32. Baldo
Brook follows her sharp intake of breath with a soft, pained whimper, and jerks her head as if I slapped her. “What are you talking about?”
I was half hard all afternoon, thinking about finding her in the lingerie and playing with that damn toy.
The day has been torture, thinking about her constantly. If I don’t focus on my job, who even am I?
I have two obsessions in my life: Brook and my work. But somehow once the first one became part of my life, no space has been left for the other.
We stare at each other in a silent duel. Confused and hurt. That’s how she looks. And if I’m honest with myself—not that I’ve been practicing that much—that’s exactly how I feel.
“I’m talking about you choosing the family. Choosing your dad.” She flinches at each word. It gives me no satisfaction, and yet I can’t help myself. “Giving up on us before we even had a chance.”
It’s like I want to share the heavy load of guilt. To blame her, so I can absolve myself. It’s not working. Not even a bit, but I can’t take the words back.
Her bottom lip quivers, but she straightens her spine. “I chose you.”
Could I have it all wrong? “I stayed in the hotel overnight, then I paid for another night. You weren’t answering your phone, so I went back home.”
She plasters her hand over her mouth and gasps. “You came back?”
A steamroller of realization flattens all my previous assumptions as that afternoon plays in my head.
“Where have you been?” Dad demanded, not even letting me past the threshold.
“I’m back, aren’t I?” My teenage self responded, annoyed by his treatment. He hadn’t been hostile, but certainly reserved since he had caught us kissing.
“You’re not welcome here,” he whisper-yelled at me.
I looked over his shoulder and my eyes met Mom’s. A couple of feet behind Dad, she had tears brimming in her eyes, both hands clasped to her chest. But she didn’t interfere when Dad stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
“What are you doing? This is my house.”
He stared at me with a mixture of regret, pain and anger. “Not anymore.”
“Let me see Brook.” I didn’t care about his opinion anymore. I needed to see her. To find out what happened.
“Son, she doesn’t want to see you. I think it’s best for everybody that you stay away.”
“No, no.” Brook shakes her head. “Dad wouldn’t…” Tears roll down her cheeks. She keeps shaking her head, as if denying the truth might make the outcome digestible.
“He did. And Mom let him.”
The words are final, as painful said out loud as they were silent, spinning in my head for almost a decade.
“No, no, I can’t believe…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, her eyes pleading with me, but also becoming resigned to the bitter truth. “Baldo, oh my God. That’s why Mom didn’t want Dad to know we got married. They never approved. They kicked you out. They will never approve.”
“I don’t need their approval.”
Taking off my jacket, I hang it on the chair. I should have pushed more. I shouldn’t have let Micah shove me away.
Brook slams down into her chair. She’s too quiet, and I hate that I don’t know if she needs consoling or if she needs time alone to absorb this fucking revelation.
I don’t know what to do with that either. Over the years, when I always considered she might not have made that choice, or she might have changed her mind, I locked it away as wishful thinking.
It’s not like her life looked to be filled with grief.
“Talk to me, Brook.”
She snorts. “Says the man who keeps his cards to himself. Why didn’t you tell me when I told you about that night?”
“Really? I don’t think there was room for it that night. If I mentioned it then, it would have been an accusation. I believed Micah when he told me you didn’t want to see me.”
“Is that why you did all of this but never approached me?” She points at the computer.
Outside, the world is waking up for the night of partying. Laughter, cat-calling, music and roaring cars flow by on the street below.
My old habits call for me to go downstairs and check that everything is prepared for the night ahead.
I should make a few phone calls to deliver on the commitments I made in Italy today.
My desk is overflowing with paperwork that I’m sure Chloe didn’t tackle.
And while I think of it all, I don’t have an iota of desire to go through the motions.
Not that I particularly want to discuss the past or my obsessive surveillance with Brook, but I would still rather be here with her than anywhere else.
Even when she is mad or heartbroken—I don’t know how to handle drama—I still want to be with her.
What that means, I’m not ready to contemplate. But somewhere between our pathetic wedding ceremony and tonight, my subconscious decided for me.
I belong to this woman. I belong with this woman.
I’ll believe enough for both of us for now.For now, she said. For her, this is still a temporary arrangement. A means to an end.
Well, fuck that, I wanted to protect myself from the pain, but I had no chance from the beginning.
From the moment I saw her in the kitchen of our Riverdale childhood home, I was desperately destined to get hurt. No matter how much I believed I was in charge.
“I almost did once. It was more to confront you, to find out why the fuck you gave up on us. I was in London, and I looked you up.”
I sit down across from her at the table. With Brook behind her laptop, there is an offensive gap between us. Like this is a formal interrogation.
Perhaps she needs some answers. I want to put all this behind us.
Start afresh. If that’s even possible.
“You did? What happened?” She slaps the notebook closed, leaning forward.
“I caught you leaving your building with that fucking D-list actor you’d just started dating.”
“Dylan…” She groans, and lowers her head to the glass tabletop and taps it with her forehead.
“Yeah. You were laughing and looked so happy, I decided to let it go. I thought it was perhaps only me who regretted what could have been.”
Lifting her head, she stares at me, pain and fatigue marring her beautiful face. “So you just left, but continued watching me from afar?”
“For another two years, yes, then I gave up.”
“I’m glad you gave up.”
“You have every right to be upset about my invasion of your privacy.”
“I think I’m too stunned from all the revelations to even be mad at you. But I’m glad you gave up, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come home. You would have continued to avoid me?”
She phrases it like a question. Like she’s daring me to confirm or deny, and hoping at the same time. Not sure what she’s hoping for.
“Perhaps not, or maybe I would have. We will never know. I was shocked to see you there, but in some strange way also relieved. Even happy.”
“I was pissed.” She snorts.
I chuckle. It’s a sad rumble, but I can’t deny it feels good to shed the layers of resentment we’ve harbored against each other for so long.
“Frankly, I’m shocked you didn’t give up a long time ago. It’s not like my life is anything to be proud of.”
She scoots her feet up, resting her chin on her knee. Her blonde hair frames her face in that angelic way I remember from our childhood.
“What are you talking about? You became a bestselling author. I read your books. You’re really talented.”
Her eyes widen. “You read my books?”
“Of course. I’m very diligent in everything I do, including my obsessive stalking.”
She snorts. “There is something really wrong with me, because the dumb girl in me is thrilled you kept tabs on me.”
I give her a lopsided smile. “We’re both fucked up.”
She grins, and we stare at each other for a moment, and then her stomach growls.
I stand up. “Get dressed.”
She reaches for the box I sent her earlier, left on the table, and pulls out the skimpy garment from it. “This?” She arches her eyebrow.
“Later. Now get that sexy ass into a dress, so we can go for dinner.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s Portugal. We’ll be among the first guests.”
* * *
We walk to my favorite restaurant, Brook’s hand a treasure in mine. The contact is comforting and odd at the same. Like we’re a genuine couple when it’s never been true.
We don’t talk. There has been too much of that. Every conversation between us lately has been fucking life-changing. I don’t think I can handle any more.
And yet, the idea of banal topics feels too unattainable for us. She was right when she said we used to be able to talk a lot.
It was easy back then, when we were trying to figure out who we were.
Now? Now it’s like every new bit of information opens a can of worms and unravels something. And that’s before I even consider that I’m helplessly falling for her.
Yeah, it’s official. I’m a glutton for heartbreak. Because that’s where this leads.
I have never judged Brook for her irresponsible, wild life. I understand her behavior better now. Her way to escape the trauma she carries around.
But after all that, life with me would quickly bore her. She’s looking at us through a temporary lens, and soon she’ll move on to live her grand life, instead of sticking with the man who buries himself in work.
And that’s before I consider the inevitable pressure that our family would create, causing friction between us. We simply can’t last.
That doesn’t stop me from enjoying the moments we still have.
As we walk, the silence is comfortable. The temperature is still bearable, not too hot yet, but not cold either.
We pass around vendors and tourists, and Brook looks at everything with such enthusiasm.
I’m enjoying myself. I don’t even recognize the feeling anymore, but I find myself grinning at her when she admires a handmade necklace or homemade soap in a small shop.
Outside Mimi’s, the lights glow warmly through the windows.
“Wow, I like this place already.” She smiles at me, and it hits me right in the chest.
Everything about her this evening is somewhat new, painting life in high definition.
I have confirmation that she never chose to abandon me, and the heavy burden of doubt and hurt has dissolved at my feet.
It liberates me, allowing for a sliver of joy.
I kiss the crown of her head. “You seem to be liking everything tonight.”
“Shocking, I know.”
I return her smile. My stupid grin spreads as the effortless flow between us grows in my chest.
“Come, let me introduce you.”
We walk inside and Mimi, the plump, motherly owner, greets us. “Baldo, mio caro, it’s so good to see you.” She kisses my cheeks. “And who is this beautiful senhora?”
“Mimi, this is Brook, my wife.”