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Charlie wanted a normal life, wanted to build animals out of junk in her workshop just for fun. He'd been pressuring her in directions she didn't want to go. He should have seen it when she didn't want the dress, when she wouldn't accept his money. The signs had all been there.
He'd wanted to make her happy, but she'd been so much happier before he'd pushed her, before he'd run her ragged. He'd brought her to this, had pushed her to the point where she'd said, I can't even create anymore.
Charlie's lifeblood, her truest joy, came from her art. If she lost her art, her joy would be gone too. He'd never forgive himself for taking that away from her. Never.
He wanted Charlie happy. He wanted her laughing. Instead, all he'd done was cause her pain.
Susan had tried to tell him he pushed too hard, but he just wouldn't listen. Not when he thought he knew best. Not when he was so busy keeping all the lines straight.
Except that Charlie wasn't a straight line. She was elephants and dragons and dinosaurs and Zanti Misfits. She was magic, his unexpected.
And he was her toxic other half.
Everything inside of Sebastian went still and freezing cold.
He hadn't wanted to imagine a world in which he and Charlie could ever be toxic to each other--or worse, where he was toxic to her. But that was exactly what he was--the worst thing for Charlie. Just like his dad had been toxic for his mom. Like Whitney was for Evan.
You could love someone to death--and that was what he was doing to Charlie, crushing her spirit and her independence. Crushing her joy.
Just like his mom and dad. On her own, Mom might have gotten clean, but his dad was always the one who said, "Come on, honey, let's have some fun tonight. We can stay home tomorrow if you want."
His father had been drawn like a moth to the party flame...and though Sebastian's parties were shinier and prettier, they were still noise and distraction and the buzz of always being surrounded by people, their voices and laughter drowning out everything else.
Like his father, Sebastian thrived on his events. That's where he made his contacts, did his business, lived his life, all in the public eye. And that had been fine until he'd become driven by the relentless need to sell Charlie's magnificence, to sell her art.
The stark realization that he might be more like his father than he'd ever thought possible made everything painfully clear for Sebastian. He'd vowed he would stop screwing up, and yet he kept on doing it, kept on driving Charlie, deciding what was best for her. And he couldn't stop, despite all his promises, because he didn't know how.
Charlie deserved all the happiness and all the joy in the world. Sebastian couldn't stand the thought of seeing her destroyed by his choices or his desires. And yet that was exactly what he was doing, dragging her into his world and tearing her apart. But it was his world, it was how he lived. He didn't know any other way. For her sake, for the sake of her art--because Charlie lived and breathed her art--he had to walk away. He couldn't get down on his knees and beg her to come back to him. He couldn't let her see his heart break open and his guts bleed for her.
He'd thought it had been hard to leave his parents, but this would be light years worse. No wonder his father had never cut his mother loose, though he had to know he was destroying her. Just as Sebastian had come close to destroying Charlie, forcing her from party to party, one after the other, sometimes even on the same day, and supplanting her art in the process.
Cutting Charlie loose was the very last thing he ever wanted to do, and the hardest. But he would not be like his parents, damn it. He would not be like Whitney and Evan. He would own up to the painful truth that he was the worst thing for Charlie, the toxic component of their relationship that drained all her inspiration and her creativity.
She had all the new commissions. She'd do great on her own. When the chariot was unveiled, she would become the talk of the art world. The critics would love her, and art patrons would wallow at her feet. He would die a little more every day without her. But she would thrive, would pick and choose her commissions, take only what she wanted. And she would never again have to worry about Francine.
Don't be sorry. Not for one single thing. Not for
one single moment. I know I'm not.
Lord...he was so damned sorry. He'd never wished so badly that he could rewind time and get it right, that he could have torn off the blinders before it was too late, before he'd pushed Charlie so far in directions she'd never wanted to go.
Even if he could do those impossible things, there was only one way he could be absolutely sure to keep Charlie safe and happy, full of her vision and creativity. Though it would kill everything inside him, he would do it.
He would set her free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"Honey, what's wrong?" Her mom's face creased with worry, and she held out her hands.
Charlie had barely set foot inside the room, but her mother knew her so well. It had been at least twenty years since Charlie had run into her mom's arms, but she went down on her knees in what felt like the only safe place left in the world.
"Everything's gone terribly wrong." Charlie's words were muffled by the fabric at her mother's chest. She lifted her tearstained face. "I should have told him I didn't want to go to all those parties or take all the commissions, but I didn't mind it at first. All this time I've said I'd never change myself for anyone, but wearing the pretty dresses and making the dumb cherubs for society patrons were all tied into helping y--" She clapped her hand over her mouth. She'd been on a rant, not thinking about what she was saying or how it would make her mother feel.
"Oh, honey." Her mom stroked her hair so gently that tears clouded Charlie's eyes once more. "I know you've been turning yourself inside out for me. A thousand times I've wanted to tell you that you've already done more than enough."
"That...that's what I'm always telling Sebastian."
Her mother smiled. "Does he listen any better than you do?"
