I hated that he’d seen me like that. I hated even more that I’d let myself get to that point.
Sighing, I dropped my hand against the comforter and glanced across the empty bed. At some point, Luc had carried me here, tugged one of his big cotton T-shirts over my head, and tucked me underneath the covers.
He’d stayed with me last night—probably because I’d freaked him out with my emotional breakdown and he hadn’t been sure what I’d do next—and though he’d wrapped his arms around me and held me, he hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t apologized or reassured me everything was going to be okay or even told me he loved me. He’d simply stroked my arms and hair and any parts of me he could reach until I’d drifted to sleep.
Pain lanced my chest—so much pain, I closed my eyes and breathed through the worst of it so it wouldn’t trigger another waterfall of tears.
God, I hated this. I hated being this emotional, messy girl. I wasn’t a crier. Before meeting Luc, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d cried in my entire life. I was on the verge of crying again right now, dammit, and I had no idea why.
“Stop,” I snapped at myself, throwing back the covers. So big whoop. Your life pretty much sucks right now. I crossed the floor and jerked my dresser drawer open. Stop moping and deal with it.
I yanked a pair of shorts free and shoved the drawer closed with my hip. Then stilled because... I had no clue how to deal with this mess.
Luc had kept so much from me. Yesterday, it was clear he was still keeping things from me. I couldn’t make him include me in his life if he didn’t want to. And I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—stay with a man who didn’t view me as a true partner in every sense of the word.
My gaze strayed to the thick diamond band on my left hand, and my eyes burned all over again.
I loved him. Madly. Without reason. But something inside me was terrified that love was not going to be enough. Something kept holding me back. Something I didn’t understand. Something I had no idea how to fix.
I pulled on the shorts and crossed into the bathroom with limbs that were heavy and slow. Somehow, I managed to brush my teeth, but my stomach was a mass of nerves, and I was afraid it might revolt at any second.
I didn’t want to face Luc. Didn’t want to instigate the conversation we needed to have. Didn’t want to hear what he would say. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t stand who I was becoming. I was making both of us miserable.
My conversation with Felicity yesterday at the lake rolled through my head as I wandered out of the bathroom. I had options. They weren’t great options, and if I went there, it would undoubtedly cause problems between Luc and Marco, but I was fairly confident Felicity would help me. She’d helped Sela, after all. She knew what it was like to be in my shoes. I just wished I knew what it was like to be in hers.
“Fucking stop,” I said to myself again.
The scent of fresh brewed coffee greeted me as I moved into the quiet living room. Nerves bounced around in my stomach as I shuffled across the tile floor, listening to the sounds of dishes clinking in the kitchen.
I stilled just before I reached the arched doorway to the kitchen and drew a deep breath for courage.
“I’m someone completely different when I’m with him...”
From out of nowhere, my friend Elena’s words from the last email she’d sent me before her death circled through my memory.
At the time, Laney had been writing about the man she’d fallen for. About the obsessive relationship that had ultimately been her undoing. And as I stood outside the kitchen door listening to Luc moving around only yards away from me, I was suddenly struck by the fact I’d said those words to myself after I’d gotten involved with Luc, drawing similarities between our relationship and Laney and her mystery man’s illicit affair.
Only...the truth was...those words didn’t pertain to me. I’d never been someone different with Luc. The times we’d been together—before all the crap with his family had consumed us—had been the best of my life.
He’d pushed me, emotionally and sexually, in ways I hadn’t known were possible, and yes, part of me had changed with him, but not in any way that was bad. That part of me I’d kept closed off to protect my heart had simply come awake. My soul had burst to life. The real me had finally broken free. I hadn’t been numb then. I hadn’t been going through the motions of life anymore. I’d been alive. And I wanted to be alive again.
My eyes fluttered open, and before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped into the kitchen.
Luc glanced toward the doorway when I entered, and his stormy-gray eyes held mine as I stood there, trying to think of something to say.
He was wearing loose jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched seductively across his strong shoulders, and my heart bumped at the sight of him, standing barefoot in the small kitchen, stirring something in a pot on the stove.
He was cooking. He’d cooked me breakfast yesterday, but I hadn’t let myself appreciate it. I hadn’t known he could cook. He’d had people to do that for us everywhere we’d been before this.
There was so much about the man I didn’t know, and I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything.
“Hey,” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I tried to be quiet.”
He didn’t smile. And I couldn’t read his expression, which didn’t ease my stress any.
I licked my lips, feeling insanely self-conscious as I ran a hand through my hair. “You didn’t.”
“Good. This is almost ready. Why don’t you go sit down, and I’ll bring you some coffee in a minute. I set the table on the patio. It’s a really nice morning out there.”
“Okay.” I glanced toward the screen door, my stomach a mass of nerves as I crossed the kitchen and pushed it open.
Luc was right. It was a gorgeous morning. Sunlight glinted over the lake, making it sparkle as if thousands of diamonds were scattered across the water. Tall trees rose on both sides of the curved brick patio, overhanging the pergola and wisteria above to provide shade. A small circular table sat in the middle of the patio surrounded by four padded chairs.
I took the closest, gazing at the bouquet of fresh wildflowers Luc must have picked this morning, wondering how long he’d been up, what he’d been doing all morning, and how long he’d stayed with me last night in that bed.
“Here.” He set a bowl of oatmeal in front of me, already topped with cinnamon, sugar, raisins, and a splash of milk, then placed a steaming cappuccino near my hand. I’ll get mine and be right back.”
We didn’t have a cappuccino maker in the cottage. Not one I’d seen anyway. If we’d had one, I was sure Luc would have made cappuccinos yesterday. It was the one coffee drink I’d discovered in Rome he really liked.
He brought his own cappuccino and bowl of oatmeal to the table and sat beside me. “Dig in before it gets cold.”
Swallowing hard, I reached for my spoon and took a small bite, blinking hard against the burn in my eyes all over again because he’d remembered exactly how I liked my oatmeal. I’d only ordered it once with him—when we’d been in Venice—but he’d paid attention. He paid attention to everything, even things I thought he’d missed.