Page 26 of That Weekend in Paris
“In front of me?” she asks, clearly surprised.
“Yeah. I was intimidated as hell.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she says.
“It’s true.”
She shakes her head a little. “You were incredible that night. Thirty seconds into the first song, I knew you were the next big thing.”
“I sure didn’t.”
She hesitates, and then, “Your humility is part of your appeal.”
“My foster mom used to tell me that it didn’t pay to get a big head. And that if I did, God would be forced to find a way to get my feet back on the ground.”
“You believe that?”
I shrug. “I don’t like arrogant people. I never wanted to be one.”
“Me, either,” she says. And then, after a moment, “Not sure why I married one, given that.”
“Josh got his share of confidence, I suppose.”
“You could say that.” She takes a sip of her wine, then turns her gaze direct on mine and says, “Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew him at all. I had this feeling that there was something I didn’t know. Like there was a curtain I hadn’t yet managed to pull. Maybe I didn’t want to know what was behind it.”
I study my water bottle for a moment or two, then meet her gaze. “Do you think we ever really know another person?”
“I think we know parts of them, but I’m pretty sure everyone keeps something back. The stuff we think we’ll be judged for, or we think we might be rejected for.”
“But if you love someone, shouldn’t you be willing to accept those things?”
“If they’re acceptable. Sometimes, things aren’t.”
I consider this, acknowledge the truth in it. “Some things are bigger than others, though.”
“True.”
The lamplight is soft around her, and I let myself take her in, fully, my gaze on hers. I let her see what I’m thinking, realizing as I do that I’ve never let her know I find her beautiful. In the past, there’s always been a reason to keep things on a professional footing: Josh, Riley, business. Tonight, I’m wondering if there’s still a reason.
She looks down at her wine, blows out a soft whoosh of air. “Why are you here, Klein? In my room, I mean.”
I could play off the question, make light of it, but I owe her more than that. “I’m not sure. I know why I want to be here, but I’m also pretty sure that’s unwise.”
“Oh, we’re doing wisdom, are we?” Her gaze is direct, her smile soft.
“Not sure it’s a label that applies too well to me these days.”
“What have you done that was unwise?”
“Plenty.”
“Run one by me.”
I tilt my head against the back of the chair and study the ceiling. “It might change how you see me.”
“See. There’s that fear thing.”
I look up then, meet her gaze head-on. “My track record with women is highly questionable.”
