Page 88 of One Midnight Kiss

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NATALIA

Iwaved my hand in the air like a maniac. I was standing nearly in the street in an attempt to get a cab to stop. I had to get out of there. Had to get away from him.

My mind was whirling, my thoughts spinning like a cyclone, making it impossible for any of those thoughts to be coherent.

Finally, a cab pulled to a stop. I hopped in like I was jumping into a getaway car after a jewelry heist. I gave him my address and leaned back against the seat. I could barely see, my vision clouded with tears. I forced myself to blink, again and again, until my vision cleared. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it was lodged in my throat, choking me. How had I been so blind?

I knew.

Of course, I knew. The realization was settling over me. It pressed on me, making me feel like I would suffocate under the weight of the truth.

He was the man in Paris.

Fox Samuelson, the arrogant genius, the impossible tech mogul I had spent the last few weeks pretending to be engaged to—he was my fantasy prince. The one I’d met on a balcony in the most romantic city in the world. I had built him up in my head as a figment of my imagination, a fleeting moment I would never have again. I longed for him, but convinced myself he didn’t truly exist.

And now I realized he had been right in front of me this whole time. In the back of my mind, there had been a voice poking and prodding. My subconscious was practically screaming at me to open my eyes. But I kept rejecting the obvious.

Why had I run away?

I knew why. Andrew. His name sat heavy on my chest, a cold, unwelcome weight. The ghost of my ex-husband had lingered far longer than I cared to admit. I let his betrayal twist my perception of love, warp it into something dangerous, something I couldn’t trust. I didn’t think I could ever trust another man. I was constantly looking for the flaws. I assumed Fox had them. I convinced myself he was just hiding them really well.

But Andrew wasn’t here. Fox was. Fox had always been here.

I glanced down at the stupid ring on my finger. Is this who I had become? Someone who lies, who pretends, who hides behind facades because it’s easier than facing the truth? That’s not me. I don’t want to be that person.

Andrew would keep winning if I let his shitty, nasty choices change me from the person I was into the person he created. Looking back, I knew I was not happy with who I’d become. I was a shell of the person I was before Andrew blew up my life. He made me rethink everything I knew and trusted. I had no friends now because I didn’t think I could ever trust anyone ever again.

Christa was the only exception. She was happily married, and I trusted her. But I was jaded now and saw the bad in everyone long before I saw the good. If I couldn’t see the bad, I just assumed it was there and treated the person accordingly.

I could feel my heart beating faster, fueled by an adrenaline rush that left me feeling lightheaded. I couldn’t leave things like this. I could not put all my baggage on Fox. He didn’t fuck me over. He wasn’t the one that broke my heart.

“Turn around!” I shouted at the driver.

“What?”

“I have to go back!” I was panicked now. “Please, turn around.”

He cursed under his breath but took a right. “Make up your mind, lady.”

“I just did.”

I had to get back to him. I had to tell him I knew, that I understood now. I’d been running for so long I hadn’t realized I was running away from something good. I was running away from us.

Fate had put him in my path twice. It was the equivalent of beating me over the head to make me see. I wasn’t going to miss out on what I knew was right.

The cab pulled to a stop. I quickly paid the fare and jumped out so quickly I nearly twisted my ankle on the curb. I didn’t wait for the elevator, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. There was this driving force inside me making me feel like I had wings. I had to get to him. I ignored the burning in my legs. When I reached his floor, I was on the verge of puking from exertion. I walked down the hall, hunched over and sucking in air.

I made it to his door and tried to walk in, but it was locked. I pounded on the door, my fist bruising against the wood. “Fox!” I called out, my voice cracking. “Fox, please!”

No answer. The hallway was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing. I slammed my fist against the door one more time, but there was no movement on the other side. I rested my forehead against the cold surface, my eyes squeezing shut as the first tear spilled over.

“He’s not home,” a voice said from behind me.

I turned, wiping at my tears with the back of my hand. An older man stood there, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. He must have been one of Fox’s neighbors.

“What?” I asked.