Page 113 of Ride with Me


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Her smile says she doesn’t quite believe me, but she doesn’t try to argue. “I’ll do my best to stall your mother. And if I see Stella, I’ll bring her up.”

I nod my thanks before she turns away, leaving without another word. I’ll have to step out eventually to explain that the wedding is off on account of the bride ghosting me, but for now, I’ll sit and sulk.

I drop my head back against the sofa, eyes sliding shut, wishing this didn’t burn me from the inside out. None of this was in my plans, from marrying a stranger to falling for her. I didn’t think being without Stella for mere days would reduce me to such a mess, but she’s burrowed her way into every aspect of my life.

But I have to face the facts—she isn’t coming back.

Before I can convince myself to go downstairs, though, raised voices from outside catch my attention. There’s only a small window up here, overlooking the front of the house, too high up for me to peek out of, but the thin pane allows sound to travel in. I can’t make out the words, but the voices are both high-pitched and snappy. Probably my mother starting a fight with one of the vendors who isn’t willing to put up with her bullshit. It’s a sign I should get up and intervene. No one needs to suffer through Iris’s control issues.

There must be anvils on my shoulders with how hard it is to stand, and even once I’m on my feet, I can’t make them move. The noise outside seems to have stopped, so at least there’s no rush to fix that.

I’m about to force myself into walking when the sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs reaches me. No, not thudding,clicking. The telltale sound of high heels. Figgy was wearing boots when she came in, and I can’t imagine any of the vendors would wear heels while having to traverse the grounds. Sounless it’s Calais or Geneva or one of their supermodel friends, it must be—

A breathless Stella in all her stilettoed glory bursts into the room.

“Motherfucker,” she pants.

As she bends over to put her hands on her knees, I stand stock-still, taking her in. Am I…Am I hallucinating? I don’t think I’ve reached the level of desperate pining where I would imagine her bent over and breathing hard without me having something to do with it.

I blink a few more times for good measure, but Stella doesn’t disappear. “You’re here.”

She’s still breathing hard, hands moving to her hips as she straightens up, but she cracks a smile. “I wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to have a party.”

I want to laugh, to get out all the stress of the past several days, and yet I’m so shocked that I can’t make a sound.

“I would have called,” Stella rambles on, “but I wanted to surprise you. Grand gesture, you know? Also, I had to drive myself here from the airport—long story, don’t ask—and…let’s just say I should never be allowed to do that again. But then I got stuck in the worst traffic and I couldn’t let anyone know I would be late because my useless American phone decided it didn’t want to work, and—” She cuts short, sucking in another breath. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I just couldn’t miss this.”

I have so many questions, ranging from the logistics of how she got here to why she came back. My lips part, waiting for the words to come, but all that leaves my mouth is a disbelieving huff.

Some of Stella’s humor and frenzied energy drops away at the sound, her dark eyes turning pleading. “Thomas, I’m so sorry.”

I want to tell her that she has nothing to apologize for because she’shere. It seems like there were plenty of things that tried to keep her from me and despite it all, she made it, even sprinting those last few meters to pull it off—her, the woman who hates running.

I don’t blame her for leaving and handling what she needed to, because it’s led her back to me in the end. I just need confirmation that she plans to stay. Right now, that’s all that matters. The rest is already history.

“I wanted to be back sooner,” she continues, fingers twisting in front of her stomach. “I tried, but—”

“Did you speak to Étienne?” I interrupt. He’s the reason she left; I have to know if that’s resolved before I can let myself be too relieved.

Her brow creases in concern, like she’s afraid of where I’m going with this. “I did,” she answers slowly. “It wasn’t a very long conversation. I already knew what I wanted.”

Then why did it take you so long to come back?

The question must bleed into the air because she follows up with, “I couldn’t get in to see my lawyer until yesterday, but she’s handling everything now, including getting our finances separated and the properties sold. I won’t be going back anytime soon.”

My heart squeezes, praying she means what I think she does. “So…everything’s sorted?”

She nods. “It is.”

For a moment, we simply stare. We’ve both waited for this chance to be honest with each other, but now that it’s here, neither of us quite knows where to start.

But I can’t let her walk away again. I need a definitive answer so I don’t have to hold back any longer—so I can finally stop keeping the secret of how much I want her in my life.

“I think it’s time for you to decide whether this is real or just for show, Stella,” I say, because that’s what this comes down to, isn’t it? Real or fake. Yes or no.

Stay or leave.

The flash in her eyes tells me she recognizes the words from our first night in Vegas. The context was different then, yes, but it still applies now, more so than ever.