Overseas (16 page)

“Whoa. Wait. Stop. What
happened
, Julian? It’s like… it’s like Christmas all over again! And I swear I won’t let you get away with it this time. What’s
wrong
?”

“Christ, Kate,” he burst out, pounding the steering wheel, “you don’t know anything about me. I shouldn’t have… I’m the most selfish bastard alive, aren’t I?”

“Stop it! What does that even
mean
? Julian. Julian, will you listen to me a moment? Pull the car over.”

“No. I’m taking you home.”

“You’re not. I won’t leave.”

“I don’t want you to stay.”

“Yes, you do. You
need
me to stay. Julian,” I said, more softly, “you
promised
. The other night, you
promised
me you cared. So prove it. Don’t let me down, here.”

That penetrated. He drove silently down Park, toward midtown. I remained quiet too, not wanting to disturb the truce too soon, letting him work things through in his mind, talk himself off the ledge. Mozart’s clarinets wandered nimbly in the stillness between us. Outside the tinted windows of the Maserati, as we waited for the light to change, a fortysomething couple propelled a sport-wheeled twin stroller across Fifty-ninth Street, arguing, gesticulating.

I turned to Julian. “Forget the date. You’re taking me back to your place, and we’re going to talk.”

J
ULIAN DROVE THE CAR BACK
to the garage and took my hand to lead me to his front door. The windows were all darkened, except for a glimmer from some distant corner of the first floor. He allowed me in first, closing the door behind us, and punched a few numbers into the alarm keypad.

I turned to face him. “I’m hungry,” I announced.

He laughed, unexpectedly. “I expect you are. All right. The kitchen’s downstairs.”

“Can you make an omelet?” I asked, making my way down the staircase.

“Not well.”

The kitchen was at the back, modern and well-fitted, with marble countertops that glowed in the warm incandescence of a dozen recessed lights. It was about eight times as large as the kitchen area in my shared
apartment. “Do you even use this thing?” I asked, staring at the spotless stainless-steel gleam of the Wolf range.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he said, injured. “Porridge and whatnot. I have a housekeeper who comes by a few times a week, while I’m at work. She makes things up for me.”

“Wow. Must be nice.” I opened up the Sub-Zero and peered inside. A few casserole dishes were stacked in the middle, along with milk and orange juice and ketchup. “Oh good,” I said, “she’s left us some eggs.”

I hunted around and found some fancy artisan cheese and a tomato, closed the door with the heel of my shoe, and began rummaging around the cabinets for a frying pan and a mixing bowl. “You should tell your housekeeper not to leave the tomatoes in the fridge,” I said. “It takes away the flavor.”

“Look, Kate,” he began, “I’m sorry for…”

“Nope. Not now. You can’t have a reasonable discussion on an empty stomach. Find me some butter, will you? I, sir, am going to make you the best darned omelet you’ve ever tasted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said humbly. He brought me the butter while I whipped up the eggs into froth and added a splash of water. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he observed, watching me pour the mixture into the pan.

“I don’t cook much, but I do make a mean omelet. My father taught me. Mom would sleep in on Saturday mornings, and we’d make her breakfast.” I looked up and smiled at him. “Good times. Where are your plates?”

He brought over plates and forks, and when the omelets were done I slid them into place. “Here,” I said. “Eat it and weep.”

We sat down at the counter and began eating companionably, like an old married couple, forks clinking on china. “There,” I said, after a few bites, “is that better?”

“Much. This is a jolly good omelet.”

“Well, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll make them again sometime.” I reached for my glass of water, and his hand caught my arm.

“Is that from the other night?” he asked.

I turned my elbow. Only a single Band-Aid remained, over the worst of the scrape. “It’s healing.” I shrugged.

His finger ran over the top. “I’m sorry about that. Any other wounds?”

“Bruise or two. I might even show you, if you get lucky tonight.”

He let out a single crack of laughter. “
Lucky?
At this point, I’d require divine bloody intervention, wouldn’t I?”

We finished eating and put the dishes in the dishwasher. “Now,” I said, turning around to face him, “take me back upstairs and we’ll talk.”

He stood closer than I thought. I felt the warmth of his body, the tickle of his breath on my nose. He studied me, only inches away, his eyes full of some concentrated emotion. His hands reached up and brushed against my ears, not quite cupping my face, the thumbs caressing the very outermost points of my cheekbones. “What a marvelous woman you are,” he said.

“It’s just an omelet,” I said shakily.

Before I could so much as gasp, he bent and picked me up, bearing me upstairs to the library, where he set me on the sofa and knelt on the rug before me.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t know what happened back there, and I don’t care. I don’t care if we never go out on a so-called date. That’s not important. What’s important is that you don’t shut me out like that again. Ever. For as long as we’re together. If you’re done with me, tell me. I won’t be a pain about it. But don’t go
cold
on me.”

“I’m British. It’s what we do.”

I struggled upright. “Well, we’re in America right now. And if you’re on my turf, you play by my rules. Oh, Julian,” I said, more softly, lifting my hand to smooth his cheek, “you know, you don’t need to explain. You lived thirty-three years before you met me, and I’m sure there was plenty of stuff in there you don’t want to talk about. That’s okay. But don’t break up with me because of
that
. Break up with me because you don’t care anymore.
That
I can take.”

“Kate.
Kate
. You don’t know what you’re saying. Not
care
about you? Have you been listening to me at all?”

“Men have been known to change their minds.”

He lifted both hands and ran them through his hair. “If only you
knew
, Kate. If only I could
make
you understand. My God!” He caught his breath.

“Well,
try,
for God’s sake. It’s important.”

He put his hand on my arm. “Kate, listen. This
thing
in my past. All right, I won’t deny it’s there. But it’s bigger than you could imagine. It’s not just
baggage
, or whatever the modern term is. It’s essential to who I am.”

“And you can’t tell me.”

“Not for the reason you’re thinking. Not because I don’t
want
you to know, to share fully in who I am. I want that more than anything.”

“Then why not?”

He leaned back on his heels and looked up at the ceiling. “Because it’s too great a risk. To you particularly.”

“A risk. A
risk
. Well, gosh, Julian. Now you’ve really got me curious. Did you commit murder or something?”

He flinched.

“Whoa,” I breathed.

“No, no,” he said hastily. “Not
murder
, for heaven’s sake.” He ran another agitated hand through his hair. “Look, you promised not to press me on it. Can you just give me time, please? Time to sort things out? It’s just so damned complex, and I don’t know what the right thing is anymore. Probably there
is
no right thing.”

He looked so anxious, so deeply perplexed. I felt a surge of emotion for him, ferocious enough to stop the breath in my lungs. “Why?” I whispered.

“Why what?”

“Why me? You could have anyone. You hardly know me at all.”

He smiled then, a tiny wistful smile, tender and intimate. His right thumb reached and stroked along my eyebrow, down the side of my face, around my jaw, feathering my lips. “Kate. I know you far better than you
realize. And I never want you to ask that question again. Never again to wonder what I feel for you.” He paused briefly, thoughtfully. “Would it help if I said it aloud?”

I found myself nodding.

“You certainly
ought
to hear it, putting up with all my mad behavior as generously as you have.” A deprecating shake of his head, and then he went on in a low voice. “Sweetheart, I love you. Of course I do. I love every priceless inch of you. I love you idolatrously, for a thousand reasons, and I shall never stop. Hush,” he said, laying his finger on my lips again, “you don’t need to say anything. I’m a patient man. Just be easy. Know that it’s there, that you needn’t doubt me on this, at least.”

He bowed his head to settle a silken kiss into the hollow of my throat, holding it there for what seemed an eternity before his mouth began to move up my collarbone, melting it in his wake. I tilted my head back, feeling the prickle of his hair against my cheek. “You… are the most baffling man,” I managed.

“How so?”

“You just… you fell in love with me… just like
that
?” My concentration kept lapsing; I struggled to hold on to my thoughts, which I knew were important.

I felt his laugh against the skin of my neck. “Well, look at you, darling. You’re love-at-first-sight material.”

“Using my own words against me.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“I just can’t believe it. That you would feel that way already. That you would
admit
it.”

“Well, as they say,” he said, nibbling at my earlobe, slipping down to kiss the vale behind it, “faint heart never won fair lady.”

I lifted my hand to the back of his head. “I’m going… to find out.”

“Yes, I expect you shall. What fragrant skin you have, darling; how convenient that the woman one loves should turn out to be so perfectly…” He paused to kiss the curve of my jaw.

“Perfectly what?”

“Delectable.”

I couldn’t take any more. I wrapped my arms about his neck; my face reached toward him, begging for his kiss. I heard him chuckle, deep in his throat, and then at last his lips met mine, hungry and reckless, and I realized he was as desperate as I was. He knelt in front of me, kissing me madly, his warm spread fingers clasping my face, his scent and his taste flooding every pore of me, until all rational thought detached from my skull. My fingers slipped down, almost by themselves, and began to work the buttons on his shirt, trying to discover the precious skin underneath.

He drew away. He put up his hand and trapped my fingers and twisted them around his own. His chest was heaving hard; I could feel it beneath my hand.

“Kate, wait. I don’t think…”

I looked down. “I’m sorry,” I found myself saying, “I just… I don’t know.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, shall we?”

“
Hasty
? You’re talking to me about
hasty
?”

“Kate, don’t be angry.”

“Angry? Julian, I’m so full of crazy feelings right now, angry just doesn’t have room. Do you want me to stay, or not?”

“My God, Kate. There’s nothing I want more,” he said, his voice catching, his fingers biting into mine. “Nothing else I can
think
about. But not yet. Not yet,
please
.”

I stared at him. “Okay. Whatever.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, guys don’t usually put the brakes on,” I said. “Especially after the ‘I love you’ gambit.”

An austere expression settled on his face. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, please, Julian. Let’s not have the sex talk right now. I’m not up to it, after everything else.”

“The
sex
talk?”

I waved my hand, evading his look. “Going through our quote unquote histories, dredging up all the ghosts. Can we just have the executive summary and move on?”

He went still for a moment, taut as a crossbow, bright color staining his cheekbones. “Come here,” he said at last, and sat down next to me on the sofa and gathered me into his lap. “If we do this,” he said, the softness of his voice belying the lithe tension in his body, “
when
we do this, it will have nothing to do with what’s gone before, for either of us. Nothing. Because I frankly can’t bear to think about someone else being with you, and not loving you the way I do. So let’s just leave it a blank slate.” He kissed my temple. “God knows I don’t want you to leave tonight, Kate. I want you to fall asleep next to me, every night of my life. But I’m going to walk you home now, all the same, because I think we’d better not cross that particular Rubicon just yet. Don’t you?”

“I… I don’t know.
Not just yet
. What does that
mean
? Do you…”—I swallowed—“do you need me to say it, too?”

“No, darling.” His hand brushed along my arm. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Then I don’t understand. I just… aren’t I… don’t you
want
me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kate,” he groaned. “Not
want
you? Bloody Christ.”

“Look, you’re confusing the hell out of me! If you were in love with me from the beginning, why did you walk away? And if you
do
love me, why won’t you just haul me upstairs and
show
me?”

“I left,” he said rigidly, “because I thought it was best for you. I didn’t realize… I thought I was only hurting myself, at that point. But I shan’t forsake you again, Kate, I swear it. And as for hauling you upstairs… God knows…” He shook his head. “It’s too important to me, Kate. I won’t rush you into something you’re not ready for.”

“Not
ready
for? Of course I’m
ready
! Trust me, I’ve never
been
so ready!”

He laughed hollowly. “No, darling. You’re not.”

“And you think you know what’s
best
for me?”

“In this case, I do.”

I opened my mouth to cite Beauvoir, chapter and verse, but something stopped me, some unexpected flare of self-insight, or else some realization of what, exactly, he was offering me. So I turned away from him instead, eased myself back against his broad body, squinted up at the ceiling. “You know,” I said, after a moment, “no one’s ever tried to talk me out of sex before.”