Page 50 of Lust
“If you find yourself at a similar crossroads withyourSara,” he said quietly, “maybe it’ll be helpful to remember that toxic love will only push her over the edge. Sacrifice is the only way to true love, even if that means letting her go in the process.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“We have known each other for more than a decade, Tristan. Surely, we can have a frank conversation. I can no longer overlook that your celibacy in recent years is tied to your love for Sara. These passionate feelings you harbor for her are spiraling out of control—”
I stood instantly, mouth dry. How the fuck did Michael always manage to figure this shit out?
He spoke before I could throw him out of my office. “If I had any interest in blabbing to the press, I would have done so long ago. So, can we drop the pretenses in hopes of an honest conversation?” When I still hadn’t sat down, he continued, “Tristan, I’m not worried about your feelings for Sara, only troubled by how you might act upon it. As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing wrong with how you feel. She is an adult, and you aren’t related by blood.”
“Marrying someone from your own family is still illegal,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Sara and I weren’tstepsiblings; we wereadopted siblings. In this country, it was illegal to marry your adopted sister. I had already researched for a loophole in the law.
Add that to the growing pile of reasons I had initially fought my feelings. Sara wanted a family of her own, and I could never give her one she could proudly show off. I swallowed the pill that had left me bitter for years.
“I think perhaps it’s best if you leave. I have a lot of work to do.”
Michael urged me to sit by waving a hand in the direction of the sofa. “Please. Let’s talk about this some more. I just want to help my patient.”
But I didn’t sit, overwhelmed with this conversation and his suggestion of letting her go.
Fuck that. I’d never let her go. If she wanted sacrifice, I’d show her sacrifice—anything in exchange for not letting her go.
“Michael, it’s time for you to leave,” I spoke each word with such precision that he didn’t argue.
With great reluctance, Michael rose to his feet. He glanced at me upon reaching the door to my office. I assumed he’d be angry over how I was cutting this session short after he had made the long drive. Except, it wasn’t anger sparkling in his eyes—only pity.
* * *
Eight children sat in a linear arrangement around the tiny, torn-down classroom inside the shelter. They each had a blank canvas in front, holding paintbrushes in their hands like powerful weapons.
At the front of the class, a very patient Sara was perched on a high bar stool with a canvas of her own. She was dressed in an ivory, thigh-length dress-shirt with a belt looped around the waist. Where it should have been conservative, the attire sent hot blood right to my cock.
With immense self-control, I snuffed out the burning desire to take the five necessary strides to yank her into my hold. Instead, I watched her give the kids instructions in a soft voice, walking them through the process of recreating the piece she was drawing.
She’d make a great mom one day; I couldn’t help but muse.
After the miserable week away from her, the weekend had finally arrived. I’d given Sara the time to process. It was time to face the music. With that resolution, I drove here with a plan cooking in the oven.
To my relief, she seemed better than I had expected. She was lost in the process of art therapy, while I was lost in watching her from the shadows. However, I wasn’t granted the luxury of studying her uninterrupted for more than a few serene seconds.
“Mr. Marcolf,” came a shrill gasp.
I clenched my teeth over having been discovered.
With her reverie interrupted, Sara’s attention snapped toward me.
“Mr. Marcolf!” Jen, the manager for this shelter, all but curtsied.
“Tris?” It took me several seconds to register his presence, though his God-like façade stood out so distinctly that it hardly escaped the attention of bystanders.
“Oh my God, it is you,” Jen gushed. “I recognized you from the posters. It’s so good to finally meet you in person. Sara’s told us so much.” Did she just pocket her hand to conceal her wedding ring?
Smart women turned into brainless idiots around Tristan. I knew from experience that this situation might escalate for Jen if I didn’t intervene.
I turned to face the room. “Everyone, finish drawing your vases while I step outside.”
I had been entertaining the kids at the shelter with various weekend and afterschool activities to distract them from an obscure future. It was imperative since many of them didn’t want to return to their previously abusive homes.
