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"Charlie--"
She held up a hand to stop him, both from saying more or coming closer. She was going to break if he didn't stop. She might break anyway. She was this close to crying. To exploding into a million pieces and gushing until she could fall asleep. That's all she wanted to do--sleep. Until she stopped feeling like she was a hundred years old.
"I am grateful. But you expect me to slather on all the glitter and let you parade me around among all those people. Night after night, putting on a mask that I'm having trouble fitting over my face. I'm not the glittery celebrity type, and I'm tired of trying to pretend I am." How could he not see how much of herself she'd exposed for him? "Why can't you see that I don't fit into your world?"
"Of course you fit. Everyone loves you. They love your art." He stretched out his hands to her, and the pain on his face and in his beautiful eyes cut her in two. Worse were his two whispered words: "You're perfect."
"No! I'm not perfect." God, she hated that word! "No one and nothing is. Not even the priceless pieces of art hanging on your walls." The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. But she c
ouldn't go on like this. Couldn't keep pretending when it was ripping her to pieces. "I'm just like a Zanti Misfit, Sebastian. I sneaked into your world and pretended I was like all of you." She couldn't bear hurting him, but everything she said was true, and it broke her heart. "The truth is that I don't want to fit in anymore. I miss my students. I miss working on whatever I feel like working on without worrying about getting paid for it. I love the stallions, but all the other commissions are just busy work. I never thought it could happen, but I'm losing all my joy in this. And do you know what I miss most of all?" Two tears slid down her cheek. "You. I miss spending time with you. Just the two of us getting closer. Sometimes lately, it feels like you're so far away."
"I'm right here, sweetheart. Right here." Before she could stop him, he cupped her face so gently, so sweetly. "I just wanted to make sure you had the money to take care of your mom. Because you wouldn't take mine. I don't want you to ever have to worry about anything. Why do you think I've done a thousand drawings of you? I needed to figure out a way to get you there, to keep you safe. But I couldn't do it, couldn't figure you out."
It was like the kids at the group home. His heart was in the right place even as he micromanaged, finding solutions instead of letting them make their mistakes and figure it out for themselves. He wanted all the lines straight--was so intent on everything being perfect, that he forgot magical things happened all the time if only you just stopped trying so hard.
She folded her hands over his and held them tightly. "Do you remember telling me right after we met that you were keeping your eyes open and visualizing what you wanted for me?" Before he could respond, she went on, "I know all you want is the best for me, because that's exactly what I want for you. But it took me this long to realize that I can't live the life you visualize for me, no matter how good it might be. I'll only be happy, truly happy, if I take care of my mother my own way, not your way. And I have to manage my art my way, not yours. I love teaching too, and I hate the thought of not having students to work with this fall."
She'd been trying to make up her mind all these weeks, but suddenly it was crystal clear. Giving up teaching would be losing an important part of herself. One that was a crucial piece of what made her whole.
"If something else has to go, then it will, because I'm not giving up my classes."
"I'm sorry." A tremor ran through him, and she hated feeling as though she'd just ripped his heart to shreds. "I'm so damned sorry," he whispered.
"No," she told him. "Don't be sorry. Not for one single thing. Not for one single moment. I know I'm not."
He breathed in deeply, flexing his fingers under hers. He was a helper. He fixed things. He took care of people. When he couldn't do that, he was lost. But knowing that didn't make the desolation on his face any easier to take. His pain ground her insides to mincemeat.
But she knew what they both needed. Time. To take a breath. To think clearly again. "I need to see my mom. Alone this time. And I think it would be a good idea if I spent tonight at my place. That way I can focus on my class syllabus."
An ache that came from deep inside threatened to pull her apart...but she still made herself walk away, out of the workshop, on legs that felt like they'd collapse with every step. She wasn't walking away because he'd done anything wrong. On the contrary, when the dark clouds appeared, when the shadows crept closer, she hadn't put the brakes on. Instead, she'd let that first bit of adoration and celebrity turn her head. She'd let the promise of financial security turn her work in a direction in which she should never have let it go.
She had a lot of things to unravel. Maybe she couldn't sort them all out tonight. But she could at least make a start. Tomorrow, she hoped she would be one step closer to being the real Charlie Ballard again.
But would Sebastian be able to love that woman, without all the glitter and all the fame to go along with her?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The workshop was too damned quiet. Too big. All wrong without Charlie.
Sebastian hadn't moved since she'd left him. He'd barely been able to think, to process a damned thing when he already missed her so badly his whole body felt cleaved in two.
The four horses--closer to looking like real, living creatures now, and brilliantly, beautifully executed beyond anything his imagination had conjured--stared at him mercilessly from across the space. And they judged him harshly.
She really loved you. And you screwed it up, hurt her in the worst way possible. The woman who always created from her soul and heart actually stopped enjoying her work. She stopped loving us.
The last word seemed to hiss in the air, condemning him.
All these years, Sebastian had been so sure, so certain, that he'd eradicated his old demons. But he'd been lying to himself. His father's voice still shouted inside him every single day. He wanted to climb onto that chariot and let the wild horses drag him through the streets until all of it was gone. His father's cruel laughter. The pain of his childhood. And worst of all, the hole in his heart where Charlie should have been.
If something else has to go, then it will.
Charlie's words played over and over in Sebastian's head. And he knew. His worst fears had just come true.
Because that something was him.
He couldn't blame her for leaving. Everything she said was true. The first night at the Regent might have been fun for her--new, different, exciting. But after that, he'd forced his vision on her, believing it would solve all her problems. All his problems. It would make her a star. She'd have the fame, all the work she could possibly want, and all the money to take care of her mom. That was his vision. Just as she'd said, he'd tried to make her into a glittering celebrity. But no matter what she thought, she hadn't just fit, she'd conquered. She wasn't the ugly duckling--or a Zanti Misfit--she was the gorgeous swan. She was bright, intelligent, and talented, and she fit his world perfectly in every way.
Except that she didn't want it, didn't love it. And that was the most important thing of all--that she loved what she did with her life.
