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I almost turned around.
Almost sprinted down the street to follow his car as it zoomed back into L.A. traffic.
Almost forgot all my rules, the promises I'd made, the restrictions I'd set the second Axel Levine told me we couldn't be together.
Well, he didn't say those words exactly, but that was what I heard.
"Estelle wants you as her wedding planner."
Under other circumstances—if I hadn't been sleeping with Axel and developing feelings for him—I'd have popped open a bottle of champagne. Not one, but two Levine weddings? Mr. Bowers would flip over that. It was a rare chance that Violet had accepted me for her wedding, but for Estelle to request me? An honor.
But I had to go and get involved with the man paying for it all, basically making him my employer. Basically making this an office romance. A forbidden office romance.
L.A. Love Wedding Planners was a strict business with a strict CEO who didn't condone or even fathom relationships between payers and coordinators. Something about how things always got messy—as if he'd been involved in such scandals before.
I stood there on the sidewalk, looking up at my worn-down, barely standing building, blinking away tears before they crawled down my cheeks.
No crying. Not out here, not where I might be seen. Not where I knew Axel had been moments before, telling me...telling me...
I grabbed my luggage and hauled it up the three floors—the elevator was broken, of course. I crammed into my tiny studio apartment after slamming the door behind me. It smelled the way I'd left it; an undertone of smoke from the upstairs neighbors, covered by the plug-in air freshener I'd programmed to spray every hour on the hour.
I slid down my door and brought my knees to my chest, my hands to my face.
Now I could cry. Now I could let it all out. But...no tears escaped my eyes.
Something bubbled in my gut. Something squeezed around my heart. The pain was excruciating, but for some reason, I couldn't shed tears about it. Maybe it was from the effort of heaving my heavy suitcase up the narrow stairs. Maybe it was jet-lag catching up to me.
Or maybe I knew, deep down, that I'd made a huge mistake. I'd given up my chance at redemption, at love, to plan a wedding that might get me off my boss' radar and get him to stop picking on me for no reason.
Axel should have been my priority. I should have said no.
"I should have said no," I whispered to myself as I got up, my legs wobbly.
My phone vibrated, and I unlocked it, my heart racing as I envisioned a text from Axel, saying he was sorry. Saying he shouldn't have driven away. Begging me not to organize his sister's wedding, so we could be together. So we could try to—
It wasn't Axel. It was Chi, checking that I'd landed safely, asking how many times Axel and I had fucked in the plane and in the car and in my apartment.
I sent them a generic response—that they'd berate me for—because I wasn't ready to talk about it, not even to them. I wasn't ready to admit I'd fucked up, and lost the potential love of my life. The—
I gasped. "Oh, fuck, no." I rolled my suitcase to my closet area and set it by my bed, sideways, to open it. Unpacking would keep my mind occupied—or so I hoped. "No, no...not love. Not love. Too soon. Not love."
I sat cross-legged on the floor as I opened the suitcase. A swarm of memories hit me as I saw the items neatly folded inside.
The beige dress I wore the night of the rehearsal dinner—when he'd finger-fucked me under the table so hard I exploded. The chair was wet with my arousal, and I was pretty sure there'd be a stain on the dress, too, though I hadn't noticed it back in St. Tropez.
I tossed the dress across the room. There were still many more memories to unpack, along with my clothes.
In my bag of dirty items, I found the panties he'd taken off me that first night, when I had no clue who he was. The bra I'd ditched on his bathroom floor while we touched each other in the bathtub. In my jewelry tote were the earrings I'd almost left in his room after our third time. And the lotion I'd lathered over my skin to erase the scent of him.
His spicy musk, that expensive cologne that infested my nostrils and wouldn't leave—it was everywhere. Imprinted inside the suitcase, smearing over clothes I hadn't even worn, things he hadn't seen or touched.
I threw it all—even the clean stuff—into a basket that I'd take to the laundromat tomorrow. I was too exhausted, too mentally drained to bother dealing with coins and machines and detergent today.
I took off my clothes, pulled on a pair of sweats, and slipped under my sheets, desperate for a nap.
Even in slumber, he haunted me. All the missed opportunities came back to slap me in the face, to wake my libido in ways I wished it wouldn't.
I saw us in the car, when he dropped me off—but instead of receiving that call from Estelle, he ignored it, and snuck his hands between my legs to pleasure me. He squeezed my ass as we got out of the car, and made it difficult to go up the stairs because he kept ogling me and whispering all the disgusting things he was going to do to me once we were inside.
And inside—oh, he was inside. His tongue was between my folds in a matter of seconds, my clothes on the floor, my legs wrapped around his head. My behind dangled off my kitchen counter as he devoured me, unable to resist licking every inch of my wetness. Then his cock was thrust into me, hard and slippery as it shot shocks of pleasure to all my extremities.
In my fantasies, he fucked me to the point of making me scream, knocking over the papers beside us, not even bothering to take off his shirt and pants.
When I woke from this delicious but agonizing dream, my fingers were in my underwear, twirling around my clit.
I was alone. None of that had happened. But I'd be damned if I left myself unfinished. I'd be damned if I didn't continue this dream in real-time.
One last round for closure?
I flicked at my center, eyes closed, spine arching as I re-immersed myself into this wet dream. But since I was now awake, it was more vivid, clearer. Axel's eyes plunged into mine as he licked his lips, mouthing how fucking good I felt, how he was going to come soon. I felt his hands gripping my thighs, the ghost of his touch on my skin, as if he were really there.
My climax came and went fast. Too fast. I turned to my side and saw the empty space on my bed, the unused pillow near my head.
I had an inkling that this would happen often, in the coming months. Me falling asleep to thoughts of Axel, and waking to masturbate them away.
***
I was in and out of troubled naps for the rest of the evening. When I finally decided I couldn't sleep anymore, I meandered over to my laptop, needing something to distract myself. Work, I thought, would keep me occupied enough. I'd have emails from vendors, final bills, contacts to update, potentially a scathing message from my boss about my incompetence.
To my surprise, there was only one email—from Estelle.
Dear Vivienne,
I once again want to applaud you for Violet's wedding. Despite the obstacles, she was thrilled with how the event was organized, and how you remained calm in the face of a literal storm.
This is why I'd like to officially request you as my planner for MY wedding. Mollie proposed to me yesterday, and we won't waste any time. With the state of the LGTBQIA+ laws lately, it'd be safer for us to get married quickly. But we both want a nice ceremony, which is why we'd like to hire you.
I'll check with Axel on the proper channels to go through to actually get a contract signed. In the meantime, I was hoping we could all get together to talk about budget? Axel is paying, which means there isn't much that he can't do, but I'd love to discuss the timeline and all those other details ASAP. Mollie and I have some ideas and we'd like to see how feasible they are in a short period of time.
I'm enclosing some pictures of the proposal. Mollie got Harvey involved, so he was ready and waiting to snap shots of us on the beach. Romantic, isn't it? Anyway, I figured wedding planners like to see this kind of stuff, to help them get to know their brides and grooms. Two brides; I assume you're comfortable planning a wedding for two lesbians? I doubt my brother would have given you a shot if you weren't an ally to the community.
Please get back to me soon. My brother hinted that you'd be willing to do this, but I'd prefer a confirmation from you.
Regards,
Estelle
It was all so stiff and formal, so odd. Estelle was known as the quirkier member of the Levine family. Fun, flirty, and hilarious. Before getting into the food industry, she was a model for some high-level fashion agencies, and had been a hit on many runways across the globe. But here, she was serious. Almost stern. Hurried.
I left myself a note to answer when I was in a better mind-set. Jet-lagged, confused about my feelings—physical and emotional—for Axel, I couldn't compose a polite email to accept her request.
"Tomorrow," I said to myself as I pulled up one of my streaming apps and set the laptop on my bed, in the empty space beside where I slept.
I fetched a bottle of rosé from the kitchen, as well as a bag of plain Ruffles, and crept back under the covers. I plugged in my phone, took a deep breath, pressed play on The Holiday—
My phone buzzed. I sat up straight, staring at the screen, wondering.
Was it him, this time? Had he gotten home to his fabulous penthouse and realized it was empty? Was he lonely? Regretful? Had he spoken with Estelle and told her to pick someone else to organize her wedding?
Did he miss me like I missed him?
The feeling was aching. Tremulous. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there.
I remembered the sensation of his soft, dark ginger hair wrapped around my fingers. His mint-and-liquor breath blowing over my nose, tickling me. His lips pressed to mine, his tongue skillfully swirling and making me dizzy. His hands cupping my ass, my breasts, my waist, pulling me closer until his erection was deep against me, through me.
Did he remember all that? Our first night, slamming me against the window, jamming into me until I screamed?
Did he think of that morning when we woke, relaxed but exhausted all at once, the glimmering St. Tropez sun streaming over our naked bodies?
Or the morning after the storm, when he stood before the glass, a halo of light around his exquisite silhouette, showing him as a god?
He was a god.
With trembling fingers, I snatched my phone. It had to be him. There was no way I was alone in feeling this way, in suffering like this. I'd seen it in his eyes, in the car. The sadness, the disappointment. Pleasing his sister, or pleasing me? Of course he'd chosen his sister. Of course he'd been upset. And now...
The text, again, wasn't from him. But it wasn't from Chi, either.
It wasn't from anyone I'd have expected to hear from, ever.
OLIVIA: Hey, great job on the Levine wedding! I saw the pictures—awesome work! She looked beautiful, happy. You looked beautiful, too. The picture they used in the magazine I read didn't do you justice, but it was still...Vivi, you looked spectacular. It's good to see you doing so well. Take care.
I wasn't sure why I'd kept her number. Probably in a desperate moment of solitude following our break-up. Possibly because the smallest part of me wanted us to get back together. Wanted to hope she could change, that she could give a fuck about us.
But that was before.
This Olivia...wasn't a changed Olivia. This was her wanting something. Needing something. The compliments came out when she had questions and was desperate for answers. For assistance.
Well, I'd moved on. Those days of wishing for her to come to her senses and realize we were an excellent power couple? Those were long gone.
We'd been broken up for nearly a year now, and she had no reason to message me. No right. We weren't friends. We weren't on cordial terms. Our ending was messy, loaded with yells and insults.
This, tonight, as I was at my most vulnerable?
"No." I needed to delete her number.
I would do so in the morning, but for now... I locked my phone and curled into a ball to eat my chips and drown my feelings.
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