Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MAIA
“ S ir, the food is on the terrace,” Sharon interrupts the silence that’s almost suffocating us.
“Thank you. You can leave. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Excuse me, sir. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Ocampo.”
I smile at her. “Nice meeting you too.”
“Maia, let’s go to the terrace. We can continue our conversation.”
“What if I get so upset that the only thing left to do is push you over the railing?”
He laughs. “You’re still funny. Come with me.”
I follow him, and my jaw drops when I get to what could be described as the most beautiful patio in the world. There’s a stone fireplace in the middle, lounging chairs, and a coffee table in between them. I could spend every evening here.
“Maia, can we please talk about this war?”
I give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the car.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t like what you did the day before.”
“Driving you against your will was one of the most stupid things I’ve done in a long time, and I’m so sorry. I hope you know that I’d never hurt you,” he says as he pours a glass of wine and offers it to me.
I take a few drinks, and I finally ask the same question, “Why did you do it?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Driving you like an idiot? I wanted to have a word with you.”
“No. Why did you leave me without a word, taking our project and then using it to…well, become a billionaire?”
He gives me a look that says, what are you talking about.
“Are you denying that you left me?”
He shakes his head. “I?—”
“Gatsby, I just need the truth. It was so unlike you to turn off your phone, ignore my calls, and well, you just disappeared. We were a couple. You swore to love me, and one day you disappeared on me without an explanation.”
He takes a seat, grabs his glass of wine, and stares at the horizon for several moments. I don’t know if he’ll answer or just call Owen to take me back to my hotel.
“Dad died.” He says the two words so quietly I almost miss them.
There’s so much pain in his eyes that I almost tell him it doesn’t matter. The last thing I want is to see him suffering.
“I didn’t tell you, but the day before I left, a fire turned the vineyard to ashes. Dad was devastated, but he insisted that we would revive it and come out strong.”
“The last time we made love, it felt as if you were leaving. You knew already, didn’t you?”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly. I needed to go home. I was trying to figure out a way to convince you to come with me. If I didn’t succeed, I knew I’d be away from you for at least a week—or probably the rest of the semester.
My family needed me. If I failed, I could repeat the semester all over again.
I just didn’t know how we would see each other, and that part was killing me.
“On my way to my apartment, I got a call from Aslan. Dad died. My uncle hired a charter so I could fly out right away. I just left, not knowing what would happen with my family or my future.”
He tells me how he co-parented with Lysander and Aslan.
He tells me about their work with the vineyard, the sleepless nights caring for his mother.
He was the one making meals and driving everyone to their activities.
He would help with the company too. I almost snort when he tells me that Aslan’s fiancée cheated on him during the funeral, but I refrain.
“My life changed too much. I had nothing to offer to you. You had dreams and aspirations, and it was unfair to even think about including you in my life. All I had left were our memories and the projects we worked on.” He closes his eyes briefly.
“Every night, I tweaked the applications, perfected them. It was the only way I was close to you.”
“You could’ve contacted me.”
“And disrupt your life? I didn’t know what was going to happen with my future. My mother wouldn’t talk. She barely ate. My brothers and sisters…it was hard to raise teenagers, you know?”
I’m so upset with him. Why wouldn’t he tell me? I could’ve… I stop myself from saying something stupid and from being angry.
He was a twenty-year-old kid with too many responsibilities.
He was also afraid and lonely. And maybe he was protecting himself from losing me if I decided that he wasn’t enough.
More so now that I heard him say that fucking Margie was caught cheating.
He always compared our relationship to his brother’s, even when it was different.
“We were children,” I mumble.
“I never meant to hurt you. I loved you too much to want to harm you in any way.” He turns to look at me. After several seconds, he says, “For the record, I still love you.”
“You don’t know me,” I argue.
“True. I don’t, but I love you. I love the girl I met that humid August afternoon, staring at a U-Haul as if it were a puzzle to be solved. I love the girl who trusted me with her heart, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
The way he speaks melts my heart and confuses me even more. “You can’t talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth, Maia. You can’t just tell me what I can feel or think because it’s not convenient. Actually, why is it bothering you?”
“Trying to stop loving you has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life.
You’re joking about being emotionless, but I am frigid.
I avoid feelings because I don’t want to end up like that girl you left.
That’s what I’ve been dealing with over the weekend.
I realized that I even pushed my family away, so they don’t find out what I did during my first year away from home. I disobeyed them.”
“You always tried to please them. Are you still doing the same?”
“Mostly, but instead of calling them every night, I send a text or two when I have good news to share with them.”
“Did you ever tell them about me?”
I caress my throat, trying to undo the knot forming. Tears, memories, and pain are gnarled in there, closing my airways. “No. Not even when I was brokenhearted. I hid my feelings from them.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Since we’re talking about the past, I tell him about the presentation and how I had a panic attack that landed me in the psych ward.
“To this day, Mom and Dad think it was the pressure of being away from home. They helped me transfer to Caltech for my senior year, and that’s where I studied my master’s degree. ”
He kneels in front of me and holds my hands. “I’m sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“Why launch the programs without me?”
“They had been the only thing that kept me going. I thought they were ready for everyone to enjoy.”
“Those were mine too.”
He looks at our hands and then back at me. “Yes. It was a product of us. I needed it to succeed—a reason to start a new life.”
“Why didn’t you look for me?”
“Because your parents had a plan for you, Maia. After raising my siblings, I understood them. They have your best interest at heart. You always obeyed them. What were you supposed to do after finishing college and your master’s degree?”
“Get married,” I mumble.
He nods. “I wasn’t going to interrupt your life. In my mind, you had moved on and forgotten about the idiot who ghosted you. They found you the perfect man who’d spend the rest of his life with you.”
And that’s the problem I have with my parents. They had a perfect plan for me, and I just pushed them away, avoiding them because I wasn’t going to follow through. This is why I feel like I don’t fit with them or anyone.
“There wasn’t a life to disrupt. I shut myself down,” I confess. “Now, I can’t have an honest conversation with my family. They only know about my career. Only my best friend hears about my failures or the bad dates I accumulate. Mom and Dad think I’m perfect and that I’m ashamed of them.”
“That’s ridiculous, you’re pretty flawed, but that’s what makes you beautiful. I witnessed how much you loved them and respected them. I’m sure you can repair your relationship if you communicate with them.”
I snort. “They might stop talking to me when they realize I’ve been lying to them.”
I lean my head on the back of the lounge chair and close my eyes. This past week has been emotionally draining.
“You know what I plan to do?” Gatsby interrupts the long silence.
“Cancel your appearances at the conference and go home?”
“That’s a good idea, but I need to stay—and you do too.”
“You’re not fun. What’s your idea, Spearman?”
His hooded gaze flickers mischievously. “I’ve decided that I’m going to fall in love with you.”
I stare at him with astonishment. “I’m not interested.”
“You can’t help falling.”
“I won’t. I understand what happened, but you did a lot of damage. My heart doesn’t work.”
He nods, taking a seat on the lounge chair next to me. “I understand why you think you’ll never trust me or love me again.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that my heart breaks. His voice is cold, like how he speaks at a conference or interview. And I realize that maybe I’m not one hundred percent over him, but what does that mean?