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Lucian brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I’m beginning to realise that.”
“But this… me…” I pause. “What I guess I’m asking is, am I enough?”
“You are everything,” he says with his lips still brushing against my skin. We lie in silence for a while before Lucian releases my hand and turns his back on me. It isn’t like Lucian to turn away from me unless something is on his mind. So I shuffle closer and drape an arm around him.
“Is everything all right?”
Lucian sighs. “No, and the sad thing is it never will be.”
“Lucian,” I whisper.
“My father is selling Freesdon Hall.”
I don’t press him to talk about his feelings, because that didn’t go well last time. Instead, I decide on a different approach. “Tell me about it.”
Lucian stills for a beat. “What, my home?”
I nod. “Yes. Tell me about the place you grew up.”
“Freesdon Hall is beautiful and I have a lifetime of memories packed between those walls, be it horseback riding with my mother, piano lessons with our grandmother or sneaking out when the opportunity presented itself.”
I smile, thinking back to the memories Lucian shared with me of the cricket matches he and his brothers would have with the local children and their time at the skate park. “And your father? Where did he fit in?”
Lucian pauses for a beat, as if thinking back. “Occasionally he’d call upon one of us to join him in his orangery for a late-night game of chess.”
“That sounds fun.” I meant my comment to come over as sincere but instead it comes across sarcastic. I’m thinking of what to say next when Lucian clears his throat.
“As bizarre as it sounds, I really enjoyed our games. It was the only one-on-one time I had with my father. How I wished he’d join us in the gardens for a kickabout with a football or fishing in the stream, but Father couldn’t tear himself away from work. We missed out on so much quality father-and-son time. We missed out on many things I promised myself that my children never will. I want to be that father who high-fives his son when he scores a goal. I want to be the father who sits in the front row of my daughter’s ballet show. I want to be the father my father never allowed himself to be, and I want my children,ourchildren to have the childhood I missed out on.”
I suck in a breath at his words. In front of me lies the man of my dreams. He’s painting a picture of a perfect future, one he envisions me being a part of. Indirectly he is expecting too much of me. I need to tell him I meant what I said earlier and I don’t know if I want children. Frankly the idea scares the life out of me. I only said I may in the future to appease his father.
I place my palm on his back. “I—”
Lucian turns around and the palm I placed on his back now rests on his chest directly over his heart. “I had visions of taking my children to Freesdon Hall one day. To show them where I grew up, and tell them all about their grandmother. That dream is no longer possible.”
“Why don’t you buy it?”
“I couldn’t. While I am all for adding properties to my growing portfolio, Freesdon Hall is different. The property has been derelict for long enough. It deserves a new lease of life, it deserves a family to move in and create special memories of their own.”
He sounds conflicted as he speaks, and, taking my hand in his, he squeezes. “We have the opportunity to visit the house one final time before Father hands the keys over. Would you come with me?”
“Yes. Of course.”
We lie staring at one another in thedimly lit room. Lucian is the first to close his eyes and it isn’t long before he’s asleep. I spend this small window of time looking at him, really looking. Naturally his Celtic tattoos are the first thing that steal my attention. My gaze travels up past his pecs to his high cheekbones and his strong jawline. My gaze hovers over his full lips and, lifting my hand, I trace my index finger over his defined Cupid’s bow. With him asleep I have the courage to say the words that I will never say aloud when he is awake.
“I love you, Lucian,” I whisper.
I love him because he makes me feel in control even when I’m spiralling. I love the kind person he is, beneath all that arrogance and self-importance. Damn it, I love Lucian Calloway, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to fall so hard that it’ll destroy me when he leaves. And he will. I refuse to settle down, start a family and bring a child into the world who will watch from between the spokes of the banister as her father walks out of the front door and out of our lives.
The tears I fought so hard to fight spill down my cheeks. My tiny pearl-drop tears soak into the pillowcase, taking their unspoken secrets with them.
I bring my index finger to my lips, grace its pad with a solitary kiss and press my finger to his lips. Our arrangement is temporary, I remind myself, and temporary is how it must remain.
“Good night, Lucian,” I say, and turn my back toward him. I reach across to the bedside lamp and flick off the light.
Lucian
Friday soon comes around, and I find myself spending longer than is necessary in my walk-in wardrobe selecting a suitable tie and cufflinks.
