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As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the answer. He'd loved Olivia. But he needed Rebecca in a way that went beyond love. He'd touched her soul when they made love, and knew she was the only woman who could ever be his true partner. No matter how many hundreds of years he lived, he'd never find anyone who matched him so equally. Unfortunately, that meant she was his equal in all ways, including the arrogant assumption that she knew best and the steely determination to follow through on her decisions. He had to find a way to convince her of how right they were for each other. But he feared she'd leave without ever giving him a chance to prove himself.
REBECCA REACHED for another sheet of paper from the stack at the foot of her bed. Lying on her stomach, with her notes and half-finished article spread around her, all she needed was a stick of chewing gum in her mouth and a telephone plastered to her ear to look exactly as she had in high school. It had taken her most of the morning, but now that she'd found a comfortable position to work in, she didn't care what she looked like.
A quiet knock on the bedroom door interrupted her train of thought, and she put down her pen.
"Come in."
The door opened a few inches, but she couldn't see anyone on the other side. Then she looked down. Gillian's face peered through the opening.
"Come in, Gillian."
Gillian nudged the door open further, but stayed in the doorway. "Daddy says you're sick."
She wasn't sick. She was recovering from an operation. But would a three-year-old understand the difference? She had no idea. She'd never had much experience with kids. It was probably best to follow Desmond's lead.
"Yes, that's right. I'm sick."
Gillian nodded. "Daddy's worried. He worries when I'm sick, too."
"There's no need to worry. I'll be fine."
Gillian frowned. Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. This was the girl's first overture of friendship, and Rebecca didn't want to ruin it. But what else should she say?
"It's kind of your father to worry about me."
Gillian smiled and nodded again. Rebecca had hit on the right answer. Pushing the door all the way open, Gillian entered the room and held out a coloring book.
"Daddy gave me this when I was sick."
"It's lovely." Rebecca smiled admiringly at the coloring book. Gillian shook her head, raven curls bouncing with her frustration, and pushed the book closer.
"No. You take it."
"Thank you." Rebecca reached out and took the coloring book, winning a smile from Gillian. "But don't you want it?"
"No." Gillian waved her hand dismissively. The gesture, obviously copied from her father, reminded Rebecca of Desmond. Her chest tightened.
Gillian continued, "I'm all better. No more shots for me. You got shots. You got sick."
Rebecca doubted that's how Desmond explained it, but Gillian obviously believed the reason she didn't need to take medicine any longer was because Rebecca was taking it for her. Given her luck communicating with the girl so far, Rebecca wasn't about to try and correct her.
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll enjoy the coloring book."
Gillian turned to go, and Rebecca realized how lonely she'd been cooped up in her room.
"Gillian, wait. Will you stay for a little while and talk to me?"
She considered, then smiled radiantly. She'd be as much of a heartbreaker as her father when she grew up. "Okay."
"Great." Rebecca patted the bed. "Come sit up here."
Gillian hopped onto the bed, and immediately picked up the papers to look at. "What're you doing?"
"I'm writing an article. For a magazine." Gillian looked blank. Rebecca tried to recall any magazines she'd seen in the apartment, but there hadn't been any. Only books. She tried a different explanation. "A very tiny story, for a thin book."
Gillian hopped off the bed and ran out of the room. Rebecca stared after her in confusion, just as confused when the girl raced back into the room all out of breath. Then she saw the Big Little Book in Gillian's hand. Gillian clambered back up onto the bed and presented Rebecca with the book.
"Tiny story. Thin book."
