Page 75 of Crying Shame
It seemed like my breathing was becoming one with his as we shared the same space.
“You’re not worried you’ll ruin your pants by sitting on the floor?” I asked.
He patted my knee and squeezed me closer. “I’ll buy more, and besides I live my life in shorts as much as possible. Do you think I’m too fancy?”
My lips curved upward. “Do you want me to lie or be honest?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Honesty is good.”
I laughed and cupped his face. “You’re wonderful… amazing… but yeah, you have some fanciness about you. And you do use your money to try to win people over sometimes, including me and Sam.”
He pressed his hand to his heart. “I’m offended.”
A chuckle escaped my throat. This was nice. I watched the show. “Do you remember when we were eighteen, and we had a fight about prom? I planned to go in a car with my friends as you and I—“
“Weren’t publicly dating," he finished. "I remember.”
Good.He needed to understand, so I continued, “Then an hour later, I was still angry with you, and yet I had to bring soup to your room.”
He tilted his head. “I thought it was a peace offering.”
“No, I was the servants' daughter, and I had to bring it to you.” In the end, there had been a huge gap between us. I sat up and turned in his arms to meet his gaze. “And you just assumed I was there to apologize, just as you bought me a tiara… so yes, you’re fancy, like this light show, and it’s okay.”
My heart thundered. Closeness was dangerous. I stood.
He got up too. “Are we leaving?”
“Yes, I want to check out the next collection.” We walked out of the Monet experience and into a plain corridor. I took a deep breath, trying to get used to being back in reality. We headed into an exhibit room. “Did your mom teach all of you how to get a girl?”
He pressed his shoulder against mine. “You would know if she'd ever given me homework on that subject.”
Fair.I was grasping at straws. We walked through an exhibit depicting ancient war armor, and I hugged myself. I needed to get a grip.
“Did you really not… have sex with anyone else but me all these years?” I asked.
He stilled, gazed down at me, and waited till I met his eyes. “I’d had perfection. I’ve kissed a few other girls as potential girlfriends, but I never saw anything through. I wanted you.”
My knees melted a little. I stopped swaying a second later though, and turned to study the weapons next to the armor. “Eight years is a long time, and I’m not that special.”
“Why do you do that?”
I cringed. “Do what?”
“Talk bad about yourself. Clarissa, I’m not going anywhere.”
I closed my eyes. I knew I was looking for a reason to build walls around my heart. So I kept silent.
He directed me to the inner garden where two easels were set up in front of copy of the famous MonetThe Artist's Garden at Giverny. My heart thumped.
I walked over to the easels. "What's this?"
“Don’t you remember?” he asked.
Memories washed over me of one of the few idyllic moments in my life. We’d been seventeen, and it had been the summer before college. I picked up a brush.
“We painted copies in the garden of your parents' house,” I said. My heart thumped. I had no walls, no defenses at all against him.
“That was the day I realized you were it for me," he said. "It’s why I wanted to take you here today.”
