Surrender (A Dangerous Man #4) Page 5

  “I don’t mind.” I tell Eddie, forcing a bright smile onto my face. I watch his face lights up in response. “I’d love to have a drink sometime.”

  “Great!” he says, still smiling as I give him my number. He enters it on his phone, and then waves awkwardly at Bea and me before leaving.

  I watch him walk outside, suddenly not sure how I feel about going anywhere with him when just last night David and I were making love against the wall of a restaurant.

  I snap out of my thoughts at the sound of Bea’s voice. “What?”

  “I said, he likes you.” She repeats.

  I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m not blind.” She says with a smirk. “If he likes you, you should give him a chance.”

  “Like you’re giving Luke a chance?” I ask. Luke is serving the only customer on the queue, but that doesn’t prevent his eyes from wandering over to Bea again and again. As soon as she turns to look at him, he looks away.

  “Luke’s my friend.” She says dismissively, “and we’ve known each other for ages.” She shrugs. “Plus I haven’t gotten over Jet.”

  I frown, trying to imagine how it must have felt when she found out the man she’s been dating for over a year was moving away without even factoring her into his plans. It must have been devastating.

  I look over at Luke, and his eyes are on Bea again. No, I’m not mistaken about this. He wants her.

  I turn back to Bea. “Just because you’ve known each other for ages, he can’t be in love with you?”

  She frowns. “He’s not.” She says firmly. “Hey, Luke.” She turns towards him, her voice challenging. “Sophie thinks you’re in love with me.”

  He stares at her, his speechlessness a slightly more embarrassed version of my own. His throat bobs as he swallows. “Of course not,” He says thickly. “That would be ridiculous.”

  Bea turns back to me, her triumphant smile a little dim. “You see?”

  “I… yeah.” I turn an apologetic glance towards Luke. “I’m going now.” I tell Bea.

  She has a small frown on her brow. “Yeah... see you later.” She says, without looking at me.

  The day passes slowly. Larry isn’t coming to the store, Jan tells me, because his son is graduating and giving the valedictory address.

  “He’s really going to ogle Stephanie,” He adds with a laugh. “That’s his ex-wife, and he’s still crazy about her.”

  I frown, wondering what the right reply is to that particular bit of information. I’m still in love with my estranged husband as well, only last night we had sex, in a restaurant, up against the wall.

  And it was amazing.

  “I should be there too,” Jan continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “But Jo - that’s my ex – will probably be there and things never go well when we find ourselves in the same room.”

  “Are you still in love with her?” I ask boldly, thinking that perhaps we’re all stuck in love.

  “Hell no!” He barks out a laugh. “We hate each other’s guts. You know, we went in expecting so much from each other, with neither of us prepared to give anything.” He shakes his head, “That never works.”

  “What if you give everything you have,” I ask contemplatively, “and the other person just isn’t ready to give anything.”

  Jan shrugs. “I’m no expert.” He says, “If I were, I’d still be married.” He studies my face. “So how’d your date go last night?”

  We had mind-blowing sex, in a restaurant, up against the wall.

  I close my eyes against the memory. “It was okay.” I tell Jan, forcing a small, lighthearted smile.

  When I leave the store later in the day, I walk down to the small museum down the street. Inside, it’s quiet as usual, with hardly anyone around. I make my way over to my painting, as I’ve come to think of it, the painting I always end up looking at.

  It’s still in the same position, and nothing has changed about it. The young woman is still half turned towards me, perpetually in motion, looking as if any moment she would turn completely around and I would see her face.

  But I don’t need to see it. I already know, without a doubt, whose face it is. It’s the face I’ve been drawing all my life. It’s my mother’s face.

  I try to imagine what she would have said when she turned fully towards the painter, her married professor. Would they have talked about his wife? How wrong their relationship was? Did they plan their future together, or did they decide to enjoy it for as long as they could and then let it go?

  I’ve searched the name of the painter online. There’s a small article on the university’s website about his work there. I also found a few news articles about the murder-suicide, some of his wife’s poems and the haunting last poem she wrote before she drove herself and her husband off a bridge.

  Don’t tell me love is not forever

  Mine will only die when we close our eyes

  One last time

  I remember Aunt Josephine’s taunts. Her favorite words to describe my parent’s relationship had been “sordid affair” It’s agonizing to think that she was right. That my mother was instrumental in shattering someone’s heart to the point where her only recourse was to drive her car off a bridge.

  And even then, my love will take root

  Grow, and last for eternity

  However, was it her only recourse? Is it right to hold on to a love that isn’t returned? Aren’t I better off letting go of my feelings for David instead of holding on to a love that never was, and never will be mine?

  I close my eyes, and when I open them, the painting is still there, and just looking at it, I can’t escape the aura of love, the feeling that there’s some intense emotion in the room. No, it wasn’t a sordid affair. It was much more than that. I wonder sadly if my mother knew then that she was pregnant. I wonder if my father would have wanted me.

  I sigh. What does it matter? He died, and even though, unlike Modigliani’s wife, my mother didn’t throw herself out of a fifth floor window in grief, she’d still died and left me alone.

  I’m still at the museum when Eddie calls me on my phone. As usual, I’ve spent so much time looking at the painting, that the day has gone and left me behind.

  “How about today?” He asks.

  “How about what today?”

  “Our drink.” He explains with a cheerful laugh.

  “Okay…” I force a smile into my voice. “Where?”

  The lounge he has chosen isn’t too far away. It’s a casual place with an extensive menu, which includes light food and drinks.

  “So how long have you been in Bellevue?” Eddie asks when we sit. He looks curious and interested.

  “A few months,” I reply, trying to listen as he keeps on talking, and wondering why I can’t get into the conversation, why half the words he’s saying seem to blur into each other. He is charming and nice, recommending drinks he thinks I might like, dishes I should try, asking me if I like my food…

  But he’s not David.

  Tell me, is it Eddie Newton who’s going to be picking up the pieces of your broken heart, or will it be somebody else?

  Another one of the cruel things David said to me. How he could imagine that I could ever contemplate leaving him for Eddie, I still don’t know. I can’t even get through an evening with the same Eddie without thoughts of David making it impossible for me to enjoy myself.

  “So what happened?” Eddie has been talking, but I only hear the last three words. He’s looking at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to say something

  “Sorry.” I say apologetically. “I wandered off.”

  He chuckles wryly, “Yes,” he says, “You’ve been doing that.”

  I sigh. “Eddie…”

  “No, it’s fine.” He shrugs. “I was saying... I heard that you’d married David Preston,” he gives me a curious look. “So what happened?”

  I frown and look down at the shrimp skewers on my plate. I haven’t eaten much. I think about Edd
ie’s question. What happened with my marriage? My husband didn’t, doesn’t love me, and I couldn’t bear it?

  “I’d rather not talk about that?” I reply quietly.

  He nods sympathetically, “I understand.” He says.

  Afterwards, he insists on walking me home. I don’t object, he must be a glutton for punishment, I think silently, if he wants more of my company.

  “When was the last time you went to Ashford?” He asks conversationally, as we walk along the sidewalk.

  “Not since I got ... Not since I left.”

  He looks thoughtful. “You must miss Mrs. Carver.”

  “I do.” I smile, thinking if Stacy and her anxious, concerned phone calls, “but we talk on the phone.”

  We walk in silence the rest of the way. Eddie seems to have given up on drawing me into a real conversation. I wish I could put aside my thoughts and my memories and actually have a good evening with a guy who seems genuinely interested in me. But it’s just not possible, especially not when, as I turn from the sidewalk unto the brick walkway in front of my building, I see the silver BMW parked down the street, glinting in the streetlamps.

  My heart skips a beat as I study the familiar car. It’s too far away so I can’t know for sure. Still, it can’t be him, can it?

  I’m trying to stay calm, while Eddie, oblivious to the sudden change in me, walks beside me until we get to the door.

  “Thanks for tonight.” He says politely.

  “Thanks for putting up with me.” I say with a small smile, thinking of the car parked only a few feet away.

  He shrugs. “I’m sorry about your marriage,” He continues, “though I’m glad we could have this drink tonight.”

  I steal another glance at the silver BMW, but its dark inside and I can’t see anything. “It was nice to hang out Eddie.” I say distractedly.

  He nods, his lips pressed together, as if he’s deep in thought. “You know,” he starts, “When we were kids, I used to watch you.” He says, “I usually had to wait hours just for you to come out of the house. You hardly ever did, your aunt kept you pretty locked up most of the time.

  I chuckle wryly. “Yes she did...”

  “But I did get to see you a couple of times,” Eddie says, an earnest look taking over his features. “I used to stare out of my window at you when I was supposed to be doing my homework.” He smiles. “Even then I thought there was something enchanting about you.”

  I try to remember those days of being homeschooled by my reclusive aunt, escaping outside whenever I got a chance to draw on my sketchpad. If the popular kid who lived opposite had been watching me every day, I had been totally unaware of it.

  I bite my lip, wondering what to say. What does one say to a declaration like that?

  “I guess somehow, I always hoped that one day, you and me…” He laughs self mockingly and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You hoped that we would be together?” I finish for him.

  He nods, “But then you met David Preston and got swept off your feet, I guess.”

  I smile wryly. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did.” He pauses. “When I saw you here, in Bellevue, and well… I began to hope…”

  I start to shake my head.

  “I know.” He says, “I don’t know what happened with your marriage, but even I can see that your mind is far away from here, and I’m just a guy on the outside who can only look in.”

  “I...” I’m not sure what I’m going to say, which useless platitude to choose, so I just stay silent.

  He smiles and starts to move closer, whether for a kiss or a hug I never get to find out. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an unmistakable figure emerge from the silver BMW and the door slams so loud, Eddie jumps.

  I turn towards the street, and see David walking towards us. Eddie follows the direction of my gaze, and when he sees David, his expression turns into something that looks like alarm, and he steps back from me.

  David’s face is expressionless, but that doesn’t do anything to temper the air of danger he’s exuding. His long stride is loose and relaxed, but purposeful. I find myself thinking of a jungle cat, an extremely beautiful and dangerous jungle cat.

  “Obviously,” He says lazily, with a small, humorless smile in Eddie’s direction, “You’re not kissing my wife tonight.” He turns towards me, “Hello Sophie.” He says, cobalt eyes burning. I glare back at him.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Checking on my wife, obviously,” he replies, with a thorny smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns back to Eddie. “You were just leaving?” He asks, his dismissive tone indicating that it’s not really a question.

  Eddie turns me. He shrugs apologetically. “Goodnight Sophie.” He says, then turns and walks past David to the sidewalk.

  I watch him walk away, seething quietly. “Why did you do that?” I hiss at David, annoyed with his behavior, and with myself, because regardless of everything, I’m desperately happy to see him.

  “Do what?” He looks at me, brows raised. “He was about to maul you and you didn’t look particularly excited at the prospect...” He pauses and raises his perfect eyebrows. “Or was I mistaken?”

  “You’re mistaken in thinking I need your protection.” I snap, “and he wasn’t about to maul me, he was just saying goodnight.”

  “So I didn’t actually interrupt anything did I?” David says with a shrug, “He still got to say goodnight.”

  “Whatever.” I mutter, “Goodnight David.”

  “I came to apologize,” He says quickly, the words stopping me from flouncing into the building. “I came to apologize for last night.” He sighs. “Sophie, I don’t want you to feel that all you mean to me is sex, because even though I can’t seem to stop myself from wanting you so badly that it drives me crazy, you do mean a lot more to me.”

  I blink. Of all the things I expected him to say, I didn’t expect this. It’s not enough, of course, but it’s something.

  “What exactly?” I ask.

  He frowns. “Excuse me?”

  “What exactly do I mean to you?”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “A lot.”

  I sigh, hating that even now he still can’t give me what I want, hating that I almost don’t care, hating that I want him so much, regardless. I’m a slave to my desires where he’s concerned, and I hate it. I can’t let this continue, I decide. I have to move on with my life, the one that doesn’t include him.

  “I want a divorce.” I say, surprising even myself as I speak the words out loud.

  He seems to freeze. His eyes pierce me, almost glacial in their intensity, but he doesn’t say a word. The silence is heavy and oppressive. Immediately, I want to take the words back, to unsay them and wipe them from his memory, because I don’t really want a divorce, I want him to tell me that he can’t live without me, I want him to love me as much as I love him, helplessly, hopelessly and totally.

  I watch his jaw tighten. When he finally speaks, his voice is harsh. “Why?” He asks, his eyes dark and furious, “because of that little boy who was trying to kiss you a moment ago? Does he know where you were last night?” He snaps. “What you were doing, with me? Or doesn’t he mind sharing as long as he gets a taste.”

  I close my eyes against his taunting words. “Stop it.” I almost shout.

  “Why should I?” he demands angrily. “Am I supposed to just disappear, make it easy for you to forget about me?”

  “Well you had no problem disappearing before.” I accuse. “I heard nothing from you for two months.”

  “Well that was because I listened to you when you told me to leave you alone, remember. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to make the same mistake twice, because we both know you didn’t really mean that,” he says, his voice cutting, “You don’t really want me to leave you alone, do you, Sophie.”

  I hate his mocking tone, and more than that, I hate the fact that he’s right. “Why do you
always have to do this?” I cry angrily, “Why do you always have to be so hateful?”

  “Because I love you, Sophie,” The words burst out of him, freezing me in place. He freezes too, and stares at me, his face panicked, looking as if he’s only just realized what he said. My heart starts to race expectantly. I feel as if I’ve been doused in water that’s both hot and cold, and my body is freezing and scalding at the same time. I step forward, towards him, my whole body attuned to the words that are now hanging in the air between us, heavy and full of meaning.

  He takes a step back, and I watch, hope dying in my chest as his face shuts down, turning impassive as he retreats behind his wall. “I have to go.” He says, his voice suddenly clipped and impersonal.

  I don’t try to stop him. My chest is aching strangely as I watch him stride to his car and drive away. I feel more confused than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  I want to sit on the steps and cry my eyes out. I want to know why the thought that he could be in love with me is enough to make him shut down so totally. Sadly, I turn around and notice Bea standing just inside the door, her eyes wide open. She pushes the door open and steps out into the night.

  “Who on earth was that hottie?” She asks incredulously, “and was I dreaming, or did I just hear him say that he’s in love with you?”

  I sigh. “He’s my husband.” I hear myself say.

  Bea’s eyes widen even more, looking as if they’re about to burst out of her head. For the first time since I met her, she seems to have nothing to say.

  “And he either said it,” I continue wonderingly, “or we both just had the exact same dream.”

  Chapter Six

  BEA DOESN’T LEAVE MY APARTMENT until I tell her everything, from the beginning.

  “Wow.” She keeps saying, over and over again.

  “Sounds like you’ve both come a long way.” She says finally, when I finish.

  “Have we?” I shake my head. “I think we’re still stuck in the same place, Bea. I love him so much, but he’s so... he’s so complicated.”