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Okay, they’d gone from zero to sixty in a millisecond. “What?”
“I love you,” he repeated. “I’m not letting you leave without saying it to you. You’re going to understand how I feel with no one getting in the way this time, no reporters, friends, or family. No one.”
Jaz spun out of his hold and walked to the railing that separated them from the garden. The area was beautiful, lit from lampposts and the moon. She imagined the landscaping would be even more impressive in spring and summer.
“Tell me about you,” she said, knowing he had followed.
“What I’ve told you before is all true,” he began. “After my godfather, Lochlan O’Brien if you didn’t hear earlier, took me in, I attended private school, received tutoring for where my public education left me behind my classmates, and I eventually attended university.”
“All paid for?”
He pressed his lips together, and she rushed to apologize.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like you were wrong somehow for receiving help. That’s not how I view the world. I don’t resent anyone who has or was born with more. We deal with what we were given and take joy and success with our own efforts.”
Torrian sighed. “I was given the opportunity to do better in life with much less effort than a lot of people, and I know this sounds like empty words, but for a long time, I would have given anything to trade it all for one day—”
He was silent. Jaz curled into his side. She’d seen this in Torrian from the start, his intense sadness and pain. Part of the reason she had reached out to him was because of it, in addition to her attraction to the man. Torrian might have indicated he didn’t feel the same as he did when he was a teen, but she’d bet her last dollar he did. Maybe now, he was more accepting. That was all.
“Lochlan was never around—ever. He made his money and his connections available, and ensured I took advantage of them. Nothing more.”
Her heart broke. “You would have loved a regular family life, a mother who hugged you and told you she loved you when you came home from school.”
He chuckled. “Maybe not every day.”
She grinned. “I’m sorry, Torrian. Do you hate this? Do you hate those people in there?”
“I don’t hate them.”
“You didn’t answer my first question.”
His hand slipped beneath his jacket on her, and he flattened it on her back, a thumb gently stroking her skin. The waiter appeared with two glasses of wine and a coat tossed across his forearm. Torrian straightened, took the coat first, and laid it about her shoulders. Then he took the glasses, thanking the man.
“This will warm you,” he said.
She thanked him and sipped her drink. The alcohol did warm her insides, and the coat took away more of the chill. Torrian gathered her into his arms again, and she rested her head on his chest.
“I despise this life,” he admitted. “Coming here every year. I’m good at what I do. My company thrives, but it’s never satisfied me. No matter how much time has passed, I feel like the boy from South Boston. However, each time I go back there, I’m reminded I don’t belong.”
“You’re wrong.”
Torrian frowned down at her, and she stepped away to look at him. “Torrian, the only people that told you you don’t belong are you and Kenny. We already know he’s envious as hell of you, so that makes his opinion moot.”
“As for me?”
She pointed a finger at him. “You decide where you belong. Are you spoiled with the money you make that you can’t let go of your business? I know it’s different than going to school for teaching and discovering you don’t have the patience for other people’s kids.”
He agreed. “There are literally hundreds of people who depend on me for their livelihood.”
“So you should be miserable?”
“No, I don’t believe that.”
“What about this shindig? At least one old lady in there would love to have her name at the top of the list instead of your godfather’s. Does he have something over your head?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then you feel like you owe him.”
