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Clara
It was one of those moments I wished would never end. Only it wasn’t a moment. It was close to ten minutes. Ian must have picked the longest song on his playlist, the uncut or extended version or whatever. By the time the song was finished, the moon was high in the sky.
I didn’t want to remove my head from its secure resting place on his shoulder. I adored the way his body felt against mine. Strong. Solid. Comforting. I wanted to stay this way forever. I wanted us to be just two lonely people who had met one morning under freakish circumstances, hated each other for a few hours, then started to tolerate each other, then to like each other, and somewhere along the line, started falling in love. I wanted to believe that Ian and I were the only two people in the world, that there were no disparate lifestyles to reconcile or disapproving fathers to worry about. If no one else existed, Ian and I could live out our days in a quiet little house on the water, him in his office coding away, me on the surf taking notes on the feeding habits of sandpipers. Then cuddling on the couch after a hard day’s work, and then perhaps sharing a slow dance on the beach before retreating to our shared bed for the night.
But I couldn’t force myself to believe any of it, no matter how hard I tried. The fantasy in my head was just that: a fantasy. The reality was that I had birds to rescue and ecosystems to preserve and poverty to wallow in. Ian had galas to attend and yachts to party on and hordes of women to fight off. And that was before he inherited his father’s money. God knows what kind of person he’d turn into when he took on the official title of billionaire. He’d said it himself—that kind of money changes you. The allure of wealth is too powerful. It overwhelms the conscience and corrupts the soul. Ian was a kind and ethical man now, but what kind of person would he be in five, ten, fifteen years from now? Certainly not the man I’d come to know, the kind of man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
With great reluctance, I lifted my head and looked at the face that had become so beautiful to me. Once again, I wished my genie would swoop in and stop time in its tracks, capturing Ian’s soul forever in this moment so that he would always remain the sweet and humble man I’d so suddenly and unexpectedly fallen in love with.
My heart skipped a beat when I realized what I’d just said to myself. Not fallingin love. Fallen. Past tense. It was a done deal. I was in love with Ian Dunning.
I reached up and touched his lovely face. “Ian,” I began. I hesitated, giving my genie a few more moments to make an appearance and dutifully make the world go away. But she was nowhere to be found. It was time to move forward. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “Something you might not want to hear.”
He placed his hand on the back of my head and pushed it gently back onto his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, stroking my hair. “I know what you’re going to say. And I want you to know that I get it. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I had no idea what he thought I was going to say, but whatever it was, he was wrong. Everything was not going to be fine. It was going to be awful.
I felt like I was lying to him, and I couldn’t pretend any longer. I pulled out of his arms. “Let’s go inside,” I said, taking his hand. “We can sit on the couch and talk about it.”
He gave me a little nod and a smile. He didn’t look worried. He had no idea what was coming.
We sat down on the couch. I wasn’t sure how to start. What I wanted to say and what I had to say were two completely different things. I wanted to say,You’re the best man I ever met. I wanted to say,You’re my dream come true. I wanted to say everything I’d ever seen on a cheap candy heart.B Mine 4ever.Soul M8.Kiss Me.
But what I said instead was nothing. It was like I had freaking sleep paralysis. I was so scared of facing the end that I couldn’t even open my mouth.
Ian solved my problem for me. He took both my hands in his. “It’s only been two weeks,” he began. “The wedding was supposed to be tomorrow and no one in their right mind would expect you to get over Tyler so quickly. The last thing I want is to rush you into something. I want you to know that I’m fine taking this slow. We can take as much time as we need to do this right and make it work.”
“You think this is about Tyler?” I said. “You think I’m still thinking about him?”
“I mean, yeah,” he said. “You were just talking about him at dinner. And about the wedding. And you seemed so sad—”
“I wasn’t thinking about Tyler,” I said. “When you said that thing about the full moon, the wedding popped back into my head for a minute. But I’ve barely been thinking about Tyler at all.”
“You haven’t?” he said, looking relieved.
“No,” I said. “You’re the one I can’t stop thinking about.”
Now he looked more than relieved. He looked happy. Worse than happy. Hopeful. Which meant that telling him what was really on my mind was going to be that much harder.
I cast my eyes down so I didn’t have to look him in the face. “It’s true that I can’t stop thinking about you,” I said. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not—”
His hands loosened their grip on mine, and I knew he was finally starting to believe me when I told him this wasn’t going to be good.
“Just tell me,” he said. “Whatever it is, just say it and get it over with.”
Keeping my eyes down, I just spit it out. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
He inhaled sharply and I immediately squeezed his hands in reassurance. “Not like Greta and the others,” I clarified. “Please, believe me, I don’t mean that I lied to you or deliberately deceived you. I just mean that I haven’t told you everything. About me. About who I am and the people I associate with and the way I live my life. And you have the right to know.”
He remained silent, looking down at our joined hands.
“You’re a good person, Ian,” I continued. “And you deserve the chance to hear about my beliefs and life choices before you make any decisions.” I lifted his hands to my lips and held them there. “You’re my dream come true. But when you hear about the things I’ve done, I have a feeling you’re not going to think the same of me.”
For another moment—a moment that might be our last—I held my lips to his skin. I wanted to feel him and taste him, to pretend that I believed that today was the first day of the rest of our lives and that Ian’s strong hands were mine to hold forever.
But Mom had taught me to be a realist, to look cold hard facts in the eye and accept them for what they were. She had raised me right. I just sometimes wished she hadn’t done such a damned fine job of it.
Without another word, I let go of Ian’s hands and walked into the bedroom. Opening my duffle bag, I found the “Asshole” shirt, folded right there on top. I brought it into the living room and sat cross-legged on the couch beside Ian.
