Page 28 of The Man I Love

Every inch of her body begged to run, to go upstairs and call Tristan, but she was glued to the spot with immense curiosity. “What do you want from me?”

He took a step closer, closing the gap between them. “Can I take you to dinner? Somewhere private?”

“Anything you have to say to me you can say right here.”

His jaw clenched and he glanced toward the window. “Fair enough.”

She held onto the handrails, her legs so weak that she feared she’d collapse. “You have two minutes,” she warned.

His feet shifted slightly, but he met her eyes again. “My son is dying,” he said with a blank stare. “I think you may be the only person who can help me save his life.”

12

CHAPTER TWELVE

January

Seven Months Earlier

New York

“Talk.”It felt like an eternity before they were seated in the cafe two blocks away from The Gallery. The waiter had left them alone, and Samantha pushed the menu against the wall, sure she’d never be able to eat again.

“Let me start at the beginning,” Mr. Montgomery said, taking his napkin and gently laying it in his lap. He looked calm and collected, like he had all the time in the world, while her whole body shook with adrenaline.

All she could think about were Mr. Montgomery’s words back at The Gallery: “My son is dying.” His words had been clear and concise, and she hadn’t imagined them.

“We thought we were going to lose him before,” Mr. Montgomery began, “and quite honestly, I could have lost them both?—”

Samatha’s mind began spinning as she tried to understand. Did he mean Renee too?

“When Tristan called me,” he continued.” I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. The answer was too long, too complicated?—”

Samantha shook her head, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you talking about, Mr. Montgomery?” she demanded, feeling her patience grow paper thin.

He leaned closer, his whole demeanor changing. “I’m talking about the wedding, Samantha. I’m telling you why––”

“You’re not talking about Tristan, are you?” she demanded, needing him to say it out loud so she could breathe a little easier.

Mr. Montgomery shook his head. “No...” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m talking about my wife—and my son.”

She held onto the table, as all the pieces from years before floated back into her memory. “Your girlfriend?” Is that who you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Mr. Montgomery stated. “She was my girlfriend then. We were married two years ago, after my son was born.”

As if in slow motion, Sam put all the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. The phone calls, the confusion, his unexplained absence.

Mr. Montgomery watched her, studying her every move. “You have to understand,” he began again, “she had what they call toxemia.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I couldn’t be at the wedding, and it almost killed me.”

“No!” she yelled, slamming both hands against the table. “You don’t get to say that! I was there. I saw the turmoil your absence caused. How dare you come in here and tell me about the pain it causedyou!”

“Samantha, you don’t understand?—”

“Your kids were a mess. You could have just told them—they would have understood,” she said through gritted teeth. “What kind of father misses his own daughter’s wedding and doesn’t say a word?”

He threw his napkin on the table. “A father who was scared of losing his family!” Saliva spewed from his lips. “You can’t possibly know what that day was like. How much it killed me to have to choose. Everyone was still upset with me about the affair, how could I...” He wiped his mouth, and his eyes averted to the table.

Samantha glanced away. She’d known him practically her entire life, yet she’d never seen him like this. His voice was raw, shaking, piercing her heart with his own pain. He spoke about something that had happened years earlier, yet his eyes told her that was just the beginning. She pulled her napkin from the table and placed it in her lap with shaky hands.

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