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“Ohmygod.” This was no ordinary storage facility. “Have you robbed the National Gallery?” She muttered, staring at the paintings lining the walls, some hanging, some resting against the wall. There were Van Goghs, Rembrandts, Degas, Da Vincis, Picassos, and so many, many more, from the best artists of all time. “I can’t believe this,” she said, walking from one to the other, tingling all over at the idea of being in the same room as these masterpieces. “My God, Anastasios, what is this?”
“Our family vault.”
“Your family vault,” she repeated. “You have these beautiful pieces in a vault?”
He shrugged, but his eyes clung to her with an intensity that made her stomach roll. “They are investments.”
“They should be on display,” she whispered, spellbound. “These are masterpieces. I’ve never even seen this one before.”
“It was privately owned, by one family, up until the nineties, when my father bought it.”
It took Phoebe over an hour to appreciate the pieces, and that was just a first glance. They sat in the middle of the floor, and ate picnic style, surrounded by the incredible art, so Phoebe could barely think straight.
“Do we have to go already?” She asked, when he cleared the food and moved to stand.
“I have to fly back to Greece,” he said with obvious regret. “But I’ll be back next week. Will you have dinner with me again?”
She wanted to agree, if only to see the paintings again, but already she could feel herself softening towards him, could feel her love leaking out of every pore of her body, overtaking her whenever she glanced at him or he spoke. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said with a shake of her head.
His lips pressed tight. “Just dinner.”
“But it’s not just dinner,” she said. “Is it?”
His expression showed guilt.
“I know you think you love me, or perhaps you just feel guilty for what happened between us, but I’ve already told you, I can’t get involved with you. It doesn’t matter how many world class paintings you own, that doesn’t change the fact that I need to guard my heart. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” The word was tortured. “Don’t apologise. You never, ever need to say that word to me.”
Tears filled her eyes. She loved him so much, pushing him away felt every single kind of wrong. “It’s just too hard to spend time with you. We’re not friends, Anastasios, and we can’t be lovers. So what’s the point of another dinner?” She looked around, wistfully, then focused her gaze on him. “I’d like to leave now, please.”
In the car, they drove in silence, only as he approached her home, he slowed, then swerved off the road.
“The point,” he said, the words rumbling from his chest. “Is that I love you.” He hooked his eyes to hers. “This is not an ordinary love, but something I will feel for all time. I cannot let you go without a fight, and yet, if you truly want me to disappear from your life, if you can honestly say that will make you happy, then I will. Because love is about sacrifice, and if I have to sacrifice my own happiness to guarantee yours, I will.”
She sucked in an unsteady breath.
“But if you think you might love me too, despite that night…if walking away from you will make you as miserable as it will me, then I ask only this: don’t ask me to leave without giving me a chance to show you that I can be everything you need. I’m asking you to dinner because I understand that you need time to trust me again, and I will gladly take as much time, going at your pace, if there’s even a chance, the smallest chance, that you might, one day, be able to forgive me..”
She closed her eyes, anguished and torn.
“I need to fix this.”
She knew how she felt about him, and even though she was terrified, she found her mind moving into lockstep with her heart.
“Do you know something I learned from your father?” She said, slowly, thoughtfully.
Anastasios shook his head.
“Love often doesn’t look as we expect it to. We are fed an idealized version of love from a young age, first through fairy tales and then through Hollywood, but in the real world, it’s more complex and knotty than that. He did love your mother, Anastasios, but he loved Annie too. His greatest guilt was that he couldn’t be what either woman needed, he couldn’t give either of them his whole self.”
Anastasios stared at her, and she softened her features in sympathy.
“I don’t know if you love me enough,” she said after a beat. “I don’t know if I can trust you not to hurt me.”
He made a low, guttural noise but before he could speak, she continued, “But I do know I’ll regret it if we don’t have one more dinner together. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”
He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, and moved closer, so close to kissing her, but she sobbed, confusion making it impossible to surrender to the moment.
