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“Are you okay?” I walked toward him.
He waved his hand in the air. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? What your father thinks is nothing to me. People can’t hurt me, Layla, because I really don’t care about them.”
I swallowed. “That’s not true.”
“It is, though.” He shook his head. “What did you want?”
He’d stripped out of his shirt and was bare from the waist up. Beautiful. As always. I swallowed. “I thought it might be a good time for us to talk.”
“Sure. What do you want?”
“That’s always the question, isn’t it? What do I want? You promised to help me, and I think I can answer that question.”
He rose, crossing to the other window. “Oh, yes. Art school.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, yes, I want that, but that’s not the only thing I want. I know what that is and…I think you might want it, too.”
He didn’t look at me. “Get to it, Layla. Spit it out.”
“I want you. I want us to be together. I want to make it official. It pretty much is now, isn’t it? We’re together. Let’s say that. I love you. And I think you’re in love with me, too. Let’s say fuck the world, and whatever we do now, we do together.”
He didn’t look at me, didn’t turn. I waited. And waited, dread starting to settle on my shoulders. What was happening here? Why wasn’t he saying anything? My heart fell into my stomach, the knowledge that something very bad was about to happen settled on my shoulders. Finally, he turned around.
“Really?” He sighed. “We talked about this, Layla. Do you have to be this girl? I thought you’d come so much further than this, and it’s just…such a disappointment. I told you. I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships. I’m not that guy. I just don’t care about people like that, and if you convinced yourself that I do, that’s not my fault. You knew the rules when we started this.”
My body went numb. I could actually feel nothing. “You and I both know that’s not true. Why are you doing this? I’ve seen how you feel. I know I did.”
“Fanciful nothingness, Layla. You really are young. When a person tells you he can’t fall in love, believe him. We know ourselves. If I wanted to be married, I’d have done it years ago.”
I backed up two steps. “You’re lying.”
“I’m telling the truth. If you don’t like what I’m saying, that’s on you.”
I couldn’t take any more. He had explained things, but I’d…I’d thought they changed. A million different ways. All the time we’d spent together. He’d been so gentle, so kind with me. Loving. That couldn’t be nothing.
I ran from the room. I’d probably hate myself for it later, but that was what I did. I had to get away from how he looked at me like I was nothing. I closed his door behind me. I didn’t even know why I did that. I just…had to.
I walked like a zombie to my room, closing that door, too. Methodically, I started to pack. I would only take the things I’d brought with me. Everything else would stay. He’d bought it. I didn’t want it. No. Nothing I’d done here would come with me.
Was my father right? Was I just one of a lot of women who fell in love with him? Was that why Isobel had stopped going to the café? We never saw her anymore. I shook my head. No, he was a four-day guy. We’d been together…five weeks. But maybe that was just because I was living in his house and he’d had no choice. Better to fuck me than not.
Tears started to stream, but it was like I couldn’t feel them. Toothbrush, check. Hairbrush, check. I had all my things. I closed the suitcase. Zipped. I had everything I’d come with. Passport was where I always stored it in the front pocket. I could go, now.
I could leave France. Zeke.
That was what I had to do.
Because I was nothing to him. I’d totally humiliated myself.
But I’d seen his love for me. I knew I had.
No, he was right. I’d made it up. I even knew why. I clearly needed love, clearly was desperate for it. Clearly had daddy issues.
I rolled the suitcase. My father was headed to get Justin somewhere, and he’d stopped here. Now was the time to go back to NYC and see my sisters. They’d help me. I wouldn’t stay there. Too close to my father, but I’d borrow money—I was already in debt up to my ears with my father—and move on. Maybe I’d move to Hawaii. I could paint on the beach.
No, that wouldn’t work. I was a redhead. We burned.
Maybe I’d go to Alaska.
