in one.

  And since I can’t have that, I don’t know if I can handle anything at all, even if the thought tears me in two.

  I bite the inside of my lip. I can’t break down now. I can’t, and I won’t. “I can’t talk right now,” I say, pushing out the words so I don’t let loose a rainstorm.

  The driver honks his horn again.

  Christian lets go of the handle. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” I mutter, but I know we mean it in different ways. He’ll miss the sex, and I’ll miss the everything.

  When I get in the cab, slam the door, and reach a respectable distance from him, the tears flow freely. Hard, heavy tears.

  This isn’t how our part-time love affair was supposed to end.

  36

  CHRISTIAN

  Terms.

  Deals.

  Financing.

  I spend the day enmeshed in them, working in the air-conditioned conference room at a bank. Translating money words all day long is literally the only thing that keeps me from thinking non-stop about everything that went wrong this morning.

  There’s no space to think about yourself when you’re translating, and maybe fate was looking out for me, giving me this assignment on a day when I desperately need to keep my gray matter occupied so I don’t dwell on the complete U-turn my life took at a café this morning.

  But once the day ends, and the client arrives at a tentative deal, thanking me for helping him converse, I’m free to go.

  And my thoughts free-fall the second I leave the office building, the heat of the late afternoon slamming into me cruelly.

  I drop my shades over my eyes, unknot my tie, and walk down the avenue. I weave through the throngs of businessmen and women in their suits and heels, chattering on their mobiles, dragging on their cigarettes.

  I shove a hand through my hair and walk.

  A few blocks later, I glance at the street sign on the building across the way.

  I didn’t mean to head in this direction.

  I meant to head . . .

  Hell, I don’t know where I am or where I planned on going.

  I don’t have a sodding clue.

  I thought I’d be seeing Elise tonight.

  I thought I’d be working with Erik today.

  But I’m doing none of those things, since Erik doesn’t need me, and neither does Elise.

  I’m back to bouncing between random gigs, filling the time, keeping busy. I like keeping busy, but I don’t enjoy feeling aimless. I head to the river and slump down on a green-slatted bench.

  All I need is a bag of bread chunks to feed the pigeons, and I’d be a right pathetic sight. Come to think of it, why should the fucking pigeons suffer?

  I pop into a nearby boulangerie, grab a baguette, and rip off chunks for the birds.

  Some lady tuts at me, shaking her head, and muttering something about not feeding the pigeons.

  I don’t care.

  I toss chunk after chunk at the birds, and let me tell you, they love me. They think I’m the bee’s knees.

  One of them hops up on the bench. “You’re a bold little bastard.”

  He stabs his beak against the bag.

  “Demanding, aren’t you?”

  I grab another chunk and chuck it across the pavement. He flies off and returns a second later.

  I make my way through the bread as I stare at the boats cruising along the river and cyclists whizzing by on the path.

  When it comes to signals from Elise, the signs seemed bright and clear today. Now that I’m finally away from the bankers, I review them, talking to the daring pigeon, who waits determinedly at my feet.

  “First, she didn’t mention she was seeing the other wife last night. That’s kind of a sign, right? That maybe she doesn’t want to tell me things that matter.”

  The pigeon stares at me.

  “Then she said we were free to end things. She wants to be happy. Ending this makes her happy. Obviously, right?”

  The pigeon doesn’t answer.

  “And to top it off, Elise has made her intentions apparent from day one.” I heave a sigh. It’s stupid for me to linger on why we ended. We were only ever an arrangement.

  I stand, brush my hand over my trousers, and toss the final chunk of bread to the pigeon. He wolfs it down then flies away.

  Figures.

  He got what he wanted.

  I walk in the other direction, away from the fading sun, but as I meander, a clucking sound echoes nearby. I glance up at the branches of a tree. It’s the pigeon. At least, I think it’s the same one. He’s following me.

  “I don’t have any more. I told you,” I tell him.

  He’s undeterred. He flaps behind me as I walk, stopping in branches along the way.

  “It’s a lost cause, mate,” I mutter.

  But it’s not lost to him, because he’s stuck to me, it seems.

  He’s persistent.

  And as I keep going, and he does too, my brain starts to clear, like clouds are parting. My mind moves aside the terms and the words that demanded all its real estate today. It makes way for new ideas to take root.

  Ideas about persistence.

  Determination.

  Because I can’t shake the thought that I was wrong in my conversation with Mr. Pigeon.

  Maybe that’s just hope talking.

  Maybe that’s simply a fool’s wish.

  Or maybe it’s determination to see this all the way through.

  I call Erik and tell him he needs to meet me straightaway. I’ve helped him sort out his mess for the last few months. Time for him to help sort out mine.

  In the meantime, I send Elise a message.

  37

  ELISE

  On the way to a late lunch with my brother, I reread the texts Christian and I sent this afternoon, trying to find any hidden meaning in them.

  Christian: Hi. How was your flight? Is Manhattan everything you wanted it to be?

  No. You’re not here, I wanted to shout.

  Elise: It’s fabulous! Always good to be home.

  Nothing is fabulous when you have to fake your emotions.

  Christian: Great! Glad to hear. When do you return? Can I take you out to dinner when you’re back?

  Why? Why? Why? To tell me you want to keep fucking me every Friday night? That you vastly preferred things when we were part-time lovers only, and why not return to those glory days?

  Elise: Sure. Dinner sounds great. I’ll be back on Friday.

  Friday. Why do I have to return on a Friday?

  Christian: Can I see you then?

  Elise: Or Saturday. I might be exhausted when I return.

  And I don’t want to look overeager.

  Christian: Fine, but if you find yourself un-exhausted, let me know. I’d love to see you.

  My pants. You’d love to see my pants.

  I shove my phone to the bottom of my purse as the cabby swerves to The Lucky Spot in Midtown. It’s a popular bar, my brother told me, and it recently began serving lunch.

  I pay the driver and head inside, grateful I already dropped my bags at my hotel.

  My bespectacled brother, Ian, waits at a table, and as soon as he sees me, he stands and waves. My heart lights up with relief. Family. I need family right now.

  I rush over to him and throw my arms around his shoulders, clasping tight. “So good to see you.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect this kind of greeting.”

  I don’t let go. I hug him tighter, my chin on his shoulder. It’s only when I realize his shirt is wet where my cheek rests that it occurs to me I’m crying.

  “Elise,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

  I separate from him, inhale deeply, and fix on a cheery grin. I wave a hand in front of my face. “Oh, nothing. Long flight. How are you?”

  We take our seats, and he narrows his brown eyes. He tilts his head to the side. “You’re crying over a long flight? It’s eight hours, and you only ever fly first class.”

  “Not true,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I flew coach to Copenhagen.”

  My tears crawl up my throat once more. But I catch them before they spill and shove them back down.

  “What is going on?”

  I tell him everything. “And then I fell in love with him,” I say, plastering on a fake grin. “Wasn’t that a fantastic idea?”

  He laughs lightly and pats my hand. “It’s not as if falling in love is the worst idea in the world.”

  “Ugh. It is. Love is euphoria and misery cooked into a stew. It’s the worst thing ever invented.”

  He arches a brow over his glasses. “Is it?”

  The waiter arrives and asks if we’ve had a chance to look at the menu. Ian shakes his head, but when I say I’ll have a house salad, he opts for a chicken sandwich.

  Once the man leaves, Ian peers at my neck. “You found it.”

  I touch the necklace. “I’m so glad to have it back. It’s my little piece of New York.”

  “You can take the girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the girl.”

  “Do I seem very New York to you?”

  “You’re tough as nails, so I’d say yes.”

  “Oh, please. I’ve cried more times in the last twelve hours than I have in a year.”

  He smirks. “That’s my point. You’re so tough, so strong. You’re working so hard to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this guy wound up in the same boat as you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ian leans forward, a conspiratorial tone to his voice. “I mean that, at face value, everything you said to him and he said to you leads reasonably to the conclusions you’ve drawn. But do people really say what they mean?”

  “Are you saying he meant something else?”

  “If you didn’t spell out your feelings, why would you assume he had?”

  “Because his brother⁠—”

  Ian smiles and wiggles his eyebrows. “Bingo. His brother said something. Not Christian.”

  “But his brother has to know how he feels!”

  “I didn’t know everything till you told me.”

  “You live across an ocean. They live together. Erik has been staying with Christian since his wife left him.”

  Ian shrugs. “Doesn’t mean Christian told him how he felt.”

  I stare at him and speak plainly. “Nor did he tell me, for that matter.”

  He laughs. “You’re making my point exactly.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re so tough, and you’re doing everything to erect skyscrapers around you so you don’t get blindsided again. Newsflash—it doesn’t hurt any less if you have walls. Once someone gets around them, it still hurts if they don’t feel the same as you.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s helpful.”

  He smiles and reaches for my hand. “You’re already in deep.” He takes a beat then shrugs happily. “But it also feels pretty damn good when someone you love feels the same.”

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “Men don’t usually want to talk about us unless they feel something,” he says, sketching air quotes as he tosses Christian’s words back at me.

  I’m not talking about paperwork. I’m talking about us.

  My stomach roils, and the prospect of waiting till Friday or Saturday to find out what he wants to discuss sounds like an eternity.

  Ian lets go of my hand. “Enough about boys. I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket and removes a blue velvet bag, then slides it over to me. “Picked it up at a little shop.”

  I open the bag to find a silver chain with a dangly Eiffel Tower. I laugh and put it on, letting the icon of France sit next to my taxicab. “It’s perfect.”

  And it gives me strength. It reminds me that no matter what happens with Christian, I have my brother an ocean away. Back home in France, I have great friends, a wonderful life, and a fabulous business I’ve rebuilt.

  That’s why my heels are touching the New York sidewalk later that afternoon. Because I made it through a dark time. I turned my agency around, and it’s thriving again, thanks to new deals with accounts like the Luxe.

  Whatever happens with Christian, I’ll be fine, walls or no walls.

  I’ve got this.

  38

  CHRISTIAN

  Erik walks a little taller, a little prouder. The sun is sinking in the sky as he reaches the banks of the river, where I stare into the water.

  “Do you ever think this river was meant to be here?” I say, turning to Erik. He shields his eyes from the sun with his hand.

  “I’ve never thought in those terms, but I suspect it probably was.”

  “Maybe it’s supposed to be here because people would need to think and contemplate and wonder.”

  He stands next to me, setting his elbows on the concrete barricade and gazing at the slate-gray ribbon that cuts across the city. “What’s on your mind?”

  I heave a sigh. “A few things. First, I really enjoyed working with you at the firm.”

  “You did?”

  I nod. “I did. I liked rolling up my sleeves and tackling deals.”