“Maybe you should take the afternoon off.”
Tris sank into her chair, tension abruptly giving way to exhaustion. “No. At least here I have a chance of keeping part of my mind off it.”
Leslie came across the room to perch on the low bookshelves under the window. She didn’t say anything, but Tris felt her concern. She had to talk to someone. Who better than Leslie?
“It’s the same old thing, Leslie. Every time I think he’s past it, it comes back to that whole silly thing with Grady.” She gave a laugh devoid of amusement. “You know the weird thing? I never so much as kissed Grady. I’ve shown Michael every way I can think of that I don’t care for Grady as anything more than a friend. If someone had told me Michael Dickinson would be a jealous man, I wouldn’t have believed it. It doesn’t fit.”
Leslie’s expression became very thoughtful, but she said nothing.
“You know what makes me the saddest, Leslie? I used to feel that Michael could look right into me and see all the way to the bottom of my heart. It used to make me feel so safe, too, because here was someone who knew everything about me and still accepted me, still liked me. But if that’s true, why doesn’t he see or believe that I love him? Or was I just wrong all those years about him, about us?”
Asking the question, Tris felt a swell of loneliness rising in her. She didn’t want to consider the hole in her life that would be left without Michael there. She found some comfort from the emphatic shake of Leslie’s head.
“You don’t really think you were wrong, Tris. You know you and Michael have something very special. But it’s changed. You were friends a long time, and now you’re something else. You’ve got to give yourselves time to adjust to all these differences—the differences from each of you growing up, and the tremendous differences from a new kind of relationship.”
“I guess my mind knows that,” Tris acknowledged. “But it’s hard, and a little lonely. And when he starts acting this way, so unlike himself, with this jealousy—”
“Are you sure it is jealousy?”
Tris looked up at her friend. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve just wondered . . . You say it doesn’t fit him, and I’d have to agree. It doesn’t fit the man he seems to be, or how he acts.”
“What do you mean?” The words came out again, although she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
She could tell Leslie how Michael had brought up Terrence, too. That would prove his jealousy, wouldn’t it? Is that what happened with your marriage, too? You grew out of it . . . ? What if this is another mistake?
She remembered her doubts, her impressions that there was something deeper bothering Michael. Be honest, Tris. Your fear that it was something deeper. She wanted it to be jealousy, because jealousy seemed straightforward, relatively simple and perhaps fixable. While the unknown could very well be unsolvable.
“I watched Michael yesterday with Grady, and it doesn’t seem to me that Michael treats Grady like someone he’s jealous of. And then I thought about how he is with you, how he looks at you. I’d be willing to bet my last Southern drawl that he loves you. But he looks at you as if it’s all going to be taken away from him any moment. And you’re the one who’s going to do the taking away.”
* * * *
Leslie’s words dogged Tris for twenty-two-and-a-half hours.
They ran continuously in her mind through the rest of an unproductive afternoon at work. And during a dinner with Bette, Paul, Leslie and Grady that Michael excused himself from at the last moment. And through a restless, unhappy night that turned into a dull, unhappy day.
At first she tried to assess Leslie’s words rationally. Did she see any proof for such an observation? Had he said anything that might support Leslie’s contention? Soon, however, she found herself wondering why he might feel that way, and she knew that she’d accepted the truth of the words.
But that didn’t bring her any closer to an answer. Why would he think that she would take her love away? Why didn’t he—couldn’t he?—believe in her love?
Staring out her office window, she wondered if it was because she hadn’t fallen in love with him in college. Could it have hurt him so much that she hadn’t returned his love then? But she hadn’t known about his feelings. Of course, hearts weren’t always reasonable, or just.
“Can you take the afternoon off?”
She twisted around so fast at the deep, familiar voice just behind her that her foot came out of her shoe.
“Michael!” He looked awful. Even more tired than he’d looked election night on television. She wanted to fold her arms around him, to bring him rest and contentment. But could she, when he didn’t seem to trust her?
“I got the afternoon off.” His face shifted to a grimace. “Actually, I was thrown out of the office and told not to come back until I could be human. If you can get off, we could go somewhere.”
She felt disoriented by the suddenness of his appearance. Go somewhere? Like a date?
“‘Where?” Why?
“I know Paul, Bette and Grady are spending the day in Annapolis, so I figured your house would be empty. We could have some privacy there.” He pulled in a quick breath and let it out. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Thirteen
Terse refusals had been his only response to her offer of something to drink or eat. Silently, Michael sat beside her on the couch, elbows on his knees and his lightly clasped hands extended in front of him. His stillness conveyed tension as clearly as pacing would have, until, abruptly, he started talking.
“I’ve never told you much about my parents, have I, Tris?”
“No, you never have.”
He hadn’t had to. She’d often wondered if he’d tell her what she already knew. But at this moment, another issue overrode all else. Why was he telling her now?
“My parents divorced when I was nine. Lots of kids go through that, I know. And it wasn’t a particularly bitter divorce. There was never any trouble with them sharing custody or anything. In fact in some ways they understand each other very well. They’re very much alike.” She heard the harsh note in his voice at that, and even with only his profile to judge from, she saw a deep disappointment in the lines of his face.
“By the time I was out of high school I’d been to four of their weddings. And there have been more since that I haven’t bothered to go to. My mother’s been married four times, my father three times. And those were the ‘successful’ relationships. Each time they’re sure it’s going to be the one that lasts forever.”
He made a rough sound that caused burning in Tris’s throat. If only she could touch him. If only she didn’t fear that touching him was the last thing he wanted right now. “Forever’s gone by so fast and so often it makes my head spin to think of it.”
She wanted to gather him in her arms, to comfort him, to protect him from the pain he must have felt in those unsettled, unsettling years. But she didn’t. The questions wouldn’t let her. Why have you chosen this time to tell me all this, Michael? What does this have to do with me? With us?
“I have half-brothers and half-sisters, not to mention a slew of ex-stepfathers and ex-stepmothers. I honestly don’t think I could name all my various ex-stepbrothers and stepsisters—they came and went too fast. But some I remember. My junior year in high school Mom met the father of this girl I was dating and the next thing I knew, my girlfriend had become my stepsister.”
He glanced at her, then returned his stare to the empty fireplace. She wondered if he’d been expecting her to look shocked. “Not exactly the kind of sane, stable childhood you had, huh?”
“No.” She spoke very carefully, waiting. “I was very lucky. It must have been difficult for you, Michael.”
“Yeah. Difficult.” He slowly turned to face her, and Tris thought that he was forcing himself to let her see all the way into him, down to the bedrock of determination he’d founded himself on. “I swore I would never be like them, Tris. That when I said forever I’d mean it and I�
��d stick to it. No equivocation, no backing out. Forever.”
Her heart thudded heavily against ribs that suddenly seemed too delicate to hold this assault. Was that the way he felt about her? She knew that was what she wanted from him, with him. It was the certainty, the reliability she’d always felt in his friendship. Now she wanted it from a deeper emotion. If he’d loved her all these years, as he’d indicated he had, didn’t that qualify as the kind of love he was talking about? Wasn’t that the kind of feeling she’d sensed from him?
Then why was the ecstasy of that thought flavored with this unknown terror?
“And I swore that was what I would have in return. That’s what I have to have in return. I have to know that other person will be there for me forever. That her love will be constant.”
Her lips parted on the words that would tell him that was how she felt. Words like marriage and children and home and growing gray together. Words like love and forever. Then the words dried in her heart and her lips closed.
He wouldn’t believe them. She could already see the wall of disbelief in his eyes. And she understood. Understood, why he’d told her this now, understood his reluctance to love her, to make love with her. He believed that she would break his heart, that she would be as inconstant as his parents. He believed, as Leslie had guessed, that Tris was going to take everything, all her love, away from him.
And even while her heart tried to cry out to him how wrong he was, her mind acknowledged that he could justify his disbelief. He could point to her infatuation with Grady, to her short-lived marriage, and he could see them as proof of her changeability.
Her hand reached to him, hovering by the small indentation in his cheek, but not touching him. He shifted on the couch, bringing them face-to-face with their bodies not quite making contact.
She thought of all she longed to say. I’ve grown up, Michael. I was young, and I didn’t know. I thought I knew about love, but I didn’t. Now I do. I’ve grown up and I love you. And I know it’s forever .
But no matter what words she gave him, she couldn’t give him that knowledge, that certainty. It could only come from him.
What if it never came? She couldn’t think of that, couldn’t consider it.
“Michael.” Only his name and already the tears threatened to stop her words. “Michael, I do love you. I can’t deny that I thought I was in love with someone else when I was younger. I wouldn’t deny it even if I could make you believe it. Those people, those relationships are part of who I am now. If I could make you see that . . . But I know it doesn’t matter what I say to you, because nothing I say is going to convince you.”
She leaned forward and placed her right palm over his heart, feeling the rhythm of its beat and taking comfort from it. Such a strong heart. Surely it would be strong enough to believe in her.
“This is the only place you can be convinced. Listen to what your heart tells you about my love, Michael.”
Holding her look, he lifted her palm from his chest and brought it to his lips, wondering at the softness of her skin and her eyes.
He’d been so sure his words would drive her away. He’d made his demands clear, and he’d let her see his skepticism that she could meet them. Fear or anger—or both— that was what he’d expected. Not the clear, strong light of desire in her eyes.
He stood, drawing her with him, and led her toward the stairs without speaking.
If she desired him, that was what he’d take. He’d gone long past the point of self-preservation. He couldn’t stop himself from loving her. He couldn’t protect himself from the pain when she left. This had been his last weapon to buy himself the safety of driving her away. But she hadn’t been driven away. And now there was no safety, no protection for him.
The bedroom door shut behind them, and he moved to her, skimming the zipper down the back of her dress. Pushing aside the material, he cupped her breasts from behind. His hands absorbed the sensations of the teasingly slick material of her bra and slip and the sweet weight of her breasts, as his mouth gently traced her backbone down from her nape.
He felt the shimmer of her need just under her skin, and he welcomed it.
He’d take whatever she gave him for as long as she chose to give it, and he’d give everything in return. Everything except the belief that she could give him forever.
* * * *
Why didn’t she cry? Her eyes and throat held the hot ache of tears, but no tears fell.
Maybe tears seemed too small. Or maybe the feel of Michael’s leg, heavy and intimate, thrown across hers, and the warmth of his arm, resting just beneath her breasts, and the rhythm of his breathing, communicating itself to her through the periodic whisper across her skin and the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder, all combined to make her feel too right, too cherished to cry.
How could he doubt the feeling between them when their bodies were so right together? When they found each other and brought each other joy every time they made love?
She tipped her head to see his face and confirm what she already knew; he was asleep. In the fading winter light, his hair and eyebrows and lashes stood out darkly against his skin. Carefully, she shifted so she could bring her right hand up to brush back his thick hair from his forehead. She smiled to herself as she thought of his characteristic gesture, and mimicked it with gentle fingers. Touching the darkened skin under his eyes that betrayed his weariness and the fan of grooves that seemed to be cut more deeply than they had been just a few days ago, she frowned.
He looked tired, worried. And she knew she was the cause. That seemed so wrong, so very wrong—that loving him the way she did she was somehow causing him pain.
He mumbled something in his sleep, and his arm and leg tightened around her, bringing their bodies into more secure contact.
Her heart swelled at the unconscious movement, because she thought she understood the instinct that prompted it. She thought—she hoped—it was the same possessive, protective emotion that was welling in her.
Love. The forever kind.
The kind that could leave a scar forever, too.
Grady had been an infatuation, as unreal as a teenager’ s swooning for a rock star. Even the failure of her marriage to Terrence, embarked on too young and for the wrong reasons, hadn’t hurt her the way Michael could. Because Michael was passion and companionship, candlelight and sunlight, seduction and security . . . lover and friend.
At least now she knew what she had to conquer. At least now she knew what he needed—certainty. The utter, complete belief in her love. The girl she’d once been might have thought that would be easy to give him. She knew differently.
In the years since college she’d learned very well that achieving the bright, shining goals of idealism required the hard work and hard head of realism. From wanting to save the world, she’d come to the challenge of trying to preserve one small part of it for future generations. She’d learned that succeeding at that could bring an abiding satisfaction. But she’d also learned that, even with the hardest work and the hardest head, for some buildings—and perhaps for some hearts—the endings weren’t always happy.
He didn’t trust her love. Didn’t trust it not to evaporate, to disappear overnight as he had seen “loves” disappear from his parents’ lives. She couldn’t force him to trust her love. There was no final test, no hurdle she could jump and then have Michael Dickinson convinced once and for all that she would love him for as long as she breathed.
It was her personal catch-22. If the girl Tris had fallen in love with him all those years ago, he might have believed in the reliability of her love. But she knew that it had taken the experiences, and especially the mistakes, of the past twelve years to mold her into the woman who could love Michael as deeply, as completely as she loved him now.
All she could do was endure. And keep loving him.
There was no choice about that.
* * * *
Michael turned in from the quiet hall where his footsteps had ec
hoed hollowly, and heard voices coming from the senator’s office. He wasn’t surprised to find he wasn’t the only one who’d stopped by to slip in an hour or so of work before the Inauguration Day festivities.
The next few weeks were going to be hectic and draining; at least he’d start them with a clean desk. Anyhow, that was a better use of his time than staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his apartment bedroom and wishing for things that weren’t going to happen. Such as he’d be magically transported to Tris’s bed. Or she’d be magically made to love him for the rest of her life.
He’d left Grady sleeping soundly in the new bed in his spare room, with a message that he’d meet all of them at the Metro stop nearest the Capitol in plenty of time for the swearing in.
His desk was nearly empty and he was twenty minutes from leaving when a voice spoke from the doorway: “She wants to see you.”
He looked up to see Sharon Karik, the senator’s confidential secretary and general assistant, leaning against the jamb. He was one of the few people who knew she’d met the senator many years ago when she was a battered wife and the senator was a volunteer counselor with no political ambitions. They’d both come a long way, but he knew the trust built in those first encounters had never wavered. Some relationships were built to last. The thought stung on his raw doubts about Tris’s feelings for him.
“How’d she know I was here?”
“Radar, I guess. You know how she is.”
“Yeah, I know.” They exchanged grins mixed of pride and accomplishment. “Any idea what’s up?” he asked as they walked the short corridor to the inner office, but without much expectation of an answer. If Sharon had thought he should know she would have told him.
“Nope. Go on in.” She swung the door wide. “Here he is.
“Good morning, Senator.”
Joan Bradon glanced up from the papers on her desk with a swift smile, then finished jotting a note even as she started talking. “Morning, Michael. Have a seat. I’m glad you stopped by today. I have something I’d like your opinion on.
Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) Page 40
