Page 33 of The Man I Love

“I was hoping for privacy,” he continued. “But I’ll take any opportunity I can get.” His voice was calm, perfectly clear, not hiding the threat he imposed upon her. Either she helped him find a place to have the conversation, or he would have it right here, in the middle of the gallery, in front of everyone.

The room spun and Samantha glanced over at the security guard who still watched from a distance. She could give a simple gesture and have them haul Mr. Montgomery from the building, but the scene that would create stopped her. Samantha moved toward the stairs, spying a handful of photographers by the door. Press from every form of media would be there tonight. It would only take one wrong move to turn this whole event into a total shit-show. She wanted to run and hide, for a hole to appear in the floor and swallow her. Instead, she turned toward Mr. Montgomery, braced her legs apart, and prayed her body didn’t buckle beneath her.

It was then that she saw how tired he was, then when she saw the desperation that made her gut wrench. He reminded her of a wild animal, forced to chew off his own limb. Crazy with his love, insane with his desire to save his flesh and blood.

He was fighting for his little boy’s life, and as much as she hated him for this moment, she understood him. She herself would do insane things for someone she cared about. Including making a scene in front of hundreds of people.

Adrenaline began pumping through her veins and she leaned forward, grabbing hold of Mr. Montgomery’s lapels to steadyherself. “I want you to listen to me. I will give you space to talk to your son because I know this needs to happen. Tristan needs to know what’s going on. He needs to know about his brother so he can make an educated decision. I will pick up the pieces when you’re gone, but I have one condition.”

Mr. Montgomery’s jaw clenched. “What’s that?”

“You allow me to talk to him first.” Her voice trembled. “I need time to explain.”

They both stood in silence for a second, and a glimpse of remorse crossed his stony features.

He nodded, and before she could second guess what it meant, she turned toward her apartment again. “Follow me.”

“Sit,”she barked in his direction as they entered the kitchen. Her roommates were still by the counter, their confused stares burning a hole through her body.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said in a rush. “Don’t let him out of your sight. Tristan will be here any minute.”

There were a million questions among them, but she headed upstairs toward her bedroom.

Pulling her shirt overhead, she yanked the dress from the door jamb as she closed the door with her foot. She tossed it onto the bed before settling down at her vanity, swiftly applying her makeup to mask the fact that all the blood had left her body: blush, eyeshadow, lip gloss, and mascara. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. She pulled her shoes from the closet, stripping to her panties, as Margaret’s voice bellowed up the staircase. “Samantha!”

Chills raced down her spine.

“Samantha!” Margaret called again impatiently.

Feeling numb, Samantha raked the dress down her body, then half stumbled out of her bedroom.

Tristan was standing on the landing when she reached the top step. His face was pale and frozen as he stood in front of his father, face to face for the first time in over two years.

In so many ways, they were identical. Same body, same jaw, the same larger-than-life presence.

She wished she could freeze time so she could tell him what had happened in the hours that led to this moment. But the scene before her was out of her control, unraveling before her like an afghan.

Her throat closed and all she could do was stare. They both wore the same black tuxedo, the same white shirt underneath, their legs braced apart in that same Montgomery style.

Tristan’s chest lifted slowly as his lungs filled with air and raw emotion turned his neck red. His clean-shaven face was the same shade. He turned to Samantha, doubt swarming in his eyes—his expression so raw, she could barely keep herself upright.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I can explain,” she barely squeaked out.

His gaze shifted to his father. “What are you doing here?” His voice was loud. Chilling.

“I wanted to talk,” Mr. Montgomery said. “You wouldn’t take my phone calls. I had no other choice.”

“So you flew three thousand miles to bombard me?” Tristan bellowed. “You convinced my girlfriend to plan this behind my back?”

“Tristan!” she cried. Is that what he really thought happened?

“She’s trying to help,” Mr. Montgomery shouted.

Tristan’s eyes met Samantha’s again, and for the first time in all the years she’d known him, his brokenness was directed ather. That beautiful broken heart that was whole when she held it practically shattered in her hands.

This is a mistake!Her soul became lifeless. Limp. Paralyzed with fear and hurt.

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