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Pyotr chuckles, his lips pulling into a grin as he chews.
We wander for a long time, slowly making our way through our food as we continue to admire the fine details of the pumpkin-lined pathway. And all the while, Pyotr remains his enchanting self.
It’s been hours by the time we make it back around to the garden entrance, and I feel full and satisfied, with just the right amount of ache in my feet to tell me I had a good long walk.
“Well, was it worth it?” Pyotr asks as we weave through the crowd spilling out into the parking lot.
“Worth it? That was like going to an art show! I want to do that every year.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agrees simply, and my heart skips a beat.
The line to get out of the parking lot is building swiftly, and Pyotr doesn’t waste time as he pulls out of our spot to beat the rush. But I can’t get that lingering reaction to his words out of my gut.
It’s been another wonderful night–one to rival the time we spent together in New York. Only, I can’t move past the fact that hestillhasn’t given me an explanation. I’m past being able to just let it go. I tried that in New York, thought maybe he just needed time to wrap his mind around the situation, time to get to know me and see our potential.
But that’s not it.So what?
His eyes flick in my direction several times as he drives back toward my house, and from the way his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, I know he’s bracing himself for the inevitable.
“We still need to talk,” I press when I finally buck up the courage.
“I know,” he says, his voice low and solemn.
Before we make it back into the city, he takes a sharp right, exiting the highway and pulling up alongside a small neighborhood park. My pulse quickens as I realize we’re actually going to do this, and my stomach knots with fresh nerves.
With a heavy sigh, Pyotr kills the motor once more, letting his headlights darken and throwing us into deep night. Only the lights of his dash cast a reddish tint on his face, revealing the deep creases of his frown as he turns to me.
“Well?” I demand when he doesn’t say anything.
His eyes drop as he shakes his head. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“How about starting with why it was a mistake to sleep with me, and we can go from there?” I suggest, the pain in my tone giving me away instantly.
Pyotr swallows visibly and nods. He seems to collect himself, his nod growing with conviction until he manages to meet my eye once more. “Okay, here it is. Our weekend in New York was… amazing. I never dreamed that I could end up liking you as much as I do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I just… didn’t know what to do.”
“So you thought the answer was sleeping with me?” I press. “You said you love me, and then, when it came down to it, was that just a lie?” I’m dangerously close to tears, and I swallow around the lump in my throat, fighting to maintain my composure.
“No… yes–I don’t know. The truth is I’m not really sure. All I know is how badly I wanted to be with you, and god, it was amazing.”
My heart jolts at his words, and my breath catches at the intensity of his emotion.
But then his eyes drop, and he shakes his head once more. “It freaked me out because I felt so weak, vulnerable. I hated it and didn’t know what to do. And then I fucked it up so bad. I didn’t mean… I should never have said it was a mistake. I just wasn’t ready for the way it made me feel. Sex has never made me feel like that before, and I panicked. And then you ran. God, I’m so sorry, Silvia. I’m the reason for what happened to you that night. If I’d just had better self-control, you never would have ended up in those guys’ hands. And I hate myself for not finding you sooner.”
He starts to reach across the console toward me, and my heart skips a beat. But then he freezes as if thinking better of it. And he lets his hand drop.
“I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to you, and frankly, you shouldn’t either.”
Overwhelming emotion breaks through my carefully built walls, and despite my best effort, hope brims in my chest. “Then you’re not… put off by me?” I sound pathetically meek.
“Put off?” he asks, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.
“I thought maybe you realized you weren’t attracted to me… or that you didn’t want to touch me after what those men did.” A single tear escapes my eye as I finally confess my deepest fear. That I’m untouchable after those men molested me.
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by shocked horror. “No.No,” he insists, cupping my face fervently in his strong hands. “I still want you. I’llalwayswant you. Don’t think that changed for a second.”
His thumb gently brushes the tear from my cheek, and he peers deep into my soul as if willing me to believe him. Then, without warning, he leans forward and kisses me fiercely.
Warm light bursts to life in my chest at the significance of his gesture. The meaning of his words. I hadn’t realized that so much of my anguish and self-doubt centered around the fear that I wasn’t loveable, that I wasn’t desirable in Pyotr’s eyes.
