“I’m glad you gave up.”
“You have every right to be upset about my invasion of your privacy.”
“I think I’m too stunned from all the revelations to even be mad at you. But I’m glad you gave up, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come home. You would have continued to avoid me?”
She phrases it like a question. Like she’s daring me to confirm or deny, and hoping at the same time. Not sure what she’s hoping for.
“Perhaps not, or maybe I would have. We will never know. I was shocked to see you there, but in some strange way also relieved. Even happy.”
“I was pissed.” She snorts.
I chuckle. It’s a sad rumble, but I can’t deny it feels good to shed the layers of resentment we’ve harbored against each other for so long.
“Frankly, I’m shocked you didn’t give up a long time ago. It’s not like my life is anything to be proud of.”
She scoots her feet up, resting her chin on her knee. Her blonde hair frames her face in that angelic way I remember from our childhood.
“What are you talking about? You became a bestselling author. I read your books. You’re really talented.”
Her eyes widen. “You read my books?”
“Of course. I’m very diligent in everything I do, including my obsessive stalking.”
She snorts. “There is something really wrong with me, because the dumb girl in me is thrilled you kept tabs on me.”
I give her a lopsided smile. “We’re both fucked up.”
She grins, and we stare at each other for a moment, and then her stomach growls.
I stand up. “Get dressed.”
She reaches for the box I sent her earlier, left on the table, and pulls out the skimpy garment from it. “This?” She arches her eyebrow.
“Later. Now get that sexy ass into a dress, so we can go for dinner.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s Portugal. We’ll be among the first guests.”
* * *
We walk to my favorite restaurant, Brook’s hand a treasure in mine. The contact is comforting and odd at the same. Like we’re a genuine couple when it’s never been true.
We don’t talk. There has been too much of that. Every conversation between us lately has been fucking life-changing. I don’t think I can handle any more.
And yet, the idea of banal topics feels too unattainable for us. She was right when she said we used to be able to talk a lot.
It was easy back then, when we were trying to figure out who we were.
Now? Now it’s like every new bit of information opens a can of worms and unravels something. And that’s before I even consider that I’m helplessly falling for her.
Yeah, it’s official. I’m a glutton for heartbreak. Because that’s where this leads.
I have never judged Brook for her irresponsible, wild life. I understand her behavior better now. Her way to escape the trauma she carries around.
But after all that, life with me would quickly bore her. She’s looking at us through a temporary lens, and soon she’ll move on to live her grand life, instead of sticking with the man who buries himself in work.
And that’s before I consider the inevitable pressure that our family would create, causing friction between us. We simply can’t last.