Chapter 18
Chapter 18
We’ve been working hard, and there is only a handful of boxes left to unpack. It’s been a weird afternoon. I’ve gone from trying to hold a brick wall up around myself, to baring my deepest hurt to the guy who caused it, to hearing him say he’s sorry.
Since then, we’ve been working side by side in an almost companionable way. Sure, I still need those boundaries in my four-point manifesto—the guy’s smolder is like a lethal weapon, I tell you—but that feeling of anger, of hatred for him, has all but left the room. And now, it’s easier. Nice, even.
“Last box,” I announce.
He smiles at me from across the room. “Great.”
I push back the flaps on one of the boxes and pull out a photograph. I unwrap it and turn it over to check it and my heart squeezes as I take in the image of a beautiful woman, her head back, her hair pooled on the mat behind her. How did this get in here?
“Oh, no,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
“What is it?” Alex wanders over to me, and I hastily stuff the photograph back into its bubble wrap.
“Oh, it’s a damaged frame. So annoying.” I roll my eyes to show just how annoying that would be. “I’ll take it and get it re-framed by the supplier.”
His hand is extended, palm up. “Come on, hand it over.”
I put the offending photograph behind my back and shake my head. “No. I . . . I can’t.”
He takes a step closer to me. “I’m sure whatever it is it’s not a big deal,” he says lightly.
I shake my head as I press my lips together. Once again, he’s getting too close for comfort, but this time it’s different. This time, when he sees the photograph in my hands, the easy, relaxed vibe we’ve finally been able to achieve will be completely shattered.
The edges of his lips curve into an easy smile. “If you don’t hand it over, I’ll have to do something drastic.”
My heart thuds as I ask breathlessly, “What would you have to do?”
“I’d have to tickle you,” he says in a matter-of-fact way, as though it’s the only logical choice.
Tickle me? I blink at him. How old does he think I am? Five? I shake my head again, although I’m not at all committed to it.
He takes another step closer to me, and I make a snap decision: get tickled (read: get well and truly kissed and all boundaries demolished) or hand over the photograph.
Sanity wins.
Although I know he’s not going to like what he sees, I pull the photo from behind my back and pass it to him. I hold my breath.
“Thank you,” he says with a smile as he takes it from me. “Although, I had kinda hoped you’d go for the tickle.” He flips it over in his hands and pulls off the bubble wrap then studies the photograph.
I watch his expression drop. My insides twist. “I don’t know how it got in there, Alex. I’m so sorry,” I say in a rush. “If you give it back to me, I’ll deal with it.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, all he does is stand still, looking down at the photograph for what feels like an absolute eternity.
I fill the tense silence. “It must have been on the file you sent to us.” I chew on my lip and wait for him to say something. I reach my hand out to take the photograph. “Alex, I’ll get it sorted out.”
“Here.” He thrusts it at me, and I take it with both hands. He turns away, taking a few short strides to the door. He pauses, his hand on the door handle.
I don’t say a word. My heart is breaking for him. Whoever the girl is in the photograph, she did a real number on the poor guy.
His shoulders slump. He turns to look at me and gestures at a spot by the wall with no photographs leaning up against it. “Wanna sit for a while?”
“Sure.”
We lower ourselves onto the hard, cool polished concrete floor. Sitting side by side, feeling about as comfortable as a hippo in Spandex, I wait for him to talk.
Eventually, he begins as he stares ahead of himself, his head resting against the wall behind him. “She’s the reason I’m back here in New Zealand.”
“The girl in the photo?” I ask softly.
He nods. “I knew her when I was in India. I took that photo and probably thousands more of her where she lived in Jaipur.”
“Jaipur’s a city in Rajasthan.”
His eyes flick to mine, and a brief smile passes across his face. “You’ve been paying attention.”
As we’ve worked, Alex has told me a lot about his time in India, from the temples to the food to the majestic mountains. He’s never mentioned her.
I smile back at him, but it’s too late. His own whisper of a smile is gone. “I try. What’s her name?” I ask.
He presses his lips together. “Chetana.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Yeah. It means ‘to be perceptive and conscious.’”
“Chetana. I’ll have to tell Larissa. She’ll love that.”
He harrumphs, but I can tell it’s kindly.
When he doesn’t volunteer any more about her, I ask, “What happened?” Then I add, “If you want to tell me, that is. No pressure.”
He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and then says, “It’s fine. I can tell you. We’ve been busting through boundaries lately, right?” His eyes sweep to mine and hold my gaze for a beat.
“True,” I reply with a small smile. “Was Chetana your girlfriend?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
He lets out a short, sharp laugh that takes me totally by surprise, and I nearly jump back up onto my feet. Luckily, I don’t because that would be very inappropriate right now.
“Should I take that as a no?”
He lets out a puff of air. “I worked for her father, Adarsh.”
“Is he a photographer, too?”
“He’s a businessman. Very successful. He owns half of Rajasthan—and made sure I knew it, too.”
“Is that how you met her, through her dad?”
He nods. “He saw some of my work in a gallery and asked to meet me. He wanted some family portraits done. I don’t usually do that kind of work, but Adarsh was the kind of man you didn’t say no to.” He pauses and then adds, “With Chetana, it was an instant thing, you know? Like, somehow, we both knew the moment we laid eyes on one another.”
Love at first sight.
He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “When her dad found out about us, he fired me and told me he never wanted to lay eyes on me again. I wanted to stay, to fight for her, but . . . she told me to leave.”
He told her he was going to fight for her and she told him not to? My heart has well and truly broken for him now. “Oh, Alex. That sounds so awful.” Tentatively, I place my hand on his arm.
He gives a shrug and turns to look at me, his eyes intense. “What can I do? It is what it is.”
“That’s very philosophical of you.”
“Yeah.” He rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Did you love her?” I know it’s a deeply personal question, but he asked me to sit with him. And besides, I’m intrigued.
“Whatever I did or didn’t feel for her, it’s over. Done.”
Well, that clears that up.
I look down at my hand, which is still on his arm. Suddenly feeling awkward, I remove it. “I’m sorry, Alex. It sounds terrible,” I say. It sounds woefully inadequate, considering his tragic story, but I don’t know what else to say.
“It was terrible. You’re totally right. But you know what?” He turns to look at me. “It’s in the past now, and even if I wanted to, there’s nothing I could do about it. And anyway, I’m back here in Auckland, and I’ve got an exhibition to prepare for.”
“Onwards and upwards?” I offer tentatively.
He nods, his face still grim, although I can tell he’s trying to be brave about it all. “Onwards and upwards.” He hops onto his feet and offers me his hand. I take it, and we stand together for a moment in silence, our hands clasped. “I guess we’ve both bared a little piece of our souls to one another today, haven’t we, Darcy?”
I nod, and we share a small smile.
Something has shifted between us. It feels more, well, comfortable to be with him, like we’re a couple of friends, working on a project together, sharing our stories, creating a relationship. The thought is nothing short of staggering.
Me? Friends with Alex?
“Alex?” I ask. “Are you doing okay?”
He loosens his jaw for the first time since we sat down together. “Yeah. I am.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Darcy.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” I reply breezily.
“Is that what we are?”
My heart hammers as I breathe, “If you want us to be.”
He squeezes my hand once more before he drops it. “I do.”
“Well, I guess that’s settled then.”
As he returns his attention to the photographs, I stand and watch him for a moment. Friends. That’s what he wants us to be. Friends. Because although he liked our kiss, he’s still in love with someone else.
I twist my mouth as I watch him hold a photograph up against the wall. It turns out I didn’t need my four-point manifesto after all. Just like our first kiss all those years ago, the only person truly invested in us, with any real feelings, is me.
I guess, when it comes to Alex, I’m still that eager, stupid fourteen-year-old girl with a desperate crush. And he’s still the guy who’s barely even noticed me.