Icy Pretty Love (24 page)

"There you are. I was worried you'd abandoned me." He grins.

I take a deep breath. Annabelle's an idiot. Love doesn't come into this. "Sorry. I keeled over from hunger for a while. Let's ditch this popsicle stand and go grab some lunch, yeah?"

We leave the Louvre and head to a cute cafe in the area. He gets steak tartar and I munch on pastries.

"I'm going to miss the pastries. That's the main thing, for sure," I say through a mouthful of crumbs.

"Really? What else will you miss?" he asks, cool as can be.

I play along. "The cheese. And the wine. I've never had cheaper or better red wine. Back home, it was mostly PBR."

"What's that?"

"Nevermind."

He nods. "The cheese and the wine. Anything else?"

"The food in general. The markets. The museums. And that's about it."

"Ah." He returns to his lunch, but he can't hide his crestfallen expression. I wonder if he's getting worse at hiding his emotions from me, or if I'm just getting better at seeing through the mask.

I poke his arm. "And one dumb guy named Cohen Ashworth."

"I didn't know you'd met someone with the same name as me," he says with a straight face. This time, instead of poking, I punch his arm lightly.

"Ow."

"You deserved that."

"Probably," he agrees.

I wipe up some cream on my plate with a finger and lick it off, not missing the way Cohen watches me. "So," I say, as if the question wasn't that important. "How long do you think you'll stay in Paris?"

"I'm not sure. There are some pros and cons."

"That so?"

"Pros—it's very far away from my father." He sips his coffee. "Cons - it's full of tourists."

"You're getting better at tourists, though. In fact, today I'd say you were downright polite to them."

"Can't disappoint my niceness teacher," he remarks. "Anyway, I came here really in the first place to try and convince LeCrue to sell me his company. Now that that's off the table, there's nothing tying me here, per se."

My heart leaps, though I do a masterful job concealing it. "Mmm, yes, I understand."

He watches me silently for a minute. "You want me to leave Paris?"

I cough mid-bite of pastry. Crumbs fly onto the cobblestones, the future gourmet dessert of mice. "I didn't say that. I definitely didn't even say that at all."

"Your face did. You're not very good at concealing your reactions with me. I can't imagine how you do it with others."

So much for my impressive subterfuge. "My other clients don't generally take the time to get to know me, in a non-physical sense."

"Pity," he says. "They probably can't even imagine what they're missing out on."

My face flames. "You make me blush, did you know that? I never used to blush, not since I was like ten. Suddenly I meet you and my face could be an advertisement for a cherry farm."

He smirks. "Nice to know I have an effect."

That smug dork. I can't believe people are usually intimidated by him. He looks so damn cute sitting there behind his empty plate, with his coat collar turned up against the cold, that I throw caution to the winds. "Maybe I do want you to leave Paris. So what?"

"Where do you think I would go if I left Paris?" he asks carefully.

"The U.S., I was assuming. Unless you have a citizenship somewhere else I'm unaware of."

His face turns suddenly serious. I don't like that. I was doing such a good job maintaining my lighthearted tone.

"Rae," he says, leaning forward. "What are your plans for your new life?"

"Oh, I don't know," I say, blushing again. Seriously, that shit has to stop. "I was thinking I'd get my GED. Then...it might be fun to be a teacher. An elementary school teacher, maybe. I'd always thought it would be cool to do interesting stuff in the classroom, like have everyone act out lessons and things. I'd like to live somewhere where it snows in the winter. New England. No cities—I want a small town. A little house where I have to dig out the driveway on Christmas. And a dog. Some really dopey dog I get at a shelter, a mutt. None of that purebred nonsense."

He nods. "I think that life will suit you very well."

"So do I, actually. I'd look bangin' in one of those giant oversized sweaters."

He smiles a little sadly. "I know you'll find a fantastic person to share that life with you."

I frown. The muscles in my forehead do it all on their own. Annabelle's words repeat in my mind, insistently. "Well, that's just the thing," I say, stammering only a little. "I was thinking, maybe, you know. If you do end up going to the U.S. I'm not saying you'd have to bunker down with me in New England right away, or even ever, that'd be dumb. But maybe—maybe we could hang out a little."

His melancholy smile disappears. He seems to be wrestling for control of his face. Something twisted and desperate flashes in his eyes, only to be beaten down. "Rae. Believe me when I say that there's nothing I would like more than to see you again after this week is over. To see you every day."

I don't have to doubt him. There's a wrench in voice that speaks of absolute honesty. For a second the idea of us flashes through my mind—sitting on the couch together, watching dumb movies, cooking dinner together. Annabelle was right. It would be a great story to tell our kids, though I'd probably leave out that initial part of my career.

"I've thought about it," Cohen says. "I've thought about it hard, and I've tried to come up with some way to make it work. Some scenario in which I wouldn't end up hurting you. Disappointing you. But they all end the same way. And none of them ends with you happy. Which is what I want for you, more than anything. Anything in the world.”

“That’s a little arrogant of you, don’t you think?” I say, and I hate how tight my words sound. “Acting like you know the future.”

“I don’t know the future. But I do know myself.” He inhales. “Thanks to you, I’ve learned to act differently around others. I’ve learned that just because I might not deserve kindness, it doesn’t mean other people aren’t deserving. But you can’t change the core of who someone is, Rae. There’s a blackness in me. And I know that if I spent too long with you, it would spread to you, like a disease. Corrupt you. I can’t have that.”

I want to yell at him. Want to accuse me of utmost stupidity. But a tiny voice in my ear won’t stop whispering. What right do you have, Rae, to essentially demand he try a relationship with you? You’re from different worlds. What if all this is just his attempt to let you down nicely, to dodge around the one thing that you know is truly keeping you apart?

I stand up. “You don’t have to lie, Cohen. Haven’t I told you I’m good at noticing when other people are lying?”

“I’m not—”

I laugh bitterly. “I’ve been stupid. A stupid little girl. I’m sorry.”

“Rae,” he says, growing angry. “You’re not stupid. I never want to hear you call yourself that.”

“But I am! If I was smarter, I wouldn’t have let myself hope—” I’m cut off by my own strangled sob. It’s the most pathetic noise anyone’s ever made.

“No,” he says, standing up. “No, don’t be sad, no—”

I back away, both hands held up. “I’m gonna—I just want to take a walk, okay? By myself, for a while. I need it. I need to think. I’m sorry.”

I turn around and leave, and the only thing I do right is that I don’t run.

I walk until my feet are sore and my nose is frozen solid. I walk until it's past dinnertime and I know I have to go back to the apartment soon and face all the stupid things I said.

What if I just disappear now?

Find someplace to lay low until my plane leaves in a few days. A cheap hotel. Buy some wine and hole up and never speak to Cohen again.

God, I would be such an asshole.

Instead, I text the only person who's been able to help me so far.

RG: I screwed up again.

RG: What, nothing?

RG: Not even an 'of course you did.'

Sam: I'm...sorry.

Sam: What happened?

R
G: You were right, is all.

RG: I shouldn't have let myself get that close to him.

RG: I expected things I had no right to expect, things I thought I was too smart to expect. But I guess I wasn't.

RG: I thought I'd learned better than this. But I guess I haven't.

RG: It's all stupid Annabelle's fault. Saying those things.

RG: When in reality it's no surprise.

Sam: What do you mean?

RG: I worked it out, see.

RG: Maybe I'm smart after all.

RG: It would never work between us. He's right.

RG: But not because of him. That's something all guys say when they don't want to hurt your feelings, or so I've heard.

RG: Points to him for being the first guy to honestly try not to hurt my feelings.

RG: Anyway. The point is.

RG: He doesn't want to be with me for the same reason no one ever will.

Sam: ...What reason is that?

RG: Because

RG: I'm

RG: Tainted. Dirty, unclean.

RG: Because of what I've done for my job.

RG: I'm the type of girl no normal man will ever want, especially not a rich and cultured guy like him.

RG: The only guy who'll ever want me is the type I've already had more than enough of.

RG: So I'll just be alone. That's fine.

RG: I'll have my little house, and my dog, and my snow.

RG: That's fine. That's enough.

Sam: ...

Sam: That's what you really think? That he doesn't want you because you're 'unclean'?

RG: That pretty much summarizes it.

Sam: Rae.

Sam: I can't do this anymore.

RG: Shit, I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that you're a real person who probably doesn't want to be bothered with all my dumbass problems.

RG: Wait.

RG: When did I tell you my name?

Sam: I'm sorry. I've been lying to you.

RG: Wait...

Sam: It's me, Rae. It's Cohen.

Sam: It's been me all along.

Sam: The number my father gave you was my private cell number. It's not the one I usually use.

Sam: Sam is my middle name. Samuel.

Sam: I didn't realize who you were when you texted me that first time, I promise.

Sam: But eventually I figured it out.

Sam: And then I didn't tell you...because...

Sam: You were confiding in me. About me.

Sam: I want to say that it helped me understand you, and myself.

Sam: But that would be a cop-out.

Sam: The truth is that it was voyeuristic and deceptive and I am so, so sorry.

Sam: I should have told you a long time ago.

Sam: But at the same time...

Sam: I knew you didn't have anyone else here you could talk to.

Sam: I wanted you to have someone you could vent to. Someone who you could take your valid complaints about me to.

Sam: I never expected you to ask for advice on my behalf. To try to help me.

Sam: I was fascinated. I couldn't make myself tell you the truth.

Sam: I'm sorry, I'm burying you in texts. I'm having a hard time finding the words.

Sam: I understand if you hate me now.

Sam: Rae?

RG: It's been you all along?

Sam: Yes.

RG: So...in the beginning, when I complained about the grumpy guy I knew...I was complaining about you...to you?