Page 38 of All Mixed Up

Gigi replaced the shrug with a disappointed pout. “Ugh. No kinky rosary handcuff confessionals?”

I lifted my head. The hazy reflection in my screen showed my face at its most morose. “Honey, I wish I could tell you a week’s worth of cheek kisses is better than binge watching public access, but…”

“Oh, shit.” Leese facepalmed herself. “That bad?”

Gigi slowly shook her head. The girl looked like I’d revealed the Seine had been drained and turned into a skateboard park. “Are you sure you’re talking about Lucien Paget? The Lucien Paget has literally not tried anything beyond cheek pecks? For a week?”

I sighed hard and nodded. “Not even after two lunches, two dinners, and a couple novel’s worth of texts.” Along with a new diamond bracelet and a leather bomber I’d drooled over in a window on Avenue Montaigne. And oh yeah, forty thousand more dollars in my bank account.

And I was actually sitting here, complaining to my friends about it.

Because somehow, somewhere between those incredible moments on the boat and now, I’d given up more than gained.

I’d lost Lucien.

But when? How? Why?

The only answer my senses gave up was a constant headache, a turbulent belly, and dread that clung to my nerves like moss on a gravestone.

“Well.” Gigi dotted that with a determined sigh. “Have you tried making the move for more?”

“The move?” My inflection made the meaning clear. “Wench, I even attempted a modified ‘Desperate Dara.’”

While Leese burst with a sturdy giggle, Gigi frowned. “Desperate Dara?”

“A regular at the first club where Juls worked in New York,” Leese clarified. “She was pretty and sweet but had that ‘desperate’ look dogging like a bad aura.”

Gigi winced. “Ooohhh nooo…”

“Ohhh, yes. Guys picked it up like a pheromone from the second they walked in the door. If one of them took pity and agreed to dance with her, she did this crazy thing with them…”

Gigi groaned again. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Leese snickered. “We called it the orangutan on crack. She literally tried to hump the crap out of their waist or thigh, or whatever.”

As the memories took over, I added a long laugh to the exchange. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” I finally muttered. “Haven’t revisited that part of Memory Lane in a while.”

By now, Gigi was joining us in the giggling. I didn’t blame her. “So did it work?” she asked.

“About half the time.” My smile fell as I finished. “But damn it, this time I landed on the wrong side of half.”

Like the awesome posse they were, they instantly stowed their snickers. Along with her sober-up, Gigi pushed her heart-shaped chin onto her palm. “I’m so sorry, Juls.” But her condolence twisted into an irate scowl. “Oh, poo on a pike,” she spat. “I knew Milo shouldn’t have introduced you two.”

“Why?” As miserable as I was, the thought of not knowing Lucien at all was like walking a Dystopian landscape. Barren. Gray. Desolate. “Because the man is treating me like a precious gem instead of his disposable fuck toy?” Though damn, letting the man handle me like his disco dolly sounded like a perfect idea right now.

“No.” Gigi tightened her glower. “Because he’s messing with your head like this.” She pushed her head up but kept her hand in a fist. “I know you two were grownups about the whole. I know you probably agreed to keep things fun and light, at surface value. But—”

“But what?” Leese prompted.

Gigi pulled in a long breath. “You two remember who else tried to do that, right?”

“Shit,” I groused.

“You and Nico.”

Had Leese been by my side, I would’ve shoulder-butted her for going there. Instead, I opted for a more dismal frown. Didn’t help anything. The pronouncement was still a fist to my chest. Gigi and Nico were a world-famous fairytale, a love celebrated like John and Yoko, Will and Jada, Faith and Tim. It hurt to think of sharing such a connection with Lucien.

It hurt…because deep inside, I wanted it too.