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He looked confused. “You did it for me?”
“Everyone was drinking! It’s the cool thing to do at parties. If you don’t drink, people assume you’re boring or a killjoy. They were your friends. I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted them to like me. Pathetic, huh?” Her eyes filled, and she blinked rapidly. Great. On top of everything, she was going to cry. She never should have gone for a walk with him. “I’d better get back.”
“Wait—” He grabbed her arm. “Are you saying you drank because of me?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”
It sounded incredibly stupid when she said it out loud.
He was silent for so long she assumed he was thinking she was stupid, too. Probably working out what he could possibly say to that.
She tugged at her arm. “Like I said, I should go.”
“No.” He let go of her arm, but only so that he could pull her into a hug. “There are so many things I want to say, I don’t know where to start.” He held her tightly for a moment and then eased her away from him and took her face in his hands. “First, how could anyone not like you? You’re funny, smart, beautiful and really interesting—”
“I’m not smart. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but you should probably know that I don’t really like books. I’m dyslexic.”
“I know.”
“How can you possibly know?”
“Because my younger sister is dyslexic. You remind me of her. And I saw the way you looked all panicked when I talked about books. She does the same.”
He knew? “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you didn’t say anything! I thought if you’d wanted to talk about it, you would have talked about it. I like you, too. I was afraid of messing up and driving you away.”
“That’s why you stopped talking about books?”
“Yes. I figured it made you uncomfortable.”
“But you love books.”
“I love plenty of other things, too. The point is, you’re not the only one that’s afraid of messing up. Let’s sit down. We’re blocking the path.” He took her hand and they sat down on the riverbank. “My friends really liked you, but even if they didn’t it wouldn’t matter because I like you. A lot.”
“Right.” She’d gone to all that trouble not to embarrass him, and he didn’t even care what his friends thought? She felt like throwing herself into the Seine. She was so stupid.
“I’m sorry I took so long to come back to you last night. I feel terrible about it.”
“Forget it.”
“Was last night the first time you’ve been drunk?”
“It was the first time I’ve ever had a drink.” And she told him then. All of it. She started clumsily, telling him about her mum. About the drinking. The moods. The fact that at home her whole life revolved around the alcohol.
Etienne listened carefully, absorbing every word.
At one point he took her hand, as if by holding on to her he could stop her sliding back into that dark, terrifying place.
The words tumbled out unfiltered, and she knew she should probably shut up, but now she’d started talking she somehow couldn’t stop. When she stammered out an apology, he simply tightened his grip on her hand and urged her to keep talking. So she did. She told him even more than she’d told Grace. She told him about the time she’d found her mother unconscious on the bathroom floor and thought she was dead. She told him about the chaotic conversations where nothing seemed to make sense and which left her feeling as if she was the one with the problem. She told him about how responsible she felt, and how lonely that was, and that now there was Ron but how terrified she was it might all go wrong and things would end up worse.
And at some point she must have started crying again but she didn’t even realize until she felt him tug her into his arms and hug her. His touch felt safe and kind. She’d never had a boyfriend who cared before. Feelings had never been involved. Being able to tell him made the relationship feel special. She’d never thought that telling people could make her feel better.
“Shh.” He stroked her hair with his hand and pulled her onto his lap. He spoke in French, soft words that she didn’t understand but that made her feel better anyway.
Deep down she knew it was over now. If there was one thing a guy hated more than a girl spilling her guts, it was a girl sobbing all over him. Who was going to want a relationship with someone as complicated as her? It was summer in Paris. This was meant to be something light and fun and she’d just deluged him with her whole life story. It was like spilling the trash. She could have just given him a few of the lowlights, but no, she’d drenched him in sordid details.
She lay with her head nestled in the curve of his neck, horribly embarrassed. She didn’t know what to say. Given that she’d already said more than enough, she kept quiet. She could feel the warmth of his suntanned skin, and the roughness of his jaw where he hadn’t shaved. She breathed in, keeping her eyes closed. Etienne always smelled so good. She wished she could stay here forever.
