Was he reading my mind? Did he know I was going to drop a bombshell on him as soon as I could suck up the courage to say what I had to say?
The steaming water swirled around me when I pressed the button for the Jacuzzi. The bubbles felt marvelous as they tickled away the tension of my morning. I was sad, but in a resigned way. In the kind of way that finally admits the truth. I could--I had to--live without him for sanity's sake.
I slipped my head under the water and listened to the sound of the churning water. There was a part of me that wanted to just stay submerged forever. Suddenly life had become a lot heavier. In France, I had allowed myself to be swept into his world. It was a pretty carefree world, when you got right down to the nut. He immersed himself in pleasure and beauty and, as long as his back wasn't up against the wall, he was carefree.
Carefree didn't seem natural to me. I cared a great deal and about a great many things. I cared about family, about friends, about the direction of my life and, ultimately, I cared about finding the kind of love that walked up the stairs, hand in hand.
Fluffy, thick towels, marble bathtubs with champagne bubbled water, naked walks on foreign beaches, foie gras and leaf wrapped cheese weren't really part of my world. As I dried myself, I thought how much more I was about a grilled cheese sandwich on white bread and a stroll in Central Park. I was Marjorie and Don Harding's daughter, grounded and ordinary. I had let myself be swept away and I forgave myself, but it was time to get back in control.
Instead of putting on one of the pair of bathrobes that hung on a warming rack near the door, I dressed in my clothes again. Tristan was far too practiced with robes, that much I knew. He was laying food out on the coffee table when I emerged from the bedroom.
"I've got killer sandwiches from Dean and Deluca. Are you starved?" He put a platter of goodies on the table. "I sure am."
"I am hungry. It looks delicious." Anything I had to say to him could wait until after we ate. Besides, I loved watching him eat. He took the same kind of sensual pleasure in his appetite for food as he did with his other appetites. When he consumed a meal, he was utterly committed to it. I loved the way he considered every morsel, savored all the flavors even in the simple things like a deli sandwich.
We had our lunch in quiet companionship. It was ironic to me that just as Tristan seemed to be getting more comfortable with me; I was preparing to put the brakes on. At one point, he looked up at me over a bite of pastrami on rye.
"You're looking lost in thought."
"I have a lot to think about."
"I know. I've been doing some thinking too." He put his quarter sandwich down on the plate and continued. "First, your Dad's not out of the woods yet. Even though I believe, along with the FBI and Archie, that the union guys aren't responsible for Marjorie's kidnapping, they are still very much out there."
I hadn't really thought much about my father's assailants. I guess the relief of having Mom safe sort of pushed that ugly truth out of my mind.
"I think we may yet have to face a confrontation on that issue. I've got some folks working in the back rooms to see if there's a peaceful way to get them to back off that will satisfy your father and the unions."
Dear Tristan. He never stopped. "Thanks," I murmured.
"But there's another thing I know has to be weighing on you."
Will he actually bring it up? Is he going to finally broach the unmentionable--our relationship?
"We have utterly neglected the subject of your employment. I promised you when you went with me to France that I would make up for missing those interviews." Another thing that had been relegated to the cobweb infested corner of my mind. How could I have forgotten?
"Here's the thing," he went on. "I think the best course of action is for you to have your own business. Being your own boss is the only way for you to be free enough to . . . free enough for . . ."
"For what, Tristan?" I wanted to hear him say it.
"Free to be with me. Okay? I don't want you tied down to a nine to five situation. I want you to be able to close the door and walk away when I . . . when we want to get away."
"I see." I looked him square in those hazel forest eyes that threatened to tear my resolve into tiny pieces. "You want to find me a business that will allow me to be at your beck and call."
"I didn't say that. I thought we both wanted to be able to spend time together, that's all."
"I don't know. Is that what we both want?"
"What's gotten into you? You're awfully hostile all of a sudden."
I looked at him and softened. He wasn't really a mind reader. He was trying to help my parents and help me find my way in a city that didn't give a lot of breaks. "I don't mean to be hostile, Tristan. It's just that you've never actually asked me what it is I want."
"Okay, I'm asking now."
I drew in a long courage-building breath. "I think it's easier for me to tell you what I don't want. I don't want to live only in the moment. I don't want to feel that asking you about where we're going is a criminal offense. I don't want to never be able to expect anything from you . . . from us. I don't want to be with a man whose past is forever kept behind a veil."
"Oh. I guess then it's my turn to say, 'I see'." He began to mechanically fold up the refuse from lunch. He shoved the last uneaten part of his sandwich viciously into the bag and stood up with the trash in his hands. Wordlessly, he walked to the kitchen and I heard the thump and thwack of the bag hitting the trash shute and the door slamming back in place.
When he returned, there was a lot less light in his leafy eyes. He sat down next to me and gently took my hands in his. "Raina, I'm sorry. Very sorry. I hope you will let me see through the situation with your parents and help you find a position. It's the least I can do."
"That's it? That's all you have to say?" I was shocked. I had been kidding myself that somehow he would want to make it right. To open up, to bend a little.
He stood up and kissed my forehead with a softness that brought tears to my eyes. "I'm going to my office for the afternoon. Stay as long as you like. Kwan will be downstairs when you're ready to go back to your house. I'll be in touch . . . later." Then he was gone.
Two
My room seemed small, shabby and like it belonged to a little girl. I felt like a little girl. A lost one.
I didn't mention the 'scene' with Tristan to my parents. By the time I got home it was dinner time and Mom was back in her place at the stove, throwing together a nice supper for Dad and I. I gave them both a big hug and fled upstairs hoping that my devastating sadness wasn't written all over my face. They needed some peace and happiness, not my self-pity to bring them down.