Silence settled between us. I didn’t rush to fill it with some deft argument, and instead, I worked to process everything he’d said. He wasn’t wrong. That was the problem.
My mind drifted back to the weeks leading up to Liam’s experience—the first time I’d followed him, the first note I’d written him, the first rose I’d left him. I thought about the growing intrigue that I had continuously dismissed and the curiosity I had justified as doing a damn good job.
I had done things that weren’t required of me just because I had to know more—needed to know more. I called it being efficient when in reality, it was reckless curiosity. None of those things had been required. I didn’t need to know his life to put together an unforgettable experience. I didn’t need to continue giving him roses beyond the first one, and I certainly didn’t need to leave him expensive gifts.
I did all of those because I wanted to. For him, I wanted to.
I’d never considered myself a relationship person, but I’d also never met anyone who made me want one either. Not until Liam. And perhaps that was the insanity of it all. I didn’t know him. I knew the things I’d discerned through my research, but I didn’tknowhim. Not in the way one spends countless hours listening and seeing another person.
But I wanted that. I wanted the stories of his life through his words. I wanted all the things that couldn’t be clinically observed and studied from the outside.
I wanted to be more than just a memory to him.
“Am I crazy?” I asked aloud. “Or maybe just pathetic…”
“For wanting someone?” Vincent replied for clarification, and I nodded. “Connection is the foundation of the human experience, Owen, but you know that. You are allowed connection outside of the illusions you create, no matter what it costs you.”
No matter what it cost me. It was a little more complicated than that, considering I’d be uprooting the entire foundation of my life for someone I wasn’t sure even wanted me back.
“Is he worth it?” His voice cut through the thoughts in my head, as if he was reading my mind. “Is he worth what it will cost you?”
“I think so.” I hoped so. But then that sleepy smile of his popped back into my mind as he whispered that he liked me. My chest warmed with the memory. If there was a fraction of a chance that could be my everyday reality, it was worth the risk. I added quietly, “Yeah, he is.”
“I’m happy for you,” Vincent said. “You could stay for dinner, and we can celebrate.”
The invitation made me laugh, easing the tension that had built up around us.
“Do you remember the time you tried to use a smoker?” I demanded. “You practically fed me leather.”
“That was an accident!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in volume.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded slowly.
“I’ll have you know I’ve gotten better with the smoker—”
“No, you haven’t!” Elena interjected.
“I’m trying, and that’s all that counts!” he yelled back at her. To me, he said, “I’ve watched videos. Far too many of them.”
“I’m sure you have,” I replied as Elena’s laughter carried in from the kitchen. I smiled slightly to myself as I shifted in the chair. How many conversations had I had here? Business and sometimes personal? Events and experiences had been planned here. My orientation had been done in this very chair. “I’ll miss this.”
“We’ll see each other,” Vincent assured me, but we both knew it was a lie. Our friendship was shaped around the Society. When I moved on, maintaining this would become difficult. Proximity had made it easier.
“Can I ask you something? Since this might be my last chance ever to do so.”
“Ask away.”
“How do you afford everything?” I asked. It was the one glaring piece of the puzzle I could never figure out. If I was leaving the Society for good, maybe I could convince him to share with me. “How does a foster kid from New York gain enough resources to create something like the Black Silk Society?”
“Easy.” He shrugged. “I didn’t start it.”
My brows came together slightly at the admission. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
“Vincent Hemingway is… a title, so to speak,” he continued. “A legacy that I was gifted. Admittedly, I did legally change my name, but once upon a time, I worked here as a dancer.”
“You? A dancer?” I repeated with disbelief.
“He’s a beautiful dancer,” Elena shouted.
