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“I left him.” Only after she’d caught the snake in bed with the aforementioned mademoiselle. “We were together for less than a month. And he wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t what?” His eyes narrowed on her face intently.
“I wasn’t in love with him. Where did Gramps go?”
“Seriously?” His expression was incredulous. “You nodded when he said he was tired and going to bed.”
“Oh, yeah.” She vaguely recalled Gramps pressing a kiss to her cheek. She was doing this too often. Zoning out, barely aware of what was going on around her. Her new prescription for her chronic asthma was making her spacey. She felt confused, anxious, and found it hard to concentrate for too long. This weird fugue state was new though. She really needed to see her allergist about it soon.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t elaborate, having learned long ago that Ben wasn’t interested in her drama—as he’d once called it.
“So, if you’re really not nursing a broken heart…” Why was he still on about that? “Then I think we should go out.”
“Go out where?” she asked, drawing a total blank.
“Together. Us. On a date.”
“What? Why?”
“You know why, Lilah.”
She did?
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Cyrus.”
“Gramps? You want to go out with me because of Gramps? Why would I do that? Why would you?”
He gave her a hard, searching stare before saying, “This was inevitable, Lilah. It works. We work. And you know we’re out of time and out of options now.”
“But I didn’t think you liked me enough to want to spend time with me.”
“My feelings for you are… complicated.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable. She’d never seen him this discomfited before and stared at him in fascination.
“Complicated? How?”
“You’re full of questions today,” he said irritably.
“Because I’m confused. I don’t know where this is coming from.”
“Of course you do,” he snapped. “Stop being so disingenuous. I think we should go out.”
“I don’t agree.”
“What will make this happen? A grand confession of love? Is that what you want?”
Wait, what?
Why was he talking about love? What was going on here?
He looked so tormented. That was the only word she could think of to describe the range of emotions that flickered across his austere face in such rapid succession.
The one thing she knew about Ben was that he didn’t handle strong emotions very well. She’d realized that a few years ago when Gramps had had a mild heart attack. Ben had closed up, gone silent. He’d looked so grim and emotionless; a casual observer would have thought he felt nothing.
Lilah might have thought the same, if she hadn’t later discovered him sitting in the hospital chapel, head bowed, clearly praying. She’d left before he’d known she was there, reluctant to intrude on a private moment, while also understanding that Ben would lash out if he knew that she’d been witness to his vulnerability.
Still, seeing his stark fear and concern had made her feel less alone. Even though he’d never shown her even a glimmer of that same emotion. He’d remained closed off, but his strength and his commanding presence had been a comfort to her.
“What if I want a grand confession of love?” she asked, tilting her head consideringly, watching him closely.
“You wouldn’t get one. It’s just a date. Not even the most idealistic romantic expects claims of love before a first date.”
“This isn’t even remotely romantic, though,” she pointed out, finally taking a sip of her wine.
“I don’t do romance. You know that.”
She did know that. Watching his interactions with the opposite sex over the years had been like watching a National Geographic wildlife documentary.
And now the alpha male sees the female he wants, he doesn’t hesitate. His courtship ritual is brutal and brief. He easily dispenses with the competition, winning the female’s attention and favor. She is interested and presents herself to him for mating. Their union is perfunctory. He dominates the submissive and meek female and then, satisfied, he moves on, searching for the next potential mate.
This was probably as romantic as it got for a man like Ben.
“I’m not one of your fuck-and-flee floozies, Ben.”
He blanched at her words, looking both horrified and nauseated by her words.
“Jesus, Lilah. Firstly, that’s a reprehensible turn of phrase and such language doesn’t suit you.”
“Alliteration, though,” she inserted with a grin but he wasn’t amused at all.
He continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Also, it’s insulting to my former female companions, all of whom were accomplished, independent, and strong women who knew exactly what the stakes were.”
“My point stands,” she maintained, even though she hadn’t liked his emphasis on the word ‘accomplished’. He made no secret of the fact that he thought her career was frivolous.
To a rigid, type A personality like Ben, any creatively oriented career like photography was on par with pissing your life down the toilet. Unless you were in a boardroom, curing cancer, or litigating multi-million-dollar law suits, you were a slacker.
