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“Hungry?”
“Famished,” I tell him as he wipes down my thigh with a tea towel. “Oh, really. Did you have to use that?”
“It’s not like I haven’t…” He purposely cuts himself off, distracting me by handing me a bottle of wine. “How about you head outside, and I’ll finish cooking in here?”
I pretend it doesn’t hurt, knowing that other women have been where I have been. With my confidence in shatters and my silence portraying my humiliation, the cold, hard reality is that this could be a regular occurrence for him.
Keeping my opinion at bay, I make my way outside and stand by the pool’s edge, admiring the view as I did the first night here. What a completely different world I find myself in. I wonder what stronger force brought me here.
How did I end up in a relationship with a man who’s so beautiful inside and out yet so damaged at the same time?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says softly from the edge of the room. Wesley steps outside, placing a dish on the table. He slides a chair out and gestures for me to sit, placing a napkin on my lap then leaning in to kiss my lips. “That I do this for all women.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” I’m not a great liar, though I am happy he doesn’t push me to answer that question again. The warm air caresses my skin, giving me a moment to calm down and try my best to enjoy this moment. He’s gone to all this effort, and my insecurity needs to take a massive raincheck and stop horning in on my quality time with Wesley.
“It’s so beautiful out here. You know, back home, you don’t see lights like that.”
“What do you see?”
I stare into the sky, remembering what it felt like to be home again. I lose myself, smiling as if this is back home. “Mountains, water… nature.”
“You miss it, don’t you?”
I nod, hiding my sadness with a smile. “This meal looks amazing.”
“Spicy, so watch out. A housekeeper I grew up with taught me how to cook it.” He takes a bite, following through with some wine. “So, you have questions…”
I swallow my food and drink the wine, almost in one go, not expecting him to be so forthcoming.
“I can’t think. I don’t know, Wesley. I just don’t know you.”
He pours more wine into my glass then his, taking another drink before clearing his throat. Another drink, and I will be passed out on the floor. I need to pace myself to get through the questions he wants me to ask.
“I was born in Kansas, a small town, but we lived there until I was about four. I don’t remember much, not even my dad.”
“Your dad lives in Kansas?”
“He did when he was alive.”
I reach out to touch his hand, mindful that it must be difficult for him to open up to me. His expression remains fixed, barely asserting an emotion that will tell me how he feels about this happening.
“How did he, um—”
“He fell out of a tree, broke his neck, then went into cardiac arrest.”
A gasp escapes me, and quickly, I cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why? I didn’t know him. Just stuff my mother tells me.”
“The tree, on your chest, is that the tree?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, less enthused.
I don’t understand why he would ink something on his skin, such a powerful image yet he has no recollection of his father nor does it seem like he cares.
“Why? I mean, what made you ink that image?”
“Because I want a reminder of how different life would be if he were here. How whatever fucked-up thing I’m going through, it didn’t have to be this way. That fate played a cruel part in my life.”
