More Than Words
Page 52

“Me, too, Ben. So much.”
He nodded, giving me another smile. “I think I’m going to go get another drink and lick my wounds at the bar. Will you be okay out here?”
“Yeah. I’ll be just fine.”
With one last squeeze of my hand, he turned and moved toward the doors we’d entered through. There was another couple standing near the doorway, but other than them, I was alone. I wanted to groan aloud. I’d had no idea Ben had any romantic interest in me. He’d never even hinted that he’d felt more than a friendly, coworker respect. Maybe he’d just been waiting for our project to end so that if I was interested, too, there wouldn’t be any worry of impropriety.
I simply wasn’t attracted to Ben as more than a friend. Did Callen ruin me for other men? Or rather, will he continue to ruin me?
A soft, tinkling sound caught my attention, and I turned, drawing in a sharp breath and freezing.
Callen. One hip leaned in the doorway of a second entrance near the end of the patio. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and when he swirled it casually, the tinkling of the ice sounded again.
I backed up against the railing, my hands latching on to the edge behind me, and watched him. He pushed himself off the doorway and walked slowly to where I stood, my heart galloping in my chest at his approach.
He was wearing a tuxedo, but something about him looked far from formal. His jaw was dark with stubble, his hair was tousled and a little too long, and his bow tie was crooked and a bit loose, as if he’d recently pulled at it.
“We meet again on a rooftop in Paris,” he said, his voice slightly slurred. He’s drunk. He stepped right up to me, boxing me in.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my pulse jumping. I could smell his cologne mixed with the singular scent of his skin, and though he looked worse for wear, he smelled the same. It caused my heart to ache with longing. No, no, no.
He inclined his head toward the door where Ben had exited just a few minutes earlier. “I see you haven’t wasted any time. Looking to find a daddy for junior?”
I frowned in confusion. “What?”
He tilted but caught himself. “I came here tonight to see if you had some news for me, Jessie.” He ran his hand over my stomach and then glanced at my water sitting on the balcony ledge next to my hand.
I let out a short, incredulous bark of laughter and pushed at him. He stumbled back a step, smiling as if in amusement. “Are you kidding me? First of all, I’m not pregnant, and if you wanted to know that, you didn’t have to crash my work party … drunk. You could have just called. Second of all, how dare you question me about who I spend my time with. You headline every tabloid. You dismissed me from your room so you could spend the night with another woman.” A small sob choked me, and my last word cut off abruptly, but I swallowed down my tears, refusing to appear weak in front of him. I took a shaky breath, lifting my chin. I was heartbroken, but I was angry, too. “I don’t want any part of your games, Callen. Just leave.”
For the briefest of moments, I swore I saw the shadow of pain blow across his expression, but then he replaced it with a drunken smirk. He took a quick sip of his drink. “You used to like games, Jessie. Adventures.”
“Yeah. I also used to like you.” Defeat was in my voice. I sounded tired. I felt tired. Exhausted, in fact. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Callen. For what I did. It was a mistake, and I regret it deeply. I’d do anything to change it, but I can’t. I’d never hurt you on purpose, and I think deep inside you know that.” I paused. He was watching me closely, though his expression was neatly blank. “But what you did to me was purposeful. And even worse, what you’re doing to yourself is purposeful.” I looked pointedly at his drink.
He laughed, and it sounded cold. I resisted cringing and squared my shoulders. He brought his glass to his lips again, and I saw, though his expression was a vacant half smile, his hand was shaking. Despite my resolve, tenderness welled inside me. “I saw you. I know who you are. I saw you as a boy, and I saw you as a man one beautiful weekend. You didn’t hide from me then. You didn’t hide from yourself.”
The amused smile on his face slipped. “Goddamn it, Jessie, that wasn’t even real. That weekend was as much a fantasy as the fairy tales we used to come up with together.”
“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?” I shook my head. “No. It was real, Callen, and you know it as well as I do. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’re too afraid to admit it. You’re too busy making a mess of your life and throwing away the gifts God gave you.”
He did laugh then, a harsh sound that contained more pain than anything else. “God? God? I’m bored of all your God talk. Take your writings and your stories and your questions to someone who cares. Joan of Arc was a crazy loon who heard voices, that’s all. There’s no God. And if there is, he’s never spared a second of time for me. Should I pray to him now, Jessie? Should I get down on my knees and beg for guidance?”
I shrugged. “There’s a saying about the best prayer being gratitude. You could thank him for the treasures bestowed upon you. You could thank him for the gift of your talent, for the means not only to change your life for the better but the ability to help others in so many innumerable ways, most especially with the way your music makes people feel. For the way it transforms and lifts and inspires. But what do you do instead? You waste it. You squander it.” I shook my head. “You’re a disgrace.”
His lips tipped up in a mocking smile, and he raised his glass. “That’s what he always said, too.”
“So you picked up right where he left off.” I sighed. “At some point you’re going to have to take responsibility for your own life, Callen, instead of blaming everyone else. At some point you’re going to have to stop being a coward. I sincerely hope you do.” I scooted away from the balcony ledge, turning my back on him and walking away. He didn’t call my name, and I didn’t look back.
I left him there to fight his battle … or not.
Because I understood now.
Some battles could only be fought alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JESSICA
Monday morning dawned warm and sultry; summer was in the air. The myriad scents of the Paris streets greeted me as I made my way from the train station to the Louvre: warm pavement, exhaust, fresh-baked croissants, and rich-brewing coffee.
Dr. Moreau had asked to meet with me this morning, and nervous butterflies swarmed in my belly. Ben and I had worked with him more closely during our final weeks in the Loire Valley, and he’d praised my work when we’d wrapped up at the château, so I had my fingers crossed that this meeting pertained to a job, or maybe even another temporary project. Otherwise, I’d be sending out résumés again tomorrow. I hardly had the emotional energy to job search, but a girl had to eat, and I’d do what I had to do because I didn’t have much choice.
Callen’s face flashed in my mind, the way he’d looked on the balcony of the hotel a couple of nights ago in his wrinkled tux, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t dwell on him right now. I wouldn’t. And anyway, I still felt crushed but was glad I’d said my piece to him. My heart was broken, but I’d meant what I said: he had to take responsibility for his own life. There was nothing I could do short of begging. And that wouldn’t work either. I knew from experience that people didn’t change because they were begged to do so. People changed only when they made the choice to change on their own.
I took the elevator down to Dr. Moreau’s office and rapped lightly on his door. “Entrez,” he called, and I opened the heavy, wooden door slowly.
His office was just as untidy as it’d been the first time I was there, and something about the disorderliness made me smile.
“Ah, Jessica, ma chérie, do come in.” He stood and rounded his desk, kissing me kindly on each cheek before returning to his chair. I smoothed my skirt and took a seat in front of him.
“How did you enjoy the banquet dinner? I’m sorry we only got a chance to chat briefly.”
“It was lovely. I met several of the donors and most of the Louvre staff.”