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He looked me dead in the eye, his sorrow written all over his face. “In case you haven’t noticed, I carry a lot of shit. I’m not like an average Joe on the street. I have a lot more complexity than the average man.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not as articulate as you are with your notes. It means I’m incapable of feeling the same emotions to the same degree. After everything I’ve told you, I thought you’d be more understanding.”
“I am understanding, Cauldron. But you’ve hurt me really badly…in case you forgot.”
He closed his eyes briefly, like being reminded was painful.
“I just don’t want to get hurt again.”
“I can’t promise you that. If anyone does promise you something like that, they’re a liar.”
“Cauldron.”
He continued to stare at me because I already had his full attention.
“I’ll give it some more time…because of the way I feel about you. But if I don’t see any changes, then I’ll leave.” I’d seen it many times before. Women waited around for their men to leave their wives. Waited around for a ring that never came. Waited for the man to say he wanted children, only to wait too long and miss the deadline. I wouldn’t let that happen to me, regardless of my feelings for this man.
He seemed to process my words for a long time, his eyes locked on me but not focused. “Alright.”
SIXTEEN
CAULDRON
I wore slacks and a button-down shirt with loafers. Fall was in the air, but I always ran ten degrees warmer than everyone else, so I ditched the coat. The watch was fitted to my wrist before I stepped into the hallway.
“Going out?” Camille passed in my direction on the way to her bedroom.
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” she asked. “Why are you going, then?”
“Don’t have much of a choice.”
“What are you talking about? You never do anything you don’t want to do.”
“But I’m a man of my word.”
Her eyes shifted back and forth between mine as she read my look.
“I told you your freedom came at a price.” I turned away as I adjusted my sleeves over the watch and walked away.
“Want me to come with you?”
I turned back around and looked at her, seeing her in gray joggers and a tight top. Her hair was back, and her porcelain skin glowed without the help of makeup. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your evening.”
After a short flight to Paris, I pulled up to the French restaurant on the corner. There was a line of people outside waiting to get a table even though they already had reservations, and every table was occupied by a couple or a family. I bypassed the line and was wordlessly taken to my seat.
He’d already ordered a bottle of wine and filled both glasses with Bordeaux.
I took a seat and stared at him across from me.
He stared back as he swirled his wine. “The wine is excellent.”
I took a drink but refused to admit he was right.
There was a long stretch of silence between us, of resentment, of a lot of things.
“Grave isn’t happy with me.”
“You did stab him in the back.”
“I knew you wouldn’t hurt your brother.”
“But he lost his girl.”
He gave a shrug. “That woman never wanted him. I’m saving him some time—and his dignity.”
I took another drink.
The waitress came over, a pretty little thing that kept making eyes at me. She took our order then walked away.
“So what is it about this woman?” he asked. “Or is it about the woman at all?”
I wasn’t going to have this conversation with him. He was my father, but he was also a stranger.
“Have you ever considered sharing her? A month here. A month there.”
“She’s not a toy fire truck.”
“You boys sure have treated her as such. A shiny new fire truck straight out of the package. Now that your brother has lost the game, do you still want her?”
“Yes.”
“What is it about this woman?” he asked again, his eyebrows furrowed.
“That’s my business and not yours.”
“Well…this dinner has gotten off to a great start.”
“I agreed to meet you, but I never agreed to be pleasant company.”
He gave an amused smirk. “Just as stubborn as you were as a child.”
“And you’re still the same fucking asshole.”
His smile dropped real quick.
I looked away, staring at the people around us having a great time. We stuck out like sore thumbs, both of us angry with invisible fumes.
“I gave you the information in return for your participation. I have yet to see it.”
My eyes flicked back to his. “Then don’t insult me.”
“It’s not an insult if it’s true.”
The waitress returned with our entrees and placed them in front of each of us. The food was steaming hot, but the two of us were ice-cold. She gave me another look before she walked off, like she’d slip her number into the bill.
