Chasing Heartbreak (Dark Love 6)

Andy is beside them, looking so much older and a spitting image of Elijah from memory. Luna, their daughter, is absolutely gorgeous with her bouncing curls and bright green eyes, dressed in a yellow tutu and running straight for the bouncy castle.

I kiss both Adriana and Julian hello as we linger on the patio.

“I’ve missed you,” Adriana squeals by my side, wearing a maxi dress in the same shade as Luna’s tutu. “Talk French to me?”

“Le français est une belle langue.”

Adriana clasps her hand onto her chest. “How romantic!”

“You didn’t even know what she said?” Julian teases her.

Andy appears less than amused. “Yeah, Mom, what if she said your poop smells lovely?”

Adriana rolls her eyes. “Boys… and what did you say?”

I laugh, placing my hand on her shoulder. “French is a beautiful language.”

Lex walks over with his hands in his pockets, kissing his sister and extending a handshake to Julian. When it comes to Lex and Julian, their dynamic always fascinates me, since there was a time when either one would’ve pointed a gun in each other’s temple for the love of Charlie. And though I never admitted it, a tub of popcorn was always in hand as I watched on the sideline.

Though today they appear civil as Julian asks Lex a question about a meeting he had, and Lex responds respectfully.

Rocky is also here, minus Nikki. Their son, Will, has grown so tall, a teenager now with a slight mustache and a small break of pimples scattered across his forehead. Rocky is exactly how I remember him, burly with a tight hug in tow.

“How’s my favorite British bird doing?”

“I’m the only British bird you know, so, of course, I’m your favorite,” I remind him with a knowing grin.

“Eric introduced me to his friend, Alistair,” Rocky informs me with a shudder. “So trust me, you’re not the only one.”

“Ah, yes.” I giggle, shaking my head at Eric’s friend. “Quite the little drama queen, isn’t he? So, Nikki’s not with you?”

“She’s back home. It’s been chaos lately, and I keep telling her to hire someone else.”

“Well, tell her I miss her. I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

“I’ll pass it on.” He smiles before grabbing a plate and piling on a large amount of food.

The backyard is filled with Amelia’s friends and family. Children are running around, chaos everywhere you look. I happily sat with Adriana, scanning the area and noticing Eric isn’t here. I send him a text, but he doesn’t respond.

I’m busily chatting with Julian about the history of the French Revolution when Morgan walks in with Jessa. My eyes gravitate toward Jessa, the little girl by her side who couldn’t look any more like her daddy—mousy brown hair draping down the side of her face, identical shade to Noah’s, to the hazel-colored eyes in the same shape as his.

My eager stare wanders back toward Morgan, the woman who Noah chose to marry for life. There’s this grace about her, a woman appearing comfortable in her own skin with a bold fashion choice of all-white for a child’s birthday party. Her hair is cut into a bob, short but sleek. She’s a beautiful woman, and I hate the fact that I’m comparing myself to her. I’m not that woman. I don’t fall into this trap. I know my worth, except of late, the worth has been blurred.

The jealousy, unapologetic with its presence, has been this constant burning sensation inside my chest refusing to leave. It’s arrival, unannounced, stems from his text of sleeping at Olivia’s. Considering there are plenty of hotels, I don’t understand why he chose a sofa over a comfortable bed. Unless, of course, he was in a comfortable bed with Olivia.

And then standing only a few feet away is the woman he chose over me.

Watching Morgan furtively, my headspace becomes a negative playground, not realizing I’ve torn to shreds the napkin which has been sitting on the table in front of me.

Excusing myself from Rocky and his rambling about LA women and their breasts, I head into the kitchen to distract myself momentarily. After tidying up and loading up the dishwasher just to help Charlie out, I walk back outside, feeling slightly better.

I sit on the top step with a plate of food in hand, watching the kids play around the yard. They are having so much fun without a care in the world as their laughter filters through. It’s such a vast difference to my life back in Paris, a real sense of family as I look on.

Beside me, I hear a ruffle, and Jessa is trying to dip a wand into a tube while trying to blow bubbles to no avail. With a frustrated pout, she appears on the verge of crying.

“If you dip it in long enough and pull it out slowly, you can blow the bubbles,” I say, gently.

Her big eyes stare back at me as she does exactly that, a bubble floating in the air, much to her amusement.