by Holly Rayner
He catches me by the wrist. “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
I twist my arm in his grip, pulling free.
“It’s because of my past, isn’t it,” he says, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more devastated. “It’s because of the articles you saw. The other women.”
I wish I could tell him no.
“It meant nothing,” he says quietly, but I hear the resignation in his voice. “It wasn’t like it is with you, Emma. What I feel for you…I never knew something like this existed before. I’ve been out with so many women, and it was always easy to move on, because I wasn’t attached. Because I didn’t really care. But I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
For a moment, a heart-wrenching moment, I almost let myself fall into his arms.
Almost.
But I can’t bet my heart on the chance that he’s telling the truth. I can’t let myself get hurt again.
I turn and board the plane.
“I made something,” Lara announces as the plane reaches cruising altitude.
Peripherally, I take in Tomas. He’s staring out the window of the plane, looking pensive, almost mournful.
“What did you make?” I ask Lara.
In answer, she pulls out her tablet and taps open an app. She holds it out to me, keeping a grip on one side so we’re sharing it between us. “It’s a photo album,” she says. “To remember our London trip.”
I feel the old familiar lump in my throat. “That’s really great. When did you have time to do this?”
“Last night.” She glances at her father, lowers her voice, and continues, “I was supposed to be sleeping.”
“I see.”
“Do you want to look at it?” she urges.
I scroll through the pictures. I’m expecting to see shots of the many landmarks we visited, hoping Lara will distract me from my inner anguish by telling me what she’s learned. But to my dismay, every picture seems to be of Tomas and me, or of the three of us. It’s as if she’s been trying to document our budding, and now fizzling, relationship for the past two days.
“Didn’t you take any pictures of the buildings?” I ask, trying to force a laugh into my voice as I scroll past yet another picture of Tomas and me standing shoulder to shoulder. “What about Tower Bridge? I thought you liked that.”
“The bridge is there.” She points. Sure enough, you can see one of the towers in the background of the picture I’m looking at. “But pictures are best when they have people,” she says.
“Do you think so?” I think of my own photo collection at home. It’s mostly landscapes, animals, and architecture. Hardly any pictures of people at all.
Lara considers for a moment. Her English is growing stronger, but she still has to stop and think before speaking, to plan what she wants to say.
“When I think of London,” she says, “I won’t remember the…” she sketches a shape with her hands.
“Westminster Abbey?”
“Westminster Abbey. Or the big Ferris wheel. I’ll remember spending time with you and Daddy. So that’s what belongs in my family photo album.” She scrolls back to the beginning and shows me the album’s title: Family Trip to London. “It’s in English, see?” she says proudly.
“That’s really good.” I feel like I’ve been trying to swallow rocks. Family trip?
“I want it to be part of a…” she hesitates. “A lots of them.”
“A series,” I say automatically.
“Series,” she repeats, then nods. “I want us to go on more trips. And I want to make more albums. So I always remember.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. I wish I were stronger. I wish I could be what this little girl wants. But I can’t.
After the plane lands, after Anne and Lara have disembarked, Tomas catches my hand and pulls me down into a seat beside him. For a moment I’m afraid he’s going to try to kiss me again. For a moment, I want him to. More than anything.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Those green eyes, so deep and penetrating, are fixed on mine again, and I think I might drown. “I’m sorry for the things I said and did.”
“I told you,” I say. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I did,” he says. “I assured you that we would keep things professional, and I failed to do that. I made advances. It was inappropriate, and I was wrong.”
“I encouraged you,” I say. I can’t go so far as to confess that I wanted him to flirt with me, that I enjoyed it when he did. It’s the truth, but I can’t admit it. Because if I do, it will lead us somewhere I’m too afraid to go. But I don’t want him blaming himself when an equal share of the blame belongs to me. “We both overstepped,” I say. “We both forgot ourselves.”
A long pause, during which Tomas regards me. I can see some of the light go out of his eyes. He’s still hoping, I think. He’s still clinging on, still hoping there’s some way back for us. Some way we could return to the moment we shared on the rooftop of the building in London, when we forgot all the reasons we had not to kiss and gave in to our desire.
But we can’t go back. I can’t let that happen. The moment I try to get close to him, I’ll fear him. And maybe that’s an instinct I should be trusting.
He closes his eyes for a long minute, and I wonder if the conversation is over, if I’m supposed to turn and go. Then he looks at me again.
“Can we pretend it didn’t happen?” he asks.
“What?” I’m stunned. I’ve never heard such vulnerability from Tomas as I’m hearing today. Not only is he admitting he erred, but he’s also begging for a second chance. And not even a second chance to win me over, to earn my love, but a second chance to treat me properly.
He’s doing it for Lara. He must be. He doesn’t want to damage her relationship with her tutor.
And I don’t want that either. Lara deserves better. But things have gone too far. That photo album she showed me on the plane was all the proof I needed to see of that. Lara is starting to of me as a member of her family. And that’s something I know I’ll never be.
“Forget the things I said,” Tomas says now, imploringly. “Forget that we kissed. Forget that I took you to London at all, if you like. You’re right. It was too much too fast. And I should have talked to you about my past. I knew those articles were out there, but I was ashamed. Do you understand? I was afraid of what you might think if I told you, and it was easier to ignore them. I never dreamed you’d find them on your own.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking. The night you stayed for dinner, the night we talked in my living room about our true feelings for each other…I should have told you everything that night.”
“I don’t know if that would have made any difference,” I admit.
“Do you think I’m lying?” he asks, somewhat desperately. “When I tell you how much I care for you?”
“I don’t think you’re lying,” I say.
“Then what?”
“I think…” I hesitate. “I think you don’t know what you want.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t known me that long, Tomas. You think you care for me, but—”
“I do care for you, Emma. God. I wake up thinking about you.”
“It’s a crush.” I can’t believe I’m saying these things. I’ve been trying to persuade myself that my own feelings are just a crush for weeks now. I can’t believe I have to convince him too. “This isn’t what real love is. You’re attracted to me. That’s all.”
“What’s wrong with being attracted to you?”
“Nothing, but…but I need more than that,” I say. “I think the things you feel are temporary, Tomas.”
“They’re not.”
“I think they are. And it’s okay. You don’t need to feel bad about that. But you have to understand that I can’t be a one-night stand. It’s not what I want for myself.”
“Why are you so sure it’s what I want?” he asks.
&
nbsp; “Because it’s what you’re used to,” I say. “Because it’s what you do with women. You see them for a night or two, and then you move on.”
“I told you why—”
“I know. And I don’t judge you for that. Really, I don’t. It’s what’s best for your daughter and your family. You can’t put her through getting attached to everyone you meet.” I bite my lip. “I think she’s already attached to me,” I say.
“Of course she is. She loves you.”
“And I think that if you and I were to get involved, you’d wake up after a few nights together and realize your curiosity was sated and you were ready to move on. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“It won’t be like that,” Tomas says. “I swear to you, it won’t. I think…” he takes a deep, shuddery breath. “I think I’m in love with you, Emma. I think I’ve been falling in love with you for a while now.”
God, how badly I want to give in. I want to collapse into his arms, to find his lips with my own, to tell him I’m falling in love with him too and that I’m not going to let my fear stand in the way anymore.
I want to be brave.
But I can’t. I don’t have it in me. I’ve finally told him the truth, and in articulating it I’ve come to understand it fully for myself. I’m afraid that he doesn’t know how to love. I’m afraid that he doesn’t have it in him to commit to a woman for more than a couple of nights. And I’m right to worry, aren’t I? He’s never done it before. He and Lara’s mother split up when the going got tough. He’s never been with a woman long term. I can understand and respect his reasoning, but I also know that it’s just the opposite of what I need to feel safe.
So I stand and step away from him. It kills me to do it, but I do it anyway.
His face falls.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “I can’t do this. I can’t take a chance on this.”
He doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze for a long moment. Eventually, I’m the one who looks away.
“I think it’s time I went back to New York,” I say softly.
“Wait a minute,” Tomas objects. “Back to New York? You can’t.”
“I think I have to,” I say.
“But what about Lara? Her tutoring? She needs you here.”
“She doesn’t really need me anymore,” I tell him. “Her English is strong. Much stronger than any of us thought when I started working for you. She’s not fluent yet, but if you keep speaking the language to her at home, she’ll keep progressing.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not a teacher,” he protests. “I don’t know how to help her advance.”
“I’ll finish out the week,” I say, although I’m doing so more for Dolores and for the sake of my agency’s reputation than anything else. What I’m saying is true—Lara doesn’t need more tutoring, and the longer I stay, the harder it will be for her to get over the attachment she’s formed to me. “If you want her to have a tutor,” I continue, “that will give you time to find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Tomas says, and I’m not sure we’re talking about tutoring anymore. “I want you, Emma. Don’t leave us.”
I wish I could give in. I wish I could grant him what he’s asking. But too many hearts are on the line. I don’t want to hurt Lara. I don’t want to get hurt myself. And despite the affection I feel for Tomas—an affection I can’t and won’t deny—I can’t trust him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I take my overnight bag from the closet at the front of the plane and walk out onto the tarmac, feeling like I’m leaving half of myself behind.
Chapter 14
Tomas
I pace the length of my home office, back and forth, hoping desperately that an idea will come to me. But with every passing day, that seems less and less likely.
I can’t stop playing the conversation I had with Emma on the plane back in my head. There must have been something, at some point during our talk, that I could have done differently. Something I could have said to make her hear me and believe me. Because everything I told her was the God’s honest truth.
I’ve never felt like this before. Not about anyone.
Until recently, if I’d been asked whether I’d ever been in love, I would have chuckled coyly and said maybe. I would have found that funny. Now I don’t think I’ll ever laugh at the idea of love again. If I’m asked if I’ve been in love, I’ll have to say yes. Because these feelings I’m having for Emma can’t possibly be anything else.
I feel like a veil has been lifted from the world. Everything around me is clearer, sharper. Food tastes richer. Music sounds sweeter. It’s as if I’ve lost a layer of skin that’s been protecting me, insulating me from the most intense experiences of the world, and I feel raw and new and emotional.
God, just knowing she’s in the house is impossible.
She isn’t wrong to think I’m attracted to her, of course. I am. Very much. More, I think, than I ever have been to another woman. But that’s different too. With other women, my attraction has always been very basic. They’ve had nice bodies, sexy voices, an enticing way of carrying themselves, and I’ve responded to that. Emma has all those things too, but beneath it is an undercurrent of something much stronger.
I want to share an intense experience with her. I want to learn where she likes to be touched. I want to see what her face looks like when she loses her mind to pleasure. I want to make a study of all the things she loves.
How could she think I only want to sleep with her to check it off my to-do list? Nothing could be further from the truth.
I want to wake up next to her. I want to hold her through the night and feel the rise and fall of her body as she breathes. I want to taste every inch of her skin.
I want to hear what she thinks about everything. I want to tell her every detail of every day, and I want to know all about hers.
Yes, I’m attracted to her. Every part of me wants every part of her.
It’s just that “attraction” means something more now than it ever has before, and I don’t know how to explain that to her. I don’t know if it even makes sense. All I know is that every time I try to talk to her, I seem to push her farther away, and if I truly love and respect her, maybe it’s time to acknowledge that she’s saying no to me.
And that’s a really hard thing to admit.
When I first saw her again, when I realized she was the one who had come to be Lara’s tutor, it felt as though fate had intervened. I knew I had bungled things in New York, and now I was getting a second chance. Not, as she thought, a second chance to get her into bed—although I would be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped things would end up there eventually—but a chance to win her affection and to see where things might lead between us. And in the process of trying to do that, I fell in love.
Maybe I should have kept a tighter grip on my heart. Maybe I should have followed through on my initial instinct to keep things professional between us.
Or maybe that’s completely wrong thinking. Maybe I should have told her the very first day I saw her that I was enamored, that I wanted to spend more time with her. Maybe I should have been less cautious and more open. Maybe that would have made me an easier person for her to trust.
I don’t know. I guess I never will.
She’s leaving today. She’s downstairs right now, having her last lesson with Lara, who is heartbroken to be losing her tutor. I have no idea what they’re studying, what they’ve been doing with their last week together, but I suspect not a whole lot of learning has been going on. It’s probably been more of an extended goodbye than anything else.
I wonder if the fact that I haven’t troubled to find out what they’re doing down there makes me a bad father. But I can’t stand it. I can’t walk into that room with Emma and act like everything’s normal, like I’m not on the verge of falling apart. I haven’t even seen her this week. I gave Anne her final pay envelope to pass along, together with my thanks for her services as a tutor and my reassurance
that I’d be giving her a good review. I called the airline and arranged for her ticket back to the United States. But I can’t actually go down and speak to her. Not even to say goodbye.
I think that if I did, I would end up begging her to stay.
It took me thirty-four years to find love. It’s taken my entire life to even understand the feeling, to even believe that it was real. I was never sad about not having a partner before, although I did sometimes wish that Lara had a mother in her life. But there was always Anne, a very motherly figure, and an older woman who Lara could look up to. So we were fine. We didn’t need anybody else. We were happy.
Now I’m awake to what I’ve been missing the whole time, and that happiness has evaporated like mist.
There comes a soft knock at the door, jerking me out of my reverie.
“Come in,” I say.
The door eases open. It’s Anne, a tray in her hands.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“You always know what I need.” I lean back in my chair, clearing some of the papers off my desk so she’ll have a space to set the tray down. “Thank you.”
She nods. “You’ve been up here by yourself for quite some time, Mr. von Meyer.”
“Just thinking.”
“It’s possible to do too much thinking.”
Anne is the one member of my staff who’s never really seemed to be afraid of me. Perhaps it’s because she’s older than I am—she’s worked for my family since I was a child, so she’s seen me when I was far less dignified than I like to think I am now—or maybe it’s just that she’s so formidable. Whatever the reason, the look she’s giving me now is rife with scrutiny, and I have the feeling she’s putting a lot of pieces together.
I try to change the subject. “How’s the last tutoring lesson going?” I ask.
She doesn’t speak for a minute, and I suspect she’s deciding whether or not to let me get away with what I’m doing.
“It’s going well,” she says finally. “Emma is quite a professional. She has Lara reading from her book. They’re not taking it easy, even though it’s the last day.”
