He’d planned to gently break it to her after a few more rounds of intimate passion.
Life was short—he’d learned that the hard way. Andrew had no intention of letting these coming weeks apart derail what could be his second chance.
What if Gwen were to get sick? The horrors he’d witnessed with Cate still burned deep inside him. What if he committed to Gwen and then something happened? Could he see it through?
Unable to find the answer at that moment, he reluctantly left her suite. What a mess.
By the time he made it back to his room, anger crept into the mix. Gwen had ended this. She shut down, refused to talk to him. She let him go.
At two a.m., he held his phone with Gwen’s number on the screen. Would she even pick up? His clouded head had too many thoughts running through it, the loudest being his flight to Milan tomorrow night.
Frustrated, Andrew put the phone on the charger and laid down on the living room sofa, unable to be in a bed without Gwen. If Marcello couldn’t get up to speed by the end of the year, Andrew would be trapped in Milan permanently. With a half-stray cat and a full-blown heartache.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
wen waited for Andrew at the airport gate the next afternoon. They were on this flight together, Gbut alone. Enrico and Thalia had plans to stay until Sunday. And Salvatore needed to stay until the following week. Gwen had left the designer in the hands of List LA to finish his interviews, and his personal assistant could get him to his meetings.
Nerves pooled in her stomach. She’d hoped Andrew would have tried to make contact, either last night, or this morning. This unchartered territory made her dizzy. She’d never had a fling with a co-worker.
A fling! It wasn’t supposed to be a fling this time. Andrew seemed so noble. Honorable. If he wanted something else, he would have just pulled her thong aside, unzipped his pants, and had her right there in the dressing room. Could her judgment have been that off?
If this thing between them went somewhere, there had to be a clear understanding that her health was her business. When and if she came across something to worry about, she would let him know.
She gasped at that thought. Something. Something real. A real problem. Could she do that to him?
How could she have not seen this conflict? She’d been so deep in her own denial that there was nothing wrong with her. Worry wouldn’t get the better of her, poisoning her thoughts. She had a life to live. Sometimes she could feel her immune system lower from stress.
Andrew would so be on Team Skye and relentlessly hound Gwen. He would be the perfect partner for her sister. Together, they’d pressure her to get genetic testing. Oh, hell no.
Slowly, Gwen backed away from the gate and took off to find another flight home.
ANDREW CHECKED HIS phone after the attendant said, “We’re boarding, sir.”
Gwen never showed up for the flight. How was that possible? He’d summoned the courage to go back to her suite that morning, but all he’d found was a cleaning cart outside an empty span of rooms.
Gwen had already checked out. And instead of waiting for him to share a taxi, she got herself to the airport. Strong independent women could be infuriating at times.
So, how could she have missed the flight?
He cursed under his breath and got on the plane.
To sit in that damn middle seat infuriated him. He considered getting plastered, except he had approximately six hours to go to his apartment, pack up enough clothes for two months, go to the office, pack that whole mess up and get back to the airport for a red-eye to Milan. Meelano.
The jet stream got him to New York in less than five hours, and in his office if he had enough time, he would stare at Gwen’s desk for another five. It was so neat, not a paper out of place.
He scanned his messy desk and made sure he had everything. All his trips back and forth were now routine and irritating. His office in Milan had plenty of supplies. His eyes fell upon one item he didn’t have in Italy.
Huffing, Andrew swiped it and stuck it into his canvas bag.
Maybe this was for the best as Gwen had said.
WALKING INTO HER HOUSE in the harsh Sunday morning light, Gwen felt like she’d walked home from L.A. Exhaustion passed her doing ninety, hours ago. She was on fumes at this point.
Ditching her flight with Andrew was cowardly, she admitted that to herself...eventually. Paying a crazy amount of money out of her own pocket—money she couldn’t spare—to take a flight that made two God-awful stops was evidence she’d screwed up.
The new final leg had been a red-eye out of Chicago. The whole time, Skye had been texting her.
Where are you? You said you’d be home around five p.m. If Gwen hadn’t messed up or overreacted, the answer could have been, I’m in Andrew’s apartment. Naked. Leave me alone. With a smiley face emoji, of course .
It wasn’t surprising that as soon as Gwen got two steps into her living room there was a knock at the door.
When she took off for California, she was on her way to her first major fashion show in an exciting city she’d never visited. Her focus stayed sharply on that triumph, that milestone. It had been all she talked about. She left L.A. with a different narrative, a juicier story to tell and any professional success got overshadowed by falling into bed with Andrew.
Spinning on her Prada heels to answer the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the starburst mirror. Her skin looked shockingly pale. She opened the door, her teeth jammed together for strength.
“Well finally!” Skye said holding a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee. Her shoulder-length hair swung free under a wide brimmed hat. A striking turquoise peacock feather cascaded off the left side. She’d been going to church every Sunday since their mother died. “So, how was it?”
“It was good.” Gwen stepped aside to let her sister in. Even in her near-delusional state, she appreciated a nice dress. “That’s a great outfit,” Gwen commented on Skye’s cream and red sweater dress under a stylish blazer.
“Thank you.” Skye put her coffee on Gwen’s kitchen table filled with newspapers and junk mail.
“It’s not Prada though, Miss Fancy-Pants.”
Gwen picked at the pile, distressed at all the magazines she hadn’t read. “Thanks for taking all of this in for me.”
“No problem. So-o-o? How was the show?”
“Fine,” she answered coldly, pulling apart the newspaper sections to figure out what had happened in the world while her head was in the clouds, and Andrew’s was between her legs.
“Gwen!”
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just tired.” She wiped her eyes. “I didn’t sleep on the plane.”
“No.” Skye put her hands on her slender hips and tilted her head. Her attorney sister could spot a lie a mile away. “I’ve seen you tired. Did something happen?”
Unlike the seams of Salvatore’s dress, Gwen busted open and easily let go of the tears she’d been holding back for eighteen hours. “I messed up.”
Dragging herself onto three different planes made that abundantly clear.
“Oh, sweetie.” Skye pulled her in for a hug. Her sister had been wearing their mother’s perfume for years and the scent comforted Gwen, momentarily easing her pain. “Talk to me.”