Page 69 of Omega Artist
“Maybe, but he led you on, too. He pretended to be commitment-phobic and kept seeing you.”
“Oh, come on! Don’t be so naïve; it takes two to tango! By portraying me as a victim, you’re no better than the people who misjudge you. Granted, he hurt my self-esteem for a brief moment. However, without him, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I can’t resent him. We weren’t meant for each other, and I’m right where I should be… unlike you!”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Why the hell did you come running home when Father found your supposed knight in shining armor?”
“Supposed?” Her assumption slices through me. My entire body alternates between overheated and freezing. I quiver.
True to my word, once Father informed me that he had, indeed, found the right suitor for me, he gave me an ultimatum to come back to France. Oddly enough, his text arrived while I was throwing up in a stranger’s bathroom in the Hamptons. Right after a gloriously naked, sleepy Tig uttered the words that freaked me out and turned my stomach inside out. Both my father’s text and Tig’s misstep gave me the perfect excuse to leave the U.S. I had to trust that Father knew what was good for me, and I ran for my own mental health. I knew better. I didn’t need a man to be complete. I didn’t need a man like Tig in my life. I needed my own life back, not to be lured into something surreal.
The words of my hastily scribbled note that I left on the pillow in the middle of the night, before I hopped into an Uber kept running through my head. “I should have ended this much sooner.Weren’t we both after casual? Forget about me.” In all honesty, I left reluctantly, not completely prepared to ditch Tig until I remembered the band-aid trick. If it’s going to hurt, it’s better to do it quickly. I blocked him… because, well, better safe than sorry!
Dreams are overrated anyway, right? Consequently, I was paired with Raphaël whose last name is as aristocratic as his facial features.
“I mean, Raphaël’s nice and all, but… he’s… I don’t know… he’s blah!”
“Raphaël isn’t blah. I wouldn’t have kept seeing him otherwise. I really like him.” I mean it. He’s only a few years my senior and the proud owner of a start-up that launched a portable device that monitors vital signs. Right up my alley. Although he’s not a Turner fan. Although his tanned skin is too smooth. Although his touch under my tee-shirt—that I always leave on—doesn’t ignite my breasts. Yet he’s a good guy. Yet he’s a safe guy. Yet he’s an alpha guy.
“The fact that Tig told you he loved you wasn’t a fabrication to embellish your story and captivate your followers, was it?” Sybil’s question shakes me from my reverie.
I look through my window, mindlessly staring at people who don’t care about how lost I am right now. She doesn’t need to witness how much I’m blinking to suppress the tears that are threatening to break loose. Eventually, I manage to reply, in a strangled voice, that surely betrays my state, “The whole point of this postisthe confession.”
“Oh, my God! How can you be so blind? So stubborn? So impulsive?” Her voice is cool. Calm. Collected. I feel the weight of her protective stare on me for a split second. It’s enough to cause the first tear to roll down my cheek. Again, I’m reminded of the silent tear that escaped from Tig’s sad eyes, back when he confided in me in upstate New York. “Don’t you realize that you’re so in love with him that you ran from him the second it all became real.” I make a point to not make eye contact. “You were so worried of getting hurt again that you hurt him first and then ran like a coward that you claim not to be.”
“I wouldn’t know anyway. I’ve never been in love before… and FYI, I fled because I made the mistake of not breaking it off sooner, and I’m thankful that Father brought me to my senses. Remember when he told you that it’s easier to date within your own circle? Isn’t that what happened with you and your soon-to-be fiancé?”
“Oh, Aliénor! I apologize on behalf of every member of this family: we all messed with your head. I shouldn’t have told my Tig story the way I did. I mean, without me, you wouldn’t have hunted him…” She pauses and reaches for the remote that controls the door to the parking garage underneath the apartment that she currently shares with her beau. “I guess I shouldn’t apologize after all. Father and Mother didn’t run in the same circles and they were happily married until…” she abruptly stops. The deafening silence of the parking garage contrasts with the busy streets. In a flash, the words that she’ll soon pronounce become real: “Until death do us part.” “Father’s right in a way. It can make things easier to have some obvious common ground… most of the time: same background, same education, same values… like I said,mostof the time. There’s undoubtedly more to it than that. Without a genuine spark, it can’t last.” Spark. There’s that word again. Come on, let’s be honest, it was all a lie. Tig can’t love me, right?
I fling the door open the moment she parks. I don’t inquire as to why she decided to take me to her new place. I’d rather discuss something other than my unexpected feelings for my unlikely Prince Charming. Overwhelming. All-consuming. Impossible to tame. I couldn’t let our infuriating attraction, ridiculous chemistry, and astonishing compatibility overrule common sense, could I?
Bouncing from one foot to the other, I mull over our next controversial topic when we step into the elevator. “I asked him to cover my scars, you know.”
Her eyes widen so much that I wonder whether they’re going to pop out of their sockets, like I’ve seen in cartoons. Shock is written all over her face. Good, it’s about time I regain the upper hand in this discussion and get her full attention.
“Ah, the irony of the situation! Weren’t you the one to claim that tattoos are disgusting?”
I nod and explain, “I think I regret them anyway. For a long time, I wanted to own my scars rather than hide them. I tried; I really did… I’m a fighter. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about them. And yet, when he mentioned that he worked on such cases for survivors, I saw a solution. I shouldn’t have let him convince me. It hurt like hell, and it’s never going away.”
“Who are you trying to fool, sis? No one could ever force you into anything, especially not this. I don’t believe a word you just said.”
I stare at my Tod’s, incapable of answering. She’s right, and the way she can easily read me is infuriating.
A sigh of relief leaves my constricted ribcage when she opens her front door and there’s nobody home.
She fumbles with her phone and hands it to me. “Here.” She points at the last comment on my post. For a second, my heart somersaults at my sudden worry, mixed with hope, that Tig found it and decided not to forget about me. The comment reads:
‘I love the person who wrote this post with all my heart. Your mission is noble but could have been accomplished with a happy ending. I assure you that chivalry isn’t dead. I’m at fault if you grew up believing otherwise. I taught you to be your own person, a strong, independent, and determined woman who cares for her tribe. I’m at fault for failing to show you that you deserve to be happy, no matter your choices. In our last disagreement, I shouldn’t have held these qualities against you based on gender. I’m at fault for pressuring you to find your alpha male when you are an alpha in your own way. You’re too young to be cynical about happily ever afters. What I meant to say, even if my favorite cowboy would berate me for it, is I’m…’
My eyes are so filled with tears that the last word is a blur.
‘Sorry.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Without You
Tig
