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“I’m sorry,” he whispered, daring a glance upward, not sure what he’d find, not sure he wanted her to see the despair on his face, but unable to help himself. Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears, her expressive face nakedly vulnerable. “I’m so fucking sorry. I wish there were bigger words than sorry. I wish there were massive, mountain-sized epic fucking words to describe my regret and despair. But I’m stuck with I’m sorry. I can promise you the world, only I know you don’t want it… I don’t know what you want. But I kind of hoped you would be okay with just me. Trystan Abbott. I know I’m weak and flawed, and kind of an arsehole. I make mistakes, I say and do dumb shit, but my one true redeeming feature was being loved by you once. And the only thing I’m capable of doing truly right in this world is loving you back.”
“Trystan,” Iris murmured, her voice throbbing with emotion and regret, and Trystan shook his head in a panic, certain she was about to reject him, absolutely sure he was seconds away from losing her. He took a step toward her, his hands coming out of his pockets and reaching toward her, wanting to stop her, to somehow physically prevent her from sending him away for good. But in the end, he knew he couldn’t stop her. He needed to let her speak and then he had to let her go and allow her to move on with her life.
Iris watched the frustrated aborted movement of his hands as they strained toward her for a second and then fell limply to his sides.
His words, spoken in that harsh, broken voice, still echoed through her mind, and gave her a clarity she’d been missing for weeks.
“I once told you that if you wanted a life with me you have to be prepared to live it with me, remember? Out in the real world, where everybody thinks they own a piece of you.”
He nodded warily.
“Well, I got a taste of that now and I can’t say I like it much… that ownership people seem to think they have over you, that possessiveness where I’m seen as competition or a threat, as an easy target to take potshots at.”
“Iris, I’m so?—”
“Ssh,” she interrupted gently, stepping toward him and placing her fingers over his lips. “The time for apologies has passed now. Let me speak, okay?”
He swallowed, and his lips moved against her fingers, but he said nothing, just nodded.
She dropped her hand and folded it into a fist, trying to alleviate the tingle caused by that brief brush of his mouth against her skin.
“I also told you that I don’t want you to give up your career and live a life of obscurity because of me, that I refused to let you use me as an excuse to hide from your demons. Well, I’d be the hypocrite I once accused you of being if I turned you away and gave up our shot at happiness because I allowed my fear of the public and press to dictate my decisions. The decision I have to make right now is twofold: do I love you enough to trust you with my heart again? And do I love you enough to live in the public eye, possibly under constant scrutiny, having everything from the way I dress, to my mental and emotional health discussed and criticized and mocked.”
“Iris, I told you, I’ll resign…”
This again, she sighed impatiently and held up her forefinger, effectively shutting him up.
“Trystan, do you love what you do?”
He was saved from replying by the perfunctory knock at the door.
“Christ,” Trystan barked beneath his breath, running an unsteady hand over his short, spiky hair. “Yes?”
The door opened and Chance’s head popped around it.
“Sorry to disturb, but word’s gotten out that you’re here.”
“What the fuck?” Trystan blurted. “How?”
“Sorry, Iris, seems you have a mole in your operation,” Chance said somberly, then ruined the effect by grinning like a dopey kid. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Anyway, seems like someone called the press on the sly. Brand EPS’s pap insider alerted head office and the word’s filtered down that the vultures are headed this way. So, you’re going to have to continue this discussion someplace more secure.”
Trystan sent Iris a tortured look, and she knew it was because he believed this confirmed everything she’d just said about his life.
She offered him a small, reassuring smile.
“Should we continue our discussion at your place?” she asked, and his face just about melted with relief. “I’d love to see Luna again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ve missed her.”
“About continuing, I mean. Because… Iris, I need you to be sure.”
She cupped his jaw, her thumb finding the familiar ridge of the completely healed cicatrix slicing through his stubble.
“I’m sure.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily and he covered her hand with his own, pressing it against his skin for a second, before nodding.
