by Shayne Ford
The appetizers are on the table already when I take a menu and run my eyes over the options.
I’m too nervous to think straight, so I go with what the woman recommends
For the next hour or so, Tiago and I never exchange a word.
I don’t know if it’s obvious to the people around the table, but to me, it feels as if the news that we’re linked scrolls on a huge billboard above our heads.
While we stubbornly ignore each other, I expect his lady friend to show up at any given moment.
As minutes pass by, and my prediction never cares to become a reality, I feel better.
The feeling is volatile, though, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing when he leaves the table a few moments later.
As he pushes out of his chair, I notice him palming his phone smoothly and taking an incoming call.
He’s already feet away from me when he begins to talk, and just like that the blaze of anger sweeps through me.
“Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom,” I mutter to the people sitting around the table while tossing my napkin on the table and using the opportunity to sneak away.
A moment later, I cut my way through the tables.
“May I help you, Miss?”
The hostess intercepts me with a smile.
“Yes. The restroom, please.”
She gives me directions.
Grinning, I thank her and pull away from her, but instead of following her directions, I walk straight to the exit.
“It’s cold outside. Would you like your coat, Miss?” the coat girl offers courteously.
“I’ll be right back. I have to take this call,” I say apologetically, showing her my phone with a clipped gesture, making sure she doesn’t spot the unlit screen.
With one flick of a hand, I push the door open.
The street is empty.
I look up and down the road. The sidewalks are deserted.
Was I wrong?
Cold air nips at my cheeks and chest, prompting the skin of my breasts to form goosebumps.
I swivel around and face the entrance.
Where did he go?
“What are you doing here, Eve?”
His voice rings out behind me, taking me by surprise. I clip my lip to crush a scream and harden my muscles to contain a shudder.
“How about you?” I ask, spinning around.
I scan the street with a sweeping gaze.
“Where is your friend? Is she late?”
He closes the gap between us, one hand tucked in his pocket–– I imagine his phone clutched in his hand. He must’ve talked to her.
Our eyes clash.
His gaze is not warmer than the air gnawing at my skin.
“What are you talking about?” he asks in the same even voice I used moments ago to inquire about his friend.
“Can we do this somewhere else?” he continues.
His eyes glint, but I can’t tell whether it was from the cold air, or an emotion. Pain, perhaps?
I doubt it’s pain. So far, I can see no remorse, no sadness on his face. No regret after all.
“Are you with her, now?” I ask, sensing him thousands of miles away from me.
Silent, he looks at me, a mask set on his face, his expression different than what he had for Andrea a few hours back. It’s mind-boggling how warm he was toward her today and how cold he is now.
“Are you?”
“This is not about her,” he finally says, but his answer says nothing to me.
It’s evasive.
“You may be right. But if you think that this is only about me screwing up things for both of us, think again. It’s also about you. You might’ve been taken by surprise by my decision to leave New York, and you were well within your right to be mad at me because we hadn't had a private conversation before it was made public, but the outcome was your responsibility as much as it was mine.”
He huffs, a bitter smile growing on his lips.
“Who cares what it was?” he says with the carelessness of someone who lives in the realm of either right or wrong.
Someone who has no knowledge of the grays of reality, the nuances, the not so definitive conclusions, the fluidity of life that makes people wrong more often than right.
“I care,” I snap. “I do,” I continue with a softer voice.
He studies me for a moment.
“Did you tell James about us?” I ask.
His eyes sharpen their focus on me.
“Why would I?”
I straighten my back and tilt my head to the side slightly, grappling with revelation.
“Is that why I have no say in this matter? You used that opportunity to end things with me so that you don’t have to face James’ scrutiny and be forced to live a double life. Without me, you no longer put your relationship with him at risk. Is that it?”
“It’s not about him either, Eve.”
His words snap in my ears.
The frown set on his brow, the clenching of his teeth and the blaze burning through his eyes making me shudder.
I look at him pained as if he physically touched me with his anger, and I instantly realize that this is deeper than I thought. It’s not only about the fact that I didn’t tell him the truth.
His fury doesn’t match my offense, as much as his punishment doesn’t fit my crime.
He’s overreacting, but what prompts him to react this way is beyond my grasp.
How could I possibly know?
And I doubt I’m going to find my answer here, standing on a frosted sidewalk in front of a restaurant, the temperature a few degrees below zero.
“Can we at least talk? Tonight? Later on?”
He tips his eyes down. His face looks as if sculpted in stone.
A few seconds tick by before he lifts his gaze.
“I can’t. I leave with James for Colorado.”
My heart sinks.
It takes me a moment to push back my surprise.
“When are you coming back?”
His eyes spend a few seconds on my face. I fail to connect with him through the wall of ice standing between us.
“I don’t know.”
It’s my turn to study his expression, prompted by my blind hope that I can find a real answer in his frosted eyes.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” I ask, wrestling with disappointment and despair.
“How exactly, Eve?” he tosses at me, irritation streaming through his voice.
The doors of the hotel slide open, people walking out.
“Let’s go inside. It’s cold,” he says, grabbing me by the elbow, and nudging me toward the door.
The impatience seeded in his tone makes me fume.
I yank my elbow out of his grip.
“I want an answer, Tiago.”
My loud voice draws unwanted attention from the men and women walking by.
Not that it’s not cold outside–– I’m actually numbed from the waist down, and for the most part, I can’t feel my neck and face.
The arctic air is brutal, assaulting my skin with a vengeance and making my eyes get washed with tears. My teeth start chattering, and I begin to shiver, yet I stall because I’m determined to get an answer from him.
He grabs my arm and drags me to the side.
“What exactly do you want to know, Eve?” he shoots at me through locked teeth.
“I want to know who did you talk to a few minutes ago. And why did you have to leave the table to carry that conversation? I also want to know why didn’t you give me the chance to explain what happened at James’ place on Saturday night? And why do you think that punishing me does either of us any good?”
His stern expression gets diluted for a moment, not with kindness or regret, just a dab of disappointment.
I can’t even tell if it’s addressed to him or me.
“If that is punishing after all...” I mutter.
My voice trails off as I realize that maybe he had a change of heart, and saw an opp
ortunity to get out.
With me out of the picture, his life would be easier.
He’d no longer need to hide from his brother or feel that he’d been disloyal to him. Our secret affair could be buried and forgotten.
Months from now, we could spend time together again. Tiago with Andrea or someone like her, James and Rain and me with another Andy or Sam or no one.
The perspective of this kind of future makes me clench my teeth.
“Tell me, Tiago. I need to know what this is,” I say, shaking his arm, desperately trying to convince him to give me something other than silence.
He grabs my arm, stopping me before he leans closer to me and quietly growls.
“I don’t know. Eve. I have no idea what the answer is.”
I jerk my arm out of his lock for the second time.
“Are you telling me that you can’t tell me who you were with on the phone minutes ago?” I scoff.
“It was Andrea.”
A blade of jealousy slices through me, more so, since I’ve lost my privilege of talking to him on the phone.
“Did you hook up with her?”
He huffs, straightening, and tearing his gaze away from me, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“You slept at her place Saturday night, didn’t you? And Sunday night too,” I bark.
“How do you know?”
He throws a slanted glance at me that has the fingerprints of betrayal all over it.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, slowly slipping into a fuzzy trance.
He curls his hand around my shoulder, and leans closer to me again, the distance between us compressed to a few inches.
“How do you know, Eve?” he snaps.
I shove my hand into his chest.
“Why does it matter?” I shoot right back. “I just fucking know. I went to your place on Saturday night after I left the party. You didn’t sleep home that night. And I doubt you slept there last night either.”
“It doesn’t matter where I slept,” he says, hurt.
I barely register the nuance in his voice as I am busy, retorting.
“To me, it does. I can’t believe that what happened between us Saturday night was a lie and every bit of attention you showered that woman with was genuine. So yeah, of course, it does. Why wouldn’t it matter to me?”
He shoots me a glare.
“And yet, you couldn’t be bothered with telling me the truth before sharing it with everybody else at that table.”
Dark fury glints in his eyes.
I turn to stone.
“I can explain,” I say with a softer voice.
“Oh, really? Now you can? How? And what did you think I’d do when I’d find out, Eve? Why the fuck you couldn’t tell me before that night?”
He stops abruptly and studies my eyes, and in my brief moment of hesitation, he reads the ugly truth. And yet, there’s no way I could lie to him, especially now.
His lips part in genuine surprise and muted disappointment. He looks at me disillusioned and pained as if I just stabbed him in the back, and in a way I did.
“It wasn’t because I didn’t care for you...” I say, rushing to fix what I had broken, not realizing that I only make things worse, if that was even possible.
His hand shoots up.
“Just stop talking, Eve.”
I freeze.
“Listen, I can’t do this right now,” he says, and just like that, he shuts himself off from me.
My hand claws at his arm.
“Please don’t do this to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you, Eve. I can’t talk to you right now. I need to leave. You go inside.”
“You said you’re going to leave with James.”
“I am, but I don’t need to spend the next hour or so with them. I can meet them at the airport.”
Our eyes stay locked as we share a few moments of silence.
“You don’t have to leave. I’ll get my purse and go home.”
“Fine. I’ll wait here until you’re ready.”
He takes a few steps away from me, nearing a lamppost.
His breath turns into a billowing white stream of air that dances in the night. It’s that cold.
I pivot to the door before I stop and glance over my shoulder.
He doesn’t look at me.
“I quit my job this evening,” I say, deadpan.
He swings his gaze to me, his hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes glimmering with tears spurred by the cold air.
“But we knew that already, didn’t we? I wish you the best of luck,” he says.
It feels as if the air temperature has dropped even more.
My eyelashes turn into icicles as the wind flogs my cheeks.
He holds my eyes for a moment, letting me read the immense regret harbored in his gaze before he turns his back to me, walks up the street, and fishes his phone out of his pocket.
I linger long enough to hear his voice wafting through the air as he begins to talk on the phone, in a mellow, soft tone that lodges in my brain. It’s so different than the voice he used with me.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s talking to her, and for a moment, I remember how lucky I was to have this man in my life, all for myself.
He was so hot for me, and so warm and tender to me, opened up to me. And what a curse everything has become.
5
Three Days Later, Colorado.
Sexton Mansion
TIAGO
“Yes, he’s still here,” James says, amused as he flips his phone so that my mother gets a glimpse of my face.
“Hi, mom,” I say, waving at her. “Why can’t you believe James?” I add as she wrestles with emotion.
She looks away, the sun gliding onto her face.
If she intended to conceal her tears, she sure only made them sparkle brighter.
She makes an effort though and brings back a serene face and the glow of a warm smile, the sunlight still playing on her face.
She fashions a form-fitting white dress trimmed with red at the neckline, her lips and nails painted scarlet. She looks as if she stepped off the pages of a lifestyle magazine.
“It’s not about trusting James,” she says. “It’s about having doubts when it comes to you.”
“I knew that already,” I say in a lighter voice.
Her lips curve into a smile.
“Honestly, I’m happy that James convinced you to spend some time with him. How do you like it so far?” she asks.
I look around, and gesture, my gaze sweeping the room washed with the afternoon light.
It’s still winter outside, but the fog and the grays and the gloominess got chased away by the sparkling sunlight, a bright sky vaulting above.
There’s no cloud in sight all the way to the mountains. The sun shines in all its glory, the light tumbling through the French doors, dancing in the large dining room where lunch is served.
The view of the backyard streams through the wall of glass as well, a blanket of snow still covering the ground and trees.
Fresh flowers fill the room with a sweet fragrant scent while the table in front of us bears the signs of a copious lunch.
“It’s good,” I say reserved.
Theresa smiles.
“Not bad,” I add, grinning. “I don’t know if I could live here though.”
My mother raises her eyebrows while James studies me from across the table.
“Any particular reason?” she asks.
I shrug, avoiding her gaze and James’.
“No, not really. It’s just that it doesn’t feel like home.”
“Do you like New York better?” she asks.
I ponder for a moment.
“Yes, I think I do. New York is more like me. Animated, fluid, the perfect place to get myself lost in.”
By the time I finish, I no longer smile, my gaze trailing down.
I feel their eyes on my face before I raise my gaze
.
“Works for now,” James says curtly while flipping his phone, to turn the screen to him.
“When is he going back?”
He shifts his phone, directing her question to me.
I look at him before I shift my focus to my mother.
“I don’t know. I’ll be back by the end of the week.”
“Well, I’m happy that you like it for now,” she mutters.
“You should come to visit me too,” James tosses at her, his phone screen facing him this time.
“Maybe, I will. In a month or so, when the spring comes. I have to find someone to run my gallery while I’m gone.”
“I’m sure you will.”
A short pause follows.
“How’s Rain?”
“Good. She’s taking a nap.”
“Everything well with her?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Well... I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay, Tiago,” she says with a louder voice before James tilts his phone so that she could see me.
I nod.
“Thanks, mom.”
A few moments later, James hangs up the phone.
He checks a few messages on the screen before he pushes his chair back.
“More coffee, Sir?” one of the staff members asks.
“No, thank you,” I say.
James gestures a ‘no’ before he slips his phone into his pocket and rises to his feet.
“I’m going to check on Rain before we go downtown.”
“All right.”
The house grows quiet around me as the sound of his steps fades away, and the staff retreats into the kitchen.
Slowly, I slump back, my eyes coasting leisurely over the glass doors and the magnificent view.
Taking in everything surrounding me, I begin to understand who James Sexton really is.
Ironically, we share the looks but other than that a world sits between us. The man is a giant in so many ways, and I wonder if that is something that his father had ingrained in him or he was born like that.
Whatever it is, it’s hard not to admire him and give him credit for everything he does. He has the smarts and the guts, and everything surrounding him is a testament to that.
I spend a few more moments in silence before I retrieve my phone from my pocket and start scrolling through my messages.
