His hands came to my knees, and then he pressed his palms in as he moved up the top of my thighs.
My breaths were coming quickly now, my chest heaving so much that it nearly made me self-conscious. But the way he took me in, the way he covered my body with his, his fingers linking with mine and holding them hostage above my head, I’d never felt safer.
And when we joined together, hips rising and falling, lips biting and opening for each sigh, I climbed faster than I had the first time. Anticipation was the greatest foreplay, I’d learned.
When we were sated, he rolled off of me before tugging me to him so my head could lay on his chest, right over his heartbeat. The staccato beats sounded like music, like the three words I could taste on my tongue, waiting to be unleashed from my mouth.
Thump-thump-thump.
I-love-you.
Thump-thump-thump.
I didn’t know how I was going to be able to leave him in eight more days.
His hands played with my hair, massaging into my scalp, and we said no words as I listened to the thump-thump-thump of his heart until I fell asleep.
When I awoke, he was sitting on the edge of my bed, a cup of coffee in his hands as he took in the painting on the wall.
“You look like you’re trying to unlock the mysteries of the world,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re not going to find them in that terrible painting.”
I watched the skin stretch on the side of his face before he turned to look at me, soft smile on his lips.
My eyes fell to the anchor on the inside of his bicep and I covered it with my hand. “I like this,” I told him, rubbing along the curved arm of it. “Why’d you get it?”
He leaned on the bed, and ran his fingers through the ends of my hair. “After I did a bit of traveling, seeing the world, I got the anchor.” He watched my finger trace the curves and lines. “London is my anchor; my home. This was the safe end to my journey.”
“And these?” I asked, touching the twin sparrows on his chest.
“‘Are not two sparrows for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.’” His smile was tinged with sadness. “When Mal died, I am not ashamed to say I felt forgotten. Why her? Why me? I was lost. Worthless.” He offered his cup of coffee to me. “One day, when I was struggling more than I was willing to show, Asher sat me down and talked to me. I swear, the man is so full of wisdom, I’m surprised it’s not leaking from his pores.” I handed him back his coffee and he took a sip. “And he told me that no matter how insignificant we feel, we are not nonexistent, swallowed up in the vastness of humanity. Even the smallest creatures have a purpose—and their perceived earthly value isn’t a reflection of their importance.”
“Damn, Asher is deep.”
Ames laughed. “He really is.”
“Intimidatingly so.” Ames looked away again, his mind somewhere else. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Just thinking a lot.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, so I gripped the sheet to my chest and scooted up to a sitting position. He looked at me for a moment before reaching forward and pulling the sheet down. I pulled it back up before he tugged it down again.
“Ames,” I said on a laugh. “This is not going to help you think.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be thinking right now.” He leaned toward me, but I put a hand on his chest, stopping him.
“What’s up?”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he turned to face me. “I’m thinking about the restaurant.” He stared down at his coffee. “I was in contact with an estate agent who emailed me this morning. It’s going up for sale.”
There was no pretending that his voice didn’t sound somber, like he was giving up on the one thing that really mattered—outside of the people in his life.
“But Ames, you shouldn’t. You love it so much.”
“It’s going to cost a fortune to renovate, and it’ll mean that I spread myself too thin. I don’t want to make myself less available to the people who need me, not right now.”
“But if Lotte sells her studio—”
“She’s not going to.” His voice was harsher than I could remember it being, even in the beginning, before he’d known me. “That studio was her inheritance. She can go off to your country all she wants, but she doesn’t need to throw away the one good thing she has here.”
“Hey,” I whispered, putting a hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, and I could see the frustration drain away.
“Sorry.” He let out a breath. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I should get going. I’m going to be meeting the agent at the restaurant and I need to clean it up after last night.” He tugged the sleeve up on his sweater to check on his watch. “And then Lotte’s coming into the pub so we can chat.”
The worry was gnawing at me, and I had to restrain myself from crawling off the bed and talking to him about Lotte, getting him to understand her. “Okay,” was all I said, resolving to go by the studio that morning to talk to Lotte.
“I didn’t expect to see you today!” Lotte said as she let me in, her smooth blonde hair pulled back into a restrictive bun. I took in the slippers she wore and the tight leotard.
“Practicing ballet today?”
“It’s good once in a while, especially when I feel my muscles tightening up from working in the kitchen.”
I followed her into the studio, taking my jacket off and tossing it on a hook. When I turned to face her, I felt very much like I was about to cross a threshold that would change everything for Ames and me.
Which was why I spent an hour stretching and working on my flexibility with Lotte before I blurted, “I know Ames is talking to you today.”
She paused, bringing her arm down from a stretch as her eyes shot to me. Suddenly, she seemed very vulnerable—her age stripped away from her, leaving her looking like a teenager that needed to be protected. Which she wasn’t, and that she didn’t.
“Shit,” I said and plopped to the ground. “I really have no business sticking myself in between you two, and I shouldn’t be doing this. But it goes against everything I believe not talking to you about it.”
Lotte clasped her hands in her lap and turned to me.
“When I was eighteen, I’d scarcely removed my cap and gown before my parents sat me down to talk to me about my plans—which was actually a conversation about their plans for me. My parents wanted me to figure out my career, to find my calling in a respectable field and do the right thing. Whatever the hell that was.” I squeezed my fingers into a fist to keep the blood flowing when it drained from my face, knowing what I was telling Lotte would only provide more resolve for her to do what she wanted to do.
“So, what did I do? I did everything they didn’t want me to do. I went to Africa for six months. That was the first thing. On my flight home, someone told me I had a pretty voice, so I tried out voice acting. I did okay with it. Mostly radio commercials. But it wasn’t anything I was intensely passionate about, so I didn’t dedicate myself to it. Not that it mattered, because it wasn’t good enough for my mom. You see, my brother was this … perfect kid. And I hate saying that, because no one’s perfect. But he was. He is. He handles every situation with grace, and manages to find a balance between doing the things he loves and pleasing my parents. The fact that he has a heart condition on top of it only adds fuel to my mother’s fire. Why can’t I be like him, you know?” I paused to swallow. “And in reaction to that, in not feeling like I was enough for her, I became enough for me. I did the things I wanted to do. I went to Canada for a summer and lived by the kindness of strangers I met on the Internet. I worked for my brother part-time instead of getting a ‘real job’ and I traveled the world with him. I fed my hunger to live as much I could, and it made me damn happy.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t make your parents happy.”
“Of course not. But that’s the thing: if I lived by their life rules, if I choked dow
n all the things they wanted for me, I would never, ever be happy. I’d have eventually suffocated.”
“That’s what it feels like I’m doing.”
“I don’t know if Ames told you, but a few months ago, my boyfriend died.” Shock spread across her face, and I was grateful that Ames hadn’t told her everything about me. “He died, and if someone had given me a box like this,” I looked around the studio, “despite their best intentions, I would have felt like I was being smothered. Like I was being told what to do next, as if I was incapable of thinking for myself, making my own decisions.”
“You’ve put how I feel into words better than I can.”
I smiled and rubbed her knee. “I know Ames loves you, and wants to protect you. He has pure reasons for wanting you to keep the studio.”
“But they’re wrong.” She blinked rapidly and shook her head fast enough that some tendrils escaped from the bun. “He’s willing to break himself in half, supporting this studio that won’t be bringing in income, on the off-chance that I’ll return from my gallivanting—as he calls it—and want this place back.” She looked around the room. “But it’s not the only place in London where I could practice dance. If I even come back to London and still want to pursue dancing. He needs to keep the restaurant. That was his dream. It’s not fair for me to chase mine and for him to give his up.”
“He told me he’s meeting with an estate agent today for the restaurant.”
I could tell by the way her eyes widened that this was news to her. “So he’s just going to sell it? Without even talking to me about it? With the way he’s trying to micromanage me, and this place, and how he expects to have a say in what I want to do with my inheritance?” She stood up and I could practically see the rage waiting to splinter from her restless arms. “No. No!” She stalked across the room to her phone. She furiously tapped away on the screen as my stomach started to coil and unfurl.
Ames was going to be angry with me.
I closed my eyes when they started to burn. He was going to be livid with me. Just thinking about him this morning, the stormy look on his face just talking about it, knowing I essentially went behind his back was going to change us.
“I just emailed an estate agent. He’s not the only one who has one in their pocket.” She began pulling sweats on.
“Where are you going?”
“To tell him what an idiot he is.”
“Maybe I should go with you,” I said. “Maybe having it coming from us together will resonate with him.” I doubted it myself, but I didn’t want to send Lotte into the lion’s den alone.
“Come on then,” she said, and I followed her with a heaviness in my heart.
Ames was so surprised to see us both—I could tell the moment we walked in the door. What was probably even more surprising to him was our completely opposite reactions. Where Lotte was radiating anger, the only emotion I found myself able to hold was the rock-solid weight of sadness.
Lotte pointed a finger to the kitchen before stalking back there. Ames exchanged a look with me and I swallowed, not saying anything. Because all I could think was how I’d probably completely fucked up my relationship with him, and the hope for friendship was completely off the table.
Once we were back in the kitchen, I didn’t take my coat off, knowing I’d soon be leaving. Likely alone. The most torturous part of watching Lotte confront Ames was knowing that at the end of this conversation, he’d look at me like I’d betrayed him. Getting from point A to point B was inconsequential in and of itself. The result would remain the same.
“How dare you,” she said, punching a finger to his chest. “I cannot believe you put the restaurant up for sale without even talking to me.”
He glanced at me. “You knew I was considering it.”
“Considering it and doing it are not the same thing. I told you not to. I told you I wanted to sell the studio so I could help you with the restaurant.”
“And I told you that wouldn’t be happening. Ever.” His eyes hardened. “The studio is all you have. I’m not going to let you let it go while you go off adventuring temporarily.”
“Don’t assume it’ll be temporary. I might like it there. Maybe I’ll find an American boy and stay forever,” she snapped.
“Don’t be a child, Charlotte.”
Her eyes narrowed and if I wasn’t emotionally invested in the conversation, I could have found it fascinating, to see this young woman I’d known as innocent and demure all riled up.
“A child? You think me a child? If I’m a child, you’re a traitor. Going behind my back and pulling one over on me by listing the restaurant before we could rationally talk about it?”
“We have talked about it.”
“And you haven’t listened!” She flung her hands out. “You’re too busy bending over backward, doing everything for everyone, to have a shred of common sense. It doesn’t make sense to hold onto a building that isn’t bringing in income, in the hopes that I’ll maybe want it again, some day in the future.”
“It doesn’t make sense to sell it to fund my pet project.”
“Do you think I’m truly that stupid, Ames? That restaurant wasn’t your pet project. It was yours and it was Mal’s. And you’re going to let it go just so I can keep the studio.”
“It doesn’t make sense to hold onto it, not when it’s never once brought in an income,” he replied, repeating her words back to her.
“It hasn’t had the chance! You’re not giving it the chance it deserves. I had my fun with the studio. And I’m done now. I’m okay.”
Ames turned to me. “Why did you come with her?” he asked me, and his voice lost all the trace of warmth I’d ever known it to have.
Lotte interjected, “Because she’s the only one in this family who understands me. She’s been where I am. When she was nineteen. I’m twenty-three, and I’ve been doing the same thing for three years, since Mal and mum died. I’m tired of it. I’m stifled. I don’t want to stay here and do the same thing for the rest of my life. I’m not like you.”
“You’re only twenty-three. You don’t know what you want yet.” He turned to me and shook his head, and I swore I could feel the shake all the way in my chest. “I can’t believe you went behind my back, after our talk this morning.”
I swallowed. “It wasn’t a real talk, Ames. You need to see her side. You need to understand where she’s coming from.” It felt like I was listening to my brother giving advice.
He laughed humorlessly, “So, what? You think because we’re,” he waved his hand between us, “doing whatever we’re doing, that gives you the right to interject yourself into conflicts that are none of your business?”
“No, I don’t think that at all. She wanted advice. I gave it to her. And yes, I did go behind your back in telling her about you selling the restaurant, but I couldn’t believe you hadn’t told her yourself.”
“I can’t believe you. You’re here,” he rapped his knuckles on the table I sat at, “temporarily. For, what, another week? And you’ve meddled your way into every single facet of my life like you intended to be here in a permanent way?”
It felt like a tennis ball was lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow it down or spit it out. “I’m not trying to make my temporary visit a permanent impression upon your life,” I said, but didn’t really believe it myself. There was no use in denying it—I’d fallen in love with Ames, and sitting here, listening him talk to me like this, was taking all that newness in my heart and forcing it to crack.
“So, what, you just wanted to have a bit of fun with an Englishman, then? Play with him for a while until you bounced back to America and went on about your life like this—like I—was nothing?”
The direction of conversation gave me momentary whiplash. “Ames. I mean, we had three weeks. I don’t think either of us meant for it to be more.”
“Right. I sure didn’t. I knew this was temporary—that’s really the only reason I warmed up to you.”
I’d expe
cted him to be hurt. I’d prepared for it. But I hadn’t expected him to take the knife and turn it on me. I tried to breathe around the painful mass in my chest. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you are temporary. I loved my wife.” He held his fist to his chest, his eyes angry. “That was the great love of my life. I don’t have the capacity for anything other than that.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything,” I whispered. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”
“And what? Prove you’re right? That you know how to grieve better, that you know better than I do what’s right for my family?”
“Ames.” Lotte stepped forward, and I’d forgotten she was still there. My face burned from unshed tears and embarrassment. “She was just trying to help.”
“Well, she didn’t, did she?” He looked at me a moment longer, his eyes filled with cold fury. He turned away from me. “Lotte, I don’t want you to sell the studio.”
“Why are you pushing me so much on this? I’m going to do it, with or without your permission.”
“Mal wouldn’t have wanted you to get rid of it.”
“And she would’ve wanted you to get rid of the restaurant? The last tangible thing on earth that was hers, and yours, together?”
She’d cornered him there. His jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed. “Not at the cost of losing your studio.”
Lotte stepped right up into his face. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this to you until you’ll listen to me. I. Don’t. Want. It. I don’t. It’s just a place. It doesn’t have the meaning the restaurant does. It’s a place that someone else picked for me.” She paused and turned away for a second. “You may have loved my sister, known her as your equal for most of your life. But she was my sister. And no matter what you think, I know she’d have never chosen for you to be a martyr. Not ever.
“I don’t want the studio. I am not Mal. You can’t keep me safe by keeping me in a cage. I don’t want the plan everyone else has for me. But you want that restaurant.” Her voice broke on want. “And you’re going to let it go just to keep my unwanted studio alive. You’re really an idiot.”
The Weight of Life Page 20
