More Than Words
Page 43
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There was only silence, but instead of looking up, I folded the cocktail napkin in front of me over once, and then again, turning it into a small square.
“Do you want me to say it?” Nick asked softly.
I blew out a breath. “No.” I’d known for a long time he knew I couldn’t read. It’d been an unspoken truth between us. I wasn’t sure how he’d first connected the dots, but he’d been with me before I had enough money to hire people to read my contracts, before I had the funds for computer programs and phones that I could download apps to. He’d noticed, and because it was obvious that I was ashamed, he’d never said a word. He’d just helped me when and where he could.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Callen.”
I didn’t answer, and after a moment he asked, “Is that why?”
“Why what?”
“Why things are suddenly complicated? You could tell her, you know.”
“I did.”
I glanced at him, and he was wearing an expression of genuine surprise. “How’d she react?”
I shook my head. “She says she doesn’t care. And right now she probably doesn’t, but that’s because she hasn’t considered all the ways it would affect her, even probably all the ways it affects me.” She had no way to know what a struggle it was, knowing it’d be easier to tell people the truth, but also understanding that it could be asking to be taken advantage of. No idea how being illiterate not only made me feel stupid, but it made me feel vulnerable. There were things others might believe made it easier—like voice to text—but those were filled with pitfalls, too. I should know; autocorrect had made a fool out of me one too many times. So I’d abandoned certain technology. I’d rather appear rude for not answering right away than like the idiot I was.
“Okay. So you’ll … what? Just be alone forever? Drinking way too much, sleeping with any woman who crosses your path, rinse and repeat until your liver gives out or your dick falls off? Sounds like a hell of a plan.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that came up my throat. “When you put it that way …”
“Exactly.” Nick sighed. “Sad, lonely, and dickless. Not the way to live, or die.”
“So what do I do, then? She lives halfway around the world.”
He shrugged. “Those are details the two of you will have to figure out. All I know, Cal, is that I haven’t seen your eyes shine with anything other than intoxication for a very, very long time. And I was afraid I’d never see it again.” I heard the sadness in his voice, and it made me wince. He’d seen the path of destruction I’d been on for a while now and had tried to head me off. I hadn’t listened. I’d done everything to push him away, shut him out.
I took a sip of my drink. “You didn’t have time to come on this trip with me, did you?” He’d been working almost the entire time we’d been here.
“I always have time for you, Cal.”
I smiled at him. Yeah, he always had. Even when he really didn’t, he made time. The only one who truly did. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a lousy friend lately, man.”
Nick took a swig of beer. “Get the next round and I’ll forgive you.”
I laughed, but it ended in a grimace. I owed him a lot more than that. A hell of a lot more. “Thank you.”
We shared a drink and chatted, the mood growing lighter, and after fifteen minutes, I felt someone slide up next to me and glanced to my right. The girl smiled and for a second I couldn’t place her, but then I remembered her from the first night I’d arrived, the same night Jessie had shown up in this very bar. The girl smiled coyly. “Hello again.”
“How are you?”
“We’re good.” Her friend leaned around her and waved at us, and seeing the vacant seat next to Nick, walked behind us and scooted into it. She held out her hand and began introducing herself to Nick.
“I hoped I’d see you again this week,” the girl said. Fuck, I couldn’t remember her name. The bartender came by, and she ordered a chocolate martini as I searched my brain for her name. Had it ever even registered?
“Yeah,” I said after the bartender had turned away to make her drink. “I’ve been working a lot, and spending time with friends.” Friends. That felt wrong. But if Jessie wasn’t a friend, what was she?
“Working? I thought you were just here on vacation. Are you composing something new?”
“Yeah. I’m working on a score for a movie.” Who would have guessed that I’d show up here, suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block, and a week later I’d be in the middle of a piece I suspected—hoped—might be one of the best things I’d ever written? Jessie. It was because of Jessie.
“That’s so exciting!” the girl said, putting her hand on my arm, the signal I knew meant I could take her back to my room if I wanted to. I didn’t.
I pulled my arm from beneath her hand just as the bartender set her drink in front of her, and she held up her glass to me. “To your latest masterpiece.” She took a sip of her martini.
“I appreciate that.” Well, this was awkward. I knew she had an agenda, and I wasn’t interested. And I never had to bother with small talk before. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but she started talking before I could.
“My friends and I have been doing a lot of sightseeing,” she went on. “There’s so much to do in the Loire Valley. It’s beautiful.” She took another drink of her cocktail and then tilted her head, smiling flirtatiously. “I still haven’t had a chance to enjoy the hot tub.”
I released a breath on an uncomfortable smile. “Listen, ah—” I looked up and saw Jessie standing in the doorway of the bar, staring over at me with a look on her face that was simultaneously surprised and hurt. I hadn’t expected her to get out of work for another half an hour or so, but I was so happy to see her, I was on my feet in an instant. She began walking toward me, her body held stiffly, as though she felt unsure. “I gotta go,” I muttered to the girl next to me.
“Wait? Already? I was hoping we could—”
“Sorry.” I turned to the bartender. “Charge all these to my room,” I said, indicating Nick and the two girls. The bartender nodded, and I threw down a tip. “Nick, see you at dinner?”
“No. Can’t tonight. Breakfast?”
I nodded at him and scooted out from between the barstools, noting the pout on the face of the girl I’d been talking to, and walked toward Jessie. She gave me an awkward smile and waved to Nick. “Hey,” I said, “how was work?”
Jessie glanced behind me at the bar. “You don’t have to leave if you were—”
“I was waiting for you. Only for you, Jessie.”
She gave me a brief smile. “Okay. Well, then, shall we?”
I took her hand as we turned. She shot a quick look behind us, her expression troubled for a moment before she flashed me another smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JESSICA
In the year of our Lord 1429, on the twenty-first day of July
We are returned from the coronation of King Charles VII, made victorious much in part due to Jehanne’s bravery as she led our troops to victory. The celebration was a sight to behold, and though I dressed as myself with all the fineries of which I am familiar, I felt somehow … not myself at all. I’ve changed, and I’m not sure how to change back, nor if I even desire to.
My father made my introductions to several gentlemen of the court and told me that he is simply waiting for the most advantageous offer for my hand. My heart sank at knowing this is what I will return to when my duties have ended—a loveless marriage and a lifetime of pretending.
I spotted Olivier skulking behind pillars and partaking of far too much wine as he watched me dance with one aristocratic gentlemen after another. I danced and laughed, yet I was unable to stop thinking about that kiss the captain and I shared before he released me and returned to camp, leaving me angry that he’d taken such liberties and somehow dissatisfied that our kiss had ended. And so when he pulled me behind a column and pressed himself against me, planting his lips on mine again, I did not stop him. Indeed, I must admit that I encouraged it and returned his kiss with much fervor. I will be utterly ruined if it is found that I have conducted myself in such a manner, and with a member of the military no less, and yet I do not seem to care. What am I doing? Olivier and I have no hope for a future—none at all—and yet I crave his hands on me in a way that both terrifies and thrills me.
“Do you want me to say it?” Nick asked softly.
I blew out a breath. “No.” I’d known for a long time he knew I couldn’t read. It’d been an unspoken truth between us. I wasn’t sure how he’d first connected the dots, but he’d been with me before I had enough money to hire people to read my contracts, before I had the funds for computer programs and phones that I could download apps to. He’d noticed, and because it was obvious that I was ashamed, he’d never said a word. He’d just helped me when and where he could.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Callen.”
I didn’t answer, and after a moment he asked, “Is that why?”
“Why what?”
“Why things are suddenly complicated? You could tell her, you know.”
“I did.”
I glanced at him, and he was wearing an expression of genuine surprise. “How’d she react?”
I shook my head. “She says she doesn’t care. And right now she probably doesn’t, but that’s because she hasn’t considered all the ways it would affect her, even probably all the ways it affects me.” She had no way to know what a struggle it was, knowing it’d be easier to tell people the truth, but also understanding that it could be asking to be taken advantage of. No idea how being illiterate not only made me feel stupid, but it made me feel vulnerable. There were things others might believe made it easier—like voice to text—but those were filled with pitfalls, too. I should know; autocorrect had made a fool out of me one too many times. So I’d abandoned certain technology. I’d rather appear rude for not answering right away than like the idiot I was.
“Okay. So you’ll … what? Just be alone forever? Drinking way too much, sleeping with any woman who crosses your path, rinse and repeat until your liver gives out or your dick falls off? Sounds like a hell of a plan.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that came up my throat. “When you put it that way …”
“Exactly.” Nick sighed. “Sad, lonely, and dickless. Not the way to live, or die.”
“So what do I do, then? She lives halfway around the world.”
He shrugged. “Those are details the two of you will have to figure out. All I know, Cal, is that I haven’t seen your eyes shine with anything other than intoxication for a very, very long time. And I was afraid I’d never see it again.” I heard the sadness in his voice, and it made me wince. He’d seen the path of destruction I’d been on for a while now and had tried to head me off. I hadn’t listened. I’d done everything to push him away, shut him out.
I took a sip of my drink. “You didn’t have time to come on this trip with me, did you?” He’d been working almost the entire time we’d been here.
“I always have time for you, Cal.”
I smiled at him. Yeah, he always had. Even when he really didn’t, he made time. The only one who truly did. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a lousy friend lately, man.”
Nick took a swig of beer. “Get the next round and I’ll forgive you.”
I laughed, but it ended in a grimace. I owed him a lot more than that. A hell of a lot more. “Thank you.”
We shared a drink and chatted, the mood growing lighter, and after fifteen minutes, I felt someone slide up next to me and glanced to my right. The girl smiled and for a second I couldn’t place her, but then I remembered her from the first night I’d arrived, the same night Jessie had shown up in this very bar. The girl smiled coyly. “Hello again.”
“How are you?”
“We’re good.” Her friend leaned around her and waved at us, and seeing the vacant seat next to Nick, walked behind us and scooted into it. She held out her hand and began introducing herself to Nick.
“I hoped I’d see you again this week,” the girl said. Fuck, I couldn’t remember her name. The bartender came by, and she ordered a chocolate martini as I searched my brain for her name. Had it ever even registered?
“Yeah,” I said after the bartender had turned away to make her drink. “I’ve been working a lot, and spending time with friends.” Friends. That felt wrong. But if Jessie wasn’t a friend, what was she?
“Working? I thought you were just here on vacation. Are you composing something new?”
“Yeah. I’m working on a score for a movie.” Who would have guessed that I’d show up here, suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block, and a week later I’d be in the middle of a piece I suspected—hoped—might be one of the best things I’d ever written? Jessie. It was because of Jessie.
“That’s so exciting!” the girl said, putting her hand on my arm, the signal I knew meant I could take her back to my room if I wanted to. I didn’t.
I pulled my arm from beneath her hand just as the bartender set her drink in front of her, and she held up her glass to me. “To your latest masterpiece.” She took a sip of her martini.
“I appreciate that.” Well, this was awkward. I knew she had an agenda, and I wasn’t interested. And I never had to bother with small talk before. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but she started talking before I could.
“My friends and I have been doing a lot of sightseeing,” she went on. “There’s so much to do in the Loire Valley. It’s beautiful.” She took another drink of her cocktail and then tilted her head, smiling flirtatiously. “I still haven’t had a chance to enjoy the hot tub.”
I released a breath on an uncomfortable smile. “Listen, ah—” I looked up and saw Jessie standing in the doorway of the bar, staring over at me with a look on her face that was simultaneously surprised and hurt. I hadn’t expected her to get out of work for another half an hour or so, but I was so happy to see her, I was on my feet in an instant. She began walking toward me, her body held stiffly, as though she felt unsure. “I gotta go,” I muttered to the girl next to me.
“Wait? Already? I was hoping we could—”
“Sorry.” I turned to the bartender. “Charge all these to my room,” I said, indicating Nick and the two girls. The bartender nodded, and I threw down a tip. “Nick, see you at dinner?”
“No. Can’t tonight. Breakfast?”
I nodded at him and scooted out from between the barstools, noting the pout on the face of the girl I’d been talking to, and walked toward Jessie. She gave me an awkward smile and waved to Nick. “Hey,” I said, “how was work?”
Jessie glanced behind me at the bar. “You don’t have to leave if you were—”
“I was waiting for you. Only for you, Jessie.”
She gave me a brief smile. “Okay. Well, then, shall we?”
I took her hand as we turned. She shot a quick look behind us, her expression troubled for a moment before she flashed me another smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JESSICA
In the year of our Lord 1429, on the twenty-first day of July
We are returned from the coronation of King Charles VII, made victorious much in part due to Jehanne’s bravery as she led our troops to victory. The celebration was a sight to behold, and though I dressed as myself with all the fineries of which I am familiar, I felt somehow … not myself at all. I’ve changed, and I’m not sure how to change back, nor if I even desire to.
My father made my introductions to several gentlemen of the court and told me that he is simply waiting for the most advantageous offer for my hand. My heart sank at knowing this is what I will return to when my duties have ended—a loveless marriage and a lifetime of pretending.
I spotted Olivier skulking behind pillars and partaking of far too much wine as he watched me dance with one aristocratic gentlemen after another. I danced and laughed, yet I was unable to stop thinking about that kiss the captain and I shared before he released me and returned to camp, leaving me angry that he’d taken such liberties and somehow dissatisfied that our kiss had ended. And so when he pulled me behind a column and pressed himself against me, planting his lips on mine again, I did not stop him. Indeed, I must admit that I encouraged it and returned his kiss with much fervor. I will be utterly ruined if it is found that I have conducted myself in such a manner, and with a member of the military no less, and yet I do not seem to care. What am I doing? Olivier and I have no hope for a future—none at all—and yet I crave his hands on me in a way that both terrifies and thrills me.
