I roll my eyes. “He knew I was a writer and that was it. He said he knew, just from looking at me, that he wanted to be with me. He said I’m pretty when I think nobody’s watching. Or something like that, anyway.”
“So, you do like him, then,” Kelly says.
Like doesn’t feel like the right word, but I nod anyway because I don’t know what the right word is.
I can hardly start throwing the word love around after just a day of actual face-to-face talking.
Can I?
“I still don’t approve of what he did,” Kelly goes on. “But if you want to give him a chance, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot. I thought you were going to freak.”
“Maybe I would—maybe I should. But …”
“What?” I urge when she falls silent.
“It’s you, Fi. You seem different. I’ve never seen you like this before. Even with those letters when we were kids, you weren’t … I don’t know. It’s hard to find the right word. I guess that’s why you’re the writer, huh? But you’re glowing, Fi. You look like your full of light or something. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“Not really,” I tell her. “But I guess I’m in a not-making-sense sort of mood because I know exactly what you mean. I feel like I’m glowing.”
“Just be careful you don’t burn up.”
“I know. I will. I love you, sis.”
“I love you, too. And remember—”
“Hot sauce, I know.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Definitely not hot sauce.”
Hot sauce was the code word we came up with that meant one of us was going to sneak out and that the other one shouldn’t be worried. It’s basically the opposite of checking in with her every hour.
“Bye-bye,” I say. “I’ll text you in precisely sixty minutes.”
“You better.”
We end the call and I lean back, moving my gaze over toward the city, to the Tower and the yawning sun-touched landscape all around it.
He lied. But then told me the truth and said he was sorry.
Can I forgive him?
Have I already forgiven him?
Chapter Ten
Forrest
“And she has agreed to come?” I say, standing at the top of the staircase with one hand tapping the wooden rail and my other gripping the cellphone in a vise like grip.
Business ran longer than expected, keeping me busy until long after the sun set, leaving me to stress and over-think about all the ways Fiona could be suffering at my revelation.
I had an image locked in my mind, vicious and unfair, of returning to the room to find that she’s taken her things and left a simple note for me on the balcony.
I hate you. I never want to see you again. You’re dead to me.
The words bounce around and around in my mind, feeling real, as though Fiona is whispering them close to my ear. And yet I can’t find it in me to regret telling her.
The only thing I regret is not telling her that first night on the balcony.
Did I really believe I could just get over my need for her? Was I ever really that naïve?
“Yes,” my driver says.
“Good,” I sigh. “See you soon.”
I look down over the bookshop, closed and privately hired for the evening. It’s called Shakespeare and Company and it’s one of the most famous, if not the most famous bookshops in the world.
I’ve had faux-candles brought in for the evening, flickering yellow but without a naked flame to threaten the paperbacks.
I stand at the top of the double staircase, looking down upon the entrance, every wall lined with stacks upon stacks of books. It has a ramshackle look about it, but that only adds to its charm.
Even though I know Fiona is on the way, I keep expecting something to happen to ruin it, for a scythe to slice through our closeness before it has a chance to truly begin.
I drum my fingers against the banister, the tempo and the sound matching the rhythm of my pounding heartbeat, thundering in my chest as I curse myself for not telling my woman sooner.
Goddamn, I hope she can forgive me.
But hope is one hell of a weak word were my woman is concerned. There’s no damn way I can leave this up to hope, not when being with her is the only thing I can think about now.
I always do my duty where business is concerned, but today I found my mind returning over and over again to my woman, to the shape of her body curving deliciously under my hand … to the future, where our children will smile up at her and laugh and delight in her attentive mothering … to her book signings and events, where I’ll stand in the rear of the room, in the shadows, brimming with pride as my woman takes the spotlight and captivates the crowd.