Dream Wedding(57)
“It’s not a nice story,” he warned her.
“Are you afraid I’ll think less of you as a person?”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
She put her wine on the coffee table. “I could tease you and promise that wasn’t possible, but that would be taking unfair advantage.” She paused for a second. “Whatever has happened between us, however complicated it gets, I’ve enjoyed knowing you. You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met, but that’s just on the surface. Underneath all the travel and the unusual experiences, you’re very familiar to me. I think we have a lot in common and I believe we can be friends for a long time. I’ll try not to judge you.”
“I guess I can’t ask for more than that.” Their gazes locked. “Thank you,” he added. “I want us to be friends, too.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Tell you what. When you’re done talking about your father, I’ll think up something equally slimy in my life and share it with you. Then we’ll be even.”
“Sure.” But he doubted she could match his story. He drew in a deep breath. “My mother died when I was born. Apparently she and my father were deeply in love. They’d put off having children for several years because they just wanted it to be the two of them. But when she found out she was pregnant, I guess they were both happy. After her death, my father withdrew. He hired a nurse and a couple of people to take care of the place, then he moved out. I never saw him. He provided a staff and paid all the bills, but he was not a part of my life.”
He tried to tell the story without thinking about it. He didn’t want to get buried in the details, he didn’t want to think about what it had been like all those years.
“As I told you before, my grandfather showed up when I was three and took me away with him. When I was about fifteen, he answered questions I had about my family. He never used the word ‘blame’ but I understood the subtext of what he was saying. If it hadn’t been for me, my mother would still be alive.”
Chloe shifted closer and took his hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers. “That’s a lot for an adult to understand. It must have been an impossible burden for a teenager.”
“Agreed. When I was growing up I used to make up stories about my father—exotic tales in which he came to his senses, realized none of this was my fault and showed up begging for my forgiveness. Every night I prayed he would come for me, but he never did.” He cleared his throat. “I really cared about my grandfather. He did the best he could and I had some great experiences as a kid, but there were times I longed for a normal family. I wanted to have my own room, toys, friends, and wake up in the same bed for a few weeks. Then I outgrew the dream. I stopped praying my father would come for me. At times I forgot he was alive.”
“I don’t believe you gave up the dream,” Chloe said. “I think you still have it, but now you’re an adult and it’s more complicated.”
“Not at all. In fact—”
She cut him off with a shake of her head. “Sell it somewhere else, Arizona. Of course you wanted your father to come rescue you. We all want to be loved. But you stopped wishing because it hurt too much to always be disappointed.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but he couldn’t. “How the hell do you know so much?”
“Things are always clearer to those on the outside. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“I never doubted that for a moment.”
He wanted to pull her closer. He wanted to feel her heat next to him, to wrap his arms around her and find comfort in her nearness. He didn’t. Not because he was concerned she might reject him, but because the need was so intense, it alarmed him. He wasn’t supposed to need anyone. If his past had taught him anything, it was that. He’d grown up in such a way that his dependence had been burned out of him at an early age. Needing someone meant having expectations. That only gave that person the opportunity to let you down. He didn’t need Chloe—he didn’t need anyone.
“What happened next?” she asked.
“He contacted me when I was about twenty. I was in London. He wanted me to come to Chicago and meet with him.” He tried to ignore the hurt and anger welling up inside of him.
“You refused.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. He was stubborn and kept talking away. I guess I get that trait from him.”
“Did he apologize for what he’d done?”
“In a manner of speaking. He said that he’d been keeping track of me for years, that he’d wanted to get in touch sooner, bring me home, but I was doing so well with my grandfather that he decided not to upset my life twice.”