The Design

  On my third day in Paris, my bunkmate, Kiki, told me about her job teaching English to adults in the evenings. She said the program was constantly looking for new teachers, especially people who knew American English well. I agreed to accompany her to the program’s offices that afternoon. After a short interview process where they confirmed that I did in fact speak English, they hired me and set me up with a preliminary class schedule.

  It wasn’t my ideal job. I wanted to design and use the degree I’d worked so hard to get, but teaching in the evenings left me with plenty of time in the mornings to take my sketchbook out and wander around Paris. I dreamed of perfecting my French, applying for a work visa, and trying to land a job with a Parisian architecture firm. If I found a large enough firm, chances were they’d need to have architects fluent in English.

  So I settled into a simple routine. The hostel was great, but roommates came and went every few days. I was constantly surrounded by people—sleeping in a room with six bunk beds ensured that fact—and yet, I always felt alone. As soon as I’d get to know someone in the hostel, they’d jet off for their next destination. Kiki stayed in Paris for the first two weeks I was there before she packed up and headed off to Germany. She had plans to meet up with her boyfriend there and then the two of them would travel together through Europe, teaching English as they went.

  About three weeks into my stay, I realized that the hostel couldn’t be my permanent home. It encouraged a transitory lifestyle, and I was in Paris for the long haul. A part of me yearned to find a Parisian apartment of my own. Nothing special, just a small, one-bedroom place where I could start to lay down my roots.

  Though I dreamed of an apartment, I was in no rush to actually find one. The hostel let me pay per week and I had the freedom to leave at any time. That freedom helped me sleep at night. When homesickness threatened to break my resolve, I’d tell myself that I was just on vacation and it seemed to help a bit.

  One day, about a month into my stay in Paris, I found a small cafe and sat outside, sketching and reading off and on. I was midway through a sketch when the wind whipped the pages of my notebook, flashing back to the sketch of Grayson on the first page. I slapped my palm onto the pages, overpowering the wind and forcing the pages to lay still, but the damage was already done.

  My dream, the idea of being in Paris and living on my own, was starting to fray. I loved being in the City of Light. I loved exploring the ancient buildings and structures I’d studied for hours on end in my architecture classes. Yet at the same time, in the back of my mind I was starting to wonder if Paris was really where I belonged.

  I’d wanted to break the chains I’d felt in LA and leaving for Paris seemed to be the best way to do it.

  Well, I was standing on my own. I was in Paris, completely isolated from everyone I loved, and most of the time, I felt depressed and scared. It was a humbling thought to acknowledge and the first few times it surfaced in my head, I’d quickly squashed it.

  Paris was my dream.

  I belonged here.

  But, didn’t I belong with the people I loved?

  Those people held me back. They were my crutch.

  But maybe that wasn’t their fault.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I waited another two weeks before I called Brooklyn. I counted down the days, stubbornly believing that the longer I waited, the more independent I was. In the end¸ the moment I heard her voice, I broke down into sobs.

  “I don’t speak the language. I don’t know how to use the subway. I hate most of the people in this dumb hostel. My bunkmate hasn’t showered in two weeks. Do you know how smelly someone is when they don’t shower for two weeks?!”

  I rambled on and on and Brooklyn silently listened.

  “I thought Paris was your dream?” she asked quietly.

  I sniffed. “I thought it was. I really thought I’d be happy here. Happiness for me is a moving target, I guess.”

  She hummed, mulling over my confession. “Were you happy in LA?”

  I didn’t even have to think about her question. “Of course I was happy there, but that’s because you were in charge of every difficult thing in my life and Grayson was paving and paying the way for me. I never had anything to challenge me. How could I not be happy?!”

  “Wait,” she interrupted, “What are you talking about with Grayson? Just because he was your boss doesn’t mean he paved the way for you.”

  I laughed, a cruel, sarcastic laugh.

  “Oh, yes he did.”

  I told her about everything Grayson had done, about all of the emails I’d found and the way he’d gone behind my back. I relished getting to talk about him, even if it was in negative light. For the last month and a half I’d had no one to discuss him with. He’d been secluded away in my thoughts. And boy, did I think about him. The good. The bad. The ugly. The beautiful. I couldn’t stop thinking of him.

  “You know this is very similar to what happened with me and Jason. When our relationship got tough, I left Montana with things still in limbo with us. I should have stayed and listened to him. Just like you should have stayed and listened to Grayson.”

  I scoffed, wiping residual tears from my cheeks. “This is nothing like that. I left because I wanted to. It had nothing to do with Grayson. I had a dream of coming to Paris and I knew I wouldn’t forgive myself if I never actually did it.”

  She laughed. “So, you’re fine with everything you found out the night before you left? You’re fine with the fact that he fired you and you’re fine with the fact that he hasn’t shown up in Paris yet?”

  I swallowed those questions, knowing I’d have to digest them later, when I was alone and could really delve into my feelings.

  “Y’know, I’m peachy. In fact, I’ve hardly thought about Grayson while I’ve been here. It feels like all that happened ages ago.”

  “So you don’t think you should have stayed and worked things out?”

  “Those are two different questions, Brooklyn. I honestly don’t think there’s any way it could have worked out between him and me. If our paths cross in the future it’ll be good to see him. We’ll say hi and he’ll introduce me to whatever girl he’s dating. I’m not sure about a lot of things, but leaving and starting fresh felt like the right move.”

  “You sound so calm about everything,” she said, disbelief clear in her tone.

  I shrugged, though she couldn’t see it through the phone. “So why were you crying when you first called?” she asked.

  I bit down on my lip, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “I think I just realized that I’m not the person I thought I was. I wanted to be the cool girl who could travel around Europe and experience the world. I’ve been here for a month and a half and I think I made a huge mistake.”

  “So are you going to come home?” she asked tentatively.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, I have something that might convince you…”

  “What?” The elation I felt at the idea of going home to LA was practically tangible. “What is it?”

  “Jason asked me to marry him last week.”

  “WHAT?! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? You let me ramble on about dumb Paris while you were sitting there freaking engaged? Are you completely insane? Send me a picture of the ring. No, wait. Tell me how he did it. No wait, have you picked a date yet?”

  She laughed. “Alright, settle down, you weirdo. We haven’t picked a date yet but we know we don’t want to wait long. It was a really simple proposal. He and I write on the upstairs balcony at his ranch—you know the one I’m talking about?”

  I tried to envision Jason’s ranch from my stay a few months earlier. It basically looked like a ski lodge transplanted into the Montana forest. It was breathtaking and the balcony she was talking about was the focal point of the entire house.

  “Yes, I remember what it looks like.”

  “Well, we were out there writing a song and he paused right in the middle and dropped to one knee. He’d been
carrying the ring around in his pocket for the last month, trying to think of what the most special proposal would be. When we were out there writing, he told me that there wasn’t a moment that would feel more right to him. That balcony, and that house, hold a lot of memories for us and he thought it was only right to add one more.”

  “Holy shit. J-fresh is so romantic! You did good, sis. Now send me a picture of the ring or I’ll kill you.”

  She laughed.

  “Well actually, before I hang up, there’s one more thing. Jason and I were thinking of having an engagement party in a month or so. I was going to ask you to help host it, since you’re obviously my maid of honor, but you’re halfway across the world, so I guess that’s not possible.”

  I flinched at the hurt in her voice. I’d completely left behind all of my responsibilities in LA. My big sister—AKA the only family I had left—was getting married, and I knew I should be there with her, helping her plan her wedding, not halfway across the world.

  I bit back my regret and spoke up.

  “No. No. I can help plan it while I’m here. I’ll search for some invitations and email you the links so you can pick your favorite.”

  “And do you think you’ll fly back for it?” she asked.

  I thought of my bank account and how little it had grown since taking the teaching job. The program paid me enough to live and eat, but I hadn’t saved a dime since arriving in Paris. If I went home for the engagement party, chances were that I wouldn’t have enough money to fly back to Paris.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know soon,” I answered, not wanting to get her hopes up.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Traveling to Paris was supposed to solve my problems. I had dreams of establishing a home base, working my way up in a firm, and coming into my own in the City of Light. Instead, I felt like I’d carried all of my problems with me overseas. I didn’t feel any more self-sufficient than before. I was still mad as hell that Grayson had gone behind my back, meddling in my life time and time again. I’d lied on the phone with Brooklyn: I missed him like crazy and the real reason I wasn’t enjoying Paris was because I didn’t think I was meant to be there without him. I wanted to be sampling crepes with Grayson. I wanted to be exploring the architecture with him by my side. I wanted him to take my hand as we strolled across the gardens and direct me into a hidden cafe so we could share an afternoon cappuccino while we rested our feet.

  I thought of him every day, but most of all, I thought of him when I visited the Eiffel Tower. I sat on the grass, marveling at the monument’s immense structure, and the only thing it reminded me of was the way Grayson had looked during our interview. The way his blue eyes had held me captive from across the desk, stealing my heart as if it was the simplest thing he’d ever done.

  Two months without seeing him was enough time for me to go back and forth about my feelings time and time again. One day I’d wake up and miss him so much that I’d lay in bed pulling up old text messages and rereading every word he’d ever sent to me. Other times, I’d remember an email about a scholarship or an interview he’d negotiated, and I’d feel so angry with him that I had to stop myself from dialing his number and berating him. Most days, I fluctuated between loving and hating him at least thirty times (and that was all before I’d had my coffee).

  It was perplexing to work through such polar opposite feelings for one person… especially when at the end of the day, Grayson was the one human on the entire planet that I knew I couldn’t live without. He was intimidating and passionate, creative and intense. He taught me to love architecture and he inspired me to pursue my dreams, so why couldn’t I forgive him for overstepping his bounds?

  Why couldn't I realize that being with Grayson wouldn’t mean that I was completely giving up my independence?

  I missed him so much that a week before I was scheduled to fly back to LA for Brooklyn’s engagement party, I’d even managed to convince myself that his actions were somewhat noble. It wasn’t as if he’d been secretly sabotaging me. He’d been a guardian angel of sorts, ensuring that there weren’t any obstacles blocking my path. Could I really hate him for that?

  Maybe a little, but not enough to stay away any longer.

  …

  Arriving back home in LA felt similar to when I’d first arrived in France. I had no place to call home, no money to my name, no job, and Grayson and I weren’t speaking. As terrifying as all of that was, the final detail was by far the hardest to stomach.

  It felt just about as shitty as you could imagine to return home having failed at your dream. All I had to show for my two-month stint abroad was a smattering of French words and a purse full of Parisian chocolate. Some people would have been ashamed, but I was above that. You see, I had consumed copious amounts of alcohol during the long, long flight home and I couldn’t actually find the will to care about anything, let alone the fact that I was a giant loser with no job and a boyfriend who wasn’t actually a boyfriend, but rather someone I hadn’t spoken to in two months.

  “Cammie! You made it!”

  I looked up to see Brooklyn and Jason standing at the bottom of the escalator with open arms. One quick scan around them let me know that Grayson was nowhere to be found.

  “What the hell is the point if it’s just you two and he’s not here and just—” I’d made it to the bottom of the escalator and all but tossed my luggage at Jason. “Just take that because it’s heavy and I bought way too many Parisian scarves. Who the hell wears that many scarves? And berets? No one wears them. If you wear one you look like a buffoon. Just an FYI.”

  “Wow. Alright, looks like they served some drinks on the flight over,” Brooklyn said, exchanging a knowing glance with Jason.

  “I see what you’re doing. Stop being telepathic with each other and just take me to the airport lounge so that I can wait for Grayson to pick me up.”

  “Grayson?” Brooklyn asked, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. She looked so innocent and sweet with her golden blonde hair and designer clothing. I hated her for seeming confused about why I wanted Grayson to pick me up from the airport.

  “Yes. Grayson. The person I’m in love with. He needs to pick me up from the airport.” I shook my head, annoyed that I had to catch her up to speed.

  “Listen, why don’t we go home and we can finish setting up for the engagement party tomorrow. Maybe Grayson will come over after that?”

  That sounded reasonable, so I let Jason and Brooklyn lead me out of the airport, a cloud of booze following my every step.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Grayson didn’t come over while we set up for the engagement party. He didn’t call or text me. He knew I was back in town: I’d overheard Brooklyn on the phone with him earlier that morning, confirming my arrival and my presence at the party. I guess we really weren’t on speaking terms or he would have at least called me himself.

  I yanked a long-stem rose out of a bucket of water and started plucking off the leaves. The engagement party was due to start any minute and I still had a few last minute flower arrangements I needed to throw together.

  Brooklyn had stressed the fact that she wanted the decorations to be tasteful, so I’d skipped balloons in favor of flowers and large framed photos of her and Jason placed around the room. We’d spent all day transforming Brooklyn’s condo for the party and it was finally coming together.

  Three long tables were set up for dinner. A catering company was hard at work in the kitchen, whipping up hors d’oeuvres and a four-course meal for the small gathering.

  I’d invited thirty guests. Everyone from Brooklyn’s publicists to Jason’s friends from Montana would be in attendance, and I couldn’t wait to deliver the speech I’d been working on for the last few days.

  “Cammie! I can finish doing that, you go get dressed!” Summer, Brooklyn’s spunky assistant, demanded as she pulled the rose from my hand. I hadn’t seen her in a few months, but she looked as awesome as ever. Last time I’d seen her she’d dyed he
r hair purple ombre. Now it was a bright pink.

  “I’m almost done!” I protested.

  “Nope. Go. The guests are arriving in five minutes and you’re still wearing pajamas.”

  I glanced down at the flannel pajamas I’d stolen from Brooklyn that morning. I hated to hand over the reins, but Summer had a point. I couldn’t greet the guests in plaid sleepwear.

  “I’ve got this. I swear. Go get ready,” Summer insisted, slapping my butt and pushing me toward Brooklyn’s bedroom.

  “Fine! But those flowers had better be perfect when I come back out,” I teased.

  Summer flipped me her middle finger as I stepped past Brooklyn’s doorway. I was still laughing when I all but collided with Jason as he made his way out of the room.

  “Whoa,” he said, reaching out to steady my shoulders so that I wouldn’t topple over.

  He was already gussied up in a designer suit and I paused for a moment to admire him. Jason Monroe was more leather boots than shined shoes, but he pulled off a suit as well as Grayson.

  In an instant I was flooded with emotions. This was my future brother-in-law, my sister’s fiancé, and he was one of the best men I’d ever known.

  “I’m really happy my sister found someone like you,” I said, meeting his gaze and trying my hardest to keep any tears at bay.

  “Aw, you’re gonna make me blush, Cammie,” he quipped.

  “I’m serious! Brooklyn is the best person in the entire world. She’s seriously a baby angel and she deserves the world. Do you hear me, Monroe? I will take you down if you hurt my sister.”

  Clearly, my emotions were starting to jump around. I’d never threatened someone so soon after complimenting them before.

  “Whoa,” he laughed. “Alright. I swear that your sister is in good hands with me.”

  “Pinky swear,” I said, holding out my hand with utter seriousness.