Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LAURA
I open my mouth to argue but then close it again. He’s right. Except for two or three acts of moderate rebellion, my entire life has been a yes. It’s my default setting.
Was I born that way? Did my parents raise me to be like this? I don’t know. But the idea of upsetting someone, be it a loved one or a colleague at work that I don’t even like, is simply unbearable to me. I’m aware of that. Denise has been telling me to get a grip for years. And Aunt Mei always says I should be more selfish—except when she wants me to do something for her.
I slump in my seat. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Glad to see you recognize the problem,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s the first step to recovery.”
“Not sure a recovery is possible in my case.”
He leans forward, his expression curious. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because of how out of control my affliction is.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Can you give me an example?”
The one that comes to mind makes me look away, feeling a little silly.
“Come on,” he insists. “Spit it out.”
True to form, I do. “OK. Here goes. Sometimes, when you use AI to research a topic, it gives you this perfect, well-documented answer with links and references.”
“Yes…” He narrows his eyes. “And?”
“When that happens, I always write a raving thank-you note back.”
Antoine’s face splits into a grin. “Seriously?”
“Wait, it gets worse,” I warn. “As I type the praise, I imagine the AI replying that it’s happy it could help, and I get all excited.”
“Why?”
“Because, thanks to me, the machine will be proud of its work,” I say honestly. “And that makes me happy.”
Antoine bursts out laughing. His head tilts back, and he chortles and hoots and wipes his eyes. It’s the first time I’m seeing him so wildly amused.
When he catches his breath, he goes, “Wow. Are you in therapy?”
“You think I should be?”
“No, sweet cheeks.” He reaches out and cradles the side of my face. “That being said, if there’s an organization like Pleasers Anonymous, you might want to attend their meetings.”
I pull a face. “Ha ha.”
“On a more serious note, I do think you should learn to be more assertive and say no.”
I cross my arms. “You think I’m a pushover?”
“I wouldn’t call you that, but…” He pauses to think.
“My best friend Denise thinks I am.”
“Let me ask you a question.” He takes my hand. “Do you love your job at the bank?”
I didn’t see that coming. “I hate it.”
“Thought so,” he says smugly. “And I already know that designing and making costume jewelry is your true passion.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He nods, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.
His deliberately comical hint at some powerful secret knowledge cracks me up.
“I have proof,” he says. “You did wonders to salvage my lame wrist tattoo during the challenge in Sardinia. And the pieces I saw on the workstation at your studio were gorgeous.”
I feel compelled to reject his compliment. “Those weren’t my best.”
“Then your best must be smashing!”
I wave him off. “You haven’t seen a single finished piece.”
“Then show me. I’d love to see that.”
“I’m afraid you can’t,” I say. “I usually do the finishing touches in the back room of Aunt Mei’s shop and leave the pieces with her.”
“Then we can go see them at her shop.”
I shake my head. “She’s sold everything I made, and now she’s waiting for the new collection. But I’m too slow.”
“The bank job,” he circles back, “was that your choice or your parents’?”
“My parents’. Why?”
“If you quit, you’ll be able to focus on your craft.”
I roll my eyes. “My craft is just a hobby.”
“Except, it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He searches my face. “It’s your side hustle. Whatever you make, your aunt sells, which means that what you make is good enough.”
My stomach tightens at the thought of quitting my safe, albeit mind-numbing, job and jumping into the unknown.
“I can’t make a living with my craft, Antoine,” I say.
“Your aunt does.”
“It’s different.”
He cocks his head. “How?”
“She’s…” I realize I’m about to prove his point and let out a frustrated sigh. “Gutsy.”
He stares at me for a moment, my hand still in his, and then says, “Let me start with a caveat. When I urge you to put your needs first and to be less of a pleaser, I’m scoring my own goal.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m being selfless.”
I frown. “I still don’t understand.”
“How do I explain this?” He takes both my hands and brings them to his lips. “Your desire to please, combined with your curves and your extraordinary sexual responsiveness is every man’s fantasy, Laura. You’re a wet dream made flesh.”
What? I blink at him.
“And here I am,” he continues, “telling you to learn to say no. In our context, this is me showing extreme altruism.”
“Aah,” I say, finally catching his drift. “Right. Of course.”
“So, my question is, are you ready to do something bold?”
“Maybe…” I tilt my head. “What do you have in mind?”
“Quit your day job, even if it upsets your parents, and make your art your main occupation.”
“No can do.” I make a sad puppy face. “Got to pay rent.”
“Your art will take care of it.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I stare at him. “What if I don’t make enough?”
Part of me is hoping he’ll point out that we’re married, which means we’ll be renting together and paying the bills together.
“You’re right,” he grumbles, after a moment’s reflection. “Perhaps that was too radical. Give me a sec to hatch a better idea, something that forces you to be assertive without risking your livelihood.”
I withdraw my hands from his and fold them over my chest.
“Off topic,” he says, “can we switch sleeping sides? I prefer the one where you put your pajamas when we unpacked.”
“No problem.”
“Don’t you want to know why I prefer that side?”
“Why?” I ask, a little surprised.
“It’s closer to the window.”
“OK.”
He exhales, his shoulders slumping. “Laura, it was a test and you failed it.”
“What? How?”
“You gave me the side you’d picked without discussion, without even asking for a reason.” He tsk-tsks. “And when I provided one, you didn’t call me out on my selfishness.”
I let his unsparing judgment sink in.
“Aw, sweet cheeks, I’ve upset you.” He gathers me into his arms. “I didn’t mean to be harsh. I just wanted you to cut your assertive teeth on something nonrisky.”
“But you said ‘off topic’…”
“It was to trick you into lowering your guard.”
“You bastard!” I snarl at him.
He smiles and hugs me tighter. “We’ll practice more tomorrow, and every day for the rest of the week.”
Why is he doing this?
Is he entertaining himself at my expense? Or is he sincerely trying to help? Could it be that for all his coolness and distance, he’s come to care about me?
A bulb goes off in my head. I could run a test of my own—well, Denise’s test—and find out!
“Since you think I should spend more time on my craft,” I say, “do you mind if I work on a design now? There’s this pendant I started sketching, and I think it’s pretty good.”
“I don’t mind at all. Go for it!”
I grab my sketchbook and pencils. While I sit down at the dining table, Antoine fires up his laptop, balancing the sleek machine on his thighs.
“Taxes,” he explains.
We get to work. My pencil hand doesn’t hesitate. I don’t second-guess myself. The curves of the design flow easily tonight, like they’ve been waiting for this moment. The details of the pendant are sharp and vivid in my mind.
Antoine taps away on his laptop.
Minutes fly by. The soft scratch of pencil against paper and the muffled clicking of the keyboard fill the comfortable silence. Eventually, I shut the sketchbook and lean back in my chair.
Antoine looks up. “Finished?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Is he going to ask to see it? The pause stretches out, thick with hope and apprehension.
“Want some feedback?” he asks.
Is this him asking…? “You mean you want to see it?”
“I’d love to!”
Did he just pass Denise’s test? “Really? It’s not because you’re being polite?”
He gives me a low-lidded stare. “Do I look like a people pleaser to you?”
“No.”
I can’t stop grinning. He passed it! He passed the time-worthiness test, and I’m way too giddy about it.
God help me.