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“Because inquiring minds want to know.” She twists her lips to the side. “So, spill.”
“Let’s sit.” I place my brush on the easel’s tray and lead Dacia to the couch. “Here’s the scoop. I asked Tristan to come back to me. I even said I wanted him to move into the loft.”
“Did you throw the L-word at him.”
“Several times.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t believe I know my own mind. He thinks I meant it when I said I didn’t love him.”
“It was probably a very hard thing for him to hear.” She stands and walks back toward the window to study the portrait. “Why on earth did you say you didn’t love him?”
Surprisingly, the answer is on the tip of my tongue. “Simple fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“What is this—the fucking Inquisition?”
“Maybe it is… so tell me, what scares you so much?” As always, she’s persistent.
“The very thing I denied that day—loving him. And loving Tara and the kids.”
“Ah, the fear of loss—it’s classic.” She turns to look at me. “But what have you ever lost? You’re a wealthy hotel heir—the man who has everything.”
“I lost my parents in a car accident on the night before my ninth birthday.” There it is—the root of all my troubles. The reason I’m a loner. And I don’t need nosy Dacia to confirm this.
“You’ve mentioned you were raised by your grandparents—and on Thanksgiving, they were there, but not your parents. I guess it felt intrusive to ask you about it.”
“When have you ever cared about overstepping the boundaries, Dacia?”
“You can be… um, let’s say very discouraging when you’re in avoidance mode.” She sits beside me on the couch and places her hand on my knee. It’s strangely comforting. “And I’m sorry about what happened to you, Remi. Really, I am, but everything makes sense now.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Maybe you should tell Tristan,” she suggests.
“Maybe he’s over me already,” I reply.
“Maybe you’re living in a total dreamworld.” Dacia rolls her eyes. “And you can find out how he feels when you tell him the whole truth.”
“Maybe I will.” We smile at each other.
Maybe I lost the person I love most because I was so afraid of (once again) losing the people I love most.
The irony is painful.
