Reckless In Love(52)

But if he'd truly drawn her heart, then why couldn't he understand what  she really wanted? Half the time he thought she was doing everything for  her mother. Sometimes he even thought she was doing it for him. Lord  knew she had enough commissions to take her into next year. Her bank  account would be full and her mother cared for.

Yet he sensed Charlie wasn't happy-and was becoming less and less happy  by the day. He had no clue how to fix that. Was she focusing on his  sketches simply as a way to get him to slow down the pace of everything  else?

"All I want is to understand you, Charlie. And to make you happy." She'd  be done with the sculpture in three weeks. Twenty-one days that felt  like a ticking time bomb. Despite knowing that they loved each other, he  was beyond frustrated that they hadn't figured out anything else. "Tell  me how to do it. Tell me what I can't see or fully understand." Because  he didn't want to screw things up again.

"Do you really want to know what would make me happy?" She smoothed a  hand over the four sketches in her lap. "That reporter from the big  magazine you got in touch with-she's coming next week and she wants to  show the artist at work. Your drawings are good enough for that  article."

He didn't equivocate, just gave her a flat, "No."

But she was just as stubborn as he. More, maybe. "It would be awesome,  Sebastian. Your art and mine on the same page. This is a perfect  opportunity for us to do something together."

"No," he said again, his voice harsh this time. "Drawing is just for myself. I already have a career."

"I know you do. But I see the way your hand flies over the paper when  you draw. And how, despite your fears, you're totally alive in the  moment. You have to know you're not alone-every artist who lives a  creative life deals with fear and uncertainty. None of us have any idea  how things are going to turn out-but that's part of the magic. And  that's why I'm here. To tell you that I trust you, that I'll be right  here, right beside you every step of the way, believing in you until you  can believe in yourself." She balanced on the edge of her seat,  gesturing in the air, her sentences a rapid-fire burst. "You just asked  me what I want you to see. What I want you to understand. This is what  you need to know, how amazing your art is. I know it would be exposing  yourself, but I do it all the time and I can tell you that-"

"You're not exposing yourself, you're exposing your art. It's not the same as what you're asking of me."

"I am exposing myself every night." She clenched her hands together, so  hard her knuckles turned white. "At those parties we're always going to.  I always have to be on."

His gut was torqued so tight he could hardly breathe. In the back of his  mind, he knew he should pause, take a breath, step back and look at  things objectively. But he was already way past any of those choices.

"Those parties are about introducing people to your art. They're about  creating massive anticipation for the chariot and stallions. Once you're  huge, once you're at the top, you can call all the shots, Charlie." He  reached for her hand. "Soon. It will happen soon, I know it will, and  then it won't all seem so crazy and nonstop."

"If it's all about my art and not about me, then we should just wheel  one of my sculptures from party to party." She tugged her hand from his  and ran it over her face. "Dressing up, schmoozing every night for  endless hours. I'm so tired I can't even create anymore." She looked at  him, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears. "I don't even know if I can  finish the stallions or the chariot, Sebastian. I'm burned out."

He reached for her, but she almost seemed to shrink from him. Jesus, what had he done?

"We'll take the whole week off if you want. Or I can attend the parties  by myself and talk you up. I'll stall any other projects you get until  after the chariot is done."         

     



 

But she was no longer focusing on him. She looked at the stallions, then  her hands. "And there's my classes. If I want to teach in the fall, I  need to put my syllabus together."

God, he was such a fool. Last night she'd fallen asleep in the car on  the way back from another event. She hadn't woken even as he carried her  into the house, not when he undressed her, not when he whispered to her  and kissed her good night.

How could he have done this to her?

"Maybe you should take a few months off school." It was the first thing  that sprang to mind, a surefire way to stem the flow of lost hours. "You  can go back in the spring."

In an instant, she blinked back into total focus. "That's your solution? I need to give up teaching?"

"Not give it up." He felt as though he were watching himself from a  distance, shovel in hand, digging the hole deeper and deeper. And yet,  he still couldn't figure out how to drop the handle and call for a  time-out. "Just take a quarter or two off while you see how things go  and how much time you have in the future. I can't stand the thought of  you burning yourself out and losing even an ounce of your brilliant  artistic vision. Anything but that. Tell me what I need to do to fix  this, Charlie, and I swear I'll do whatever I can to make you happy."

* * *

"You've already done so much. And I appreciate all of it, all the doors you've opened."

"Charlie-"

She held up a hand to stop him, both from saying more or coming closer.  She was going to break if he didn't stop. She might break anyway. She  was this close to crying. To exploding into a million pieces and gushing  until she could fall asleep. That's all she wanted to do-sleep. Until  she stopped feeling like she was a hundred years old.

"I am grateful. But you expect me to slather on all the glitter and let  you parade me around among all those people. Night after night, putting  on a mask that I'm having trouble fitting over my face. I'm not the  glittery celebrity type, and I'm tired of trying to pretend I am." How  could he not see how much of herself she'd exposed for him? "Why can't  you see that I don't fit into your world?"

"Of course you fit. Everyone loves you. They love your art." He  stretched out his hands to her, and the pain on his face and in his  beautiful eyes cut her in two. Worse were his two whispered words:  "You're perfect."

"No! I'm not perfect." God, she hated that word! "No one and nothing is.  Not even the priceless pieces of art hanging on your walls." The last  thing she wanted was to hurt him. But she couldn't go on like this.  Couldn't keep pretending when it was ripping her to pieces. "I'm just  like a Zanti Misfit, Sebastian. I sneaked into your world and pretended I  was like all of you." She couldn't bear hurting him, but everything she  said was true, and it broke her heart. "The truth is that I don't want  to fit in anymore. I miss my students. I miss working on whatever I feel  like working on without worrying about getting paid for it. I love the  stallions, but all the other commissions are just busy work. I never  thought it could happen, but I'm losing all my joy in this. And do you  know what I miss most of all?" Two tears slid down her cheek. "You. I  miss spending time with you. Just the two of us getting closer.  Sometimes lately, it feels like you're so far away."

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Right here." Before she could stop him, he  cupped her face so gently, so sweetly. "I just wanted to make sure you  had the money to take care of your mom. Because you wouldn't take mine. I  don't want you to ever have to worry about anything. Why do you think  I've done a thousand drawings of you? I needed to figure out a way to  get you there, to keep you safe. But I couldn't do it, couldn't figure  you out."

It was like the kids at the group home. His heart was in the right place  even as he micromanaged, finding solutions instead of letting them make  their mistakes and figure it out for themselves. He wanted all the  lines straight-was so intent on everything being perfect, that he forgot  magical things happened all the time if only you just stopped trying so  hard.

She folded her hands over his and held them tightly. "Do you remember  telling me right after we met that you were keeping your eyes open and  visualizing what you wanted for me?" Before he could respond, she went  on, "I know all you want is the best for me, because that's exactly what  I want for you. But it took me this long to realize that I can't live  the life you visualize for me, no matter how good it might be. I'll only  be happy, truly happy, if I take care of my mother my own way, not your  way. And I have to manage my art my way, not yours. I love teaching  too, and I hate the thought of not having students to work with this  fall."         

     



 

She'd been trying to make up her mind all these weeks, but suddenly it  was crystal clear. Giving up teaching would be losing an important part  of herself. One that was a crucial piece of what made her whole.