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Make fun of me all you want—”
“I am not speaking about your satisfaction.” His gaze moved from the bed. “But mine. It is strange to me how pleased I am merely by your desire to do something like this.”
Again, my mouth opened, and I shut it without a word. I hated that habit of mine. It made me feel like a goldfish sometimes.
“Well…” What was I supposed to say to that? “Enjoy.” I turned to leave, but he caught my wrist, stopping me. “What?”
“I am so focused on every sound you make. I cannot sleep…lay with me for a bit.”
I wanted to ask him if he’d lost his mind, but there was something in the way he looked to be fighting sleep that left me silent.
“You sound like a little kid, you know?” I muttered, pulling my wrist from his grip and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Is there another way I should have said it?” Theseus sat back on the bed behind me.
“Did you need to say it at all?”
“If I said nothing, you would have left. That is a far worse fate than sounding like a child.”
I sighed and looked back at him. Seeing him laying against the headboard, he was relaxed, so at ease. “How many women have you said these romantic lines to?”
“I am quite pleased you think they are romantic.” He smiled. “I simply thought they were the truth.”
I can’t win. And he avoided the question very clearly.
I moved to get up, but he quickly said, “Forgive me.” Which felt wrong because he didn’t technically do anything wrong. His sweetness, his flirtation was just different than I was used to.
“Go to sleep already,” I muttered not looking at him, and instead, staring at the blank grey walls.
“As you wish,” he whispered, shifting on the mattress.
Then for the first time since we’d met, there was silence between us. It was so quick and sudden, I actually had to check to make sure he wasn’t teasing me again. However, he was really asleep. His body was completely still, no longer breathing, and just like the dead. A few strands of his dark hair fell over his eyes, and I actually had to clench my hands to keep from brushing them off his face.
Rising from the mattress, I quietly left the room, and then walked to my own, closing the door behind me. Gently, I sat on the bed, listening to see if he stirred, but he didn’t. I waited a few more minutes before reaching for my laptop, and the very first thing I did was search his name.
Theseus Christian Apollo de Thorbørn.
Nothing, how shocking. Trying just Theseus de Thorbørn, then Theseus Christian, and every other variation of his name, but still nothing came up. But the less I uncovered, the more interested I became. I found myself doing research into ninth century Greece. But then I found myself curious about his name. Thorbørn was not Greek; obviously, there was a story there. Maybe his new family name? Which made me wonder about his old family name.
I was so lost in the wonder that was Theseus Christian Apollo de Thorbørn and how the hell he’d ended up in my life that I barely noticed the time or the email alerts I had gotten. However, the moment I clicked on it, I wished I had stayed focus on Theseus.
It was so short and so polite it made me want to scream.
Wednesday, August 21st
Dear Ms. Monroe:
Thank you for taking the time to meet with our team about the role of Senior Associate Conservator of the Department of Art Restoration. Unfortunately, I must inform you that we have selected another candidate for the job. Please know this is not, in any way, a reflection of your current performance as Junior Conservator. You are an important and valued member of the National Gallery staff. The committee thanks you for the time you invested in applying for the position, and we encourage you to apply again in the future.
Best Regards,
Timothy Roads
Chair Committee, Department of Art Restoration.
I read it once. Then once again, and a third time as if I could will it to change by glaring at the screen. But that did nothing. Closing my laptop, I gently tossed it toward the end of my bed. Resting back against the oak headboard caused it to squeak out in protest, who knew how many other people had abused it before I’d bought it at a discount yard sale in Arlington.
“Squeaaak.” It went again as I leaned farther back, crossing my arms and trying not to look at the screen-printed painting of Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night on the top of my laptop. It was only when I remembered that it might bother Theseus that I sat up, listening for him again.
