Chapter Twelve #2
No matter how long I had been gone, my peace had remained behind these walls, residing in the heart of this home.
The couch that had always been a source of comfort was now gone, replaced with a soft cream sectional facing an even larger view.
The lights were off, the room only being illuminated by the city’s lights and a lit candle that was on the coffee table.
I walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window, almost afraid to be in that space.
“Don’t blow out my candle,” the voice said.
Before turning around, I looked out at that view.
“Our flight is early tomorrow. You should be asleep,” I replied.
When I turned around, I finally saw her curled up on a chaise lounge behind a plant. The enclave was designed to be hidden, perfectly tucked away from the rest of the living space, but the view was still visible from there.
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Why?”
She cut her eyes and scoffed. “As if I’m going to give you the million reasons why I don’t sleep much.”
Her tone was sharp, but I accepted it because I felt I deserved it. Tatiana was broken, and I was the fucker who broke her.
I watched as she twisted the edge of her silk robe between her fingers––a nervous habit that only I knew about.
She used to hold eye contact like it was a weapon.
Never backing down, always staring straight through your soul.
That stare could make the most confident man question his own existence.
Now her gaze bounced from the floor to the walls, everywhere but on me.
She couldn’t give me the eye contact I desperately craved.
She couldn’t give me what I wanted from her because I was causing her pain just by existing in the life she had created without me.
For all the words she wanted to scream, she stayed quiet. I could tell from her body language that she wanted to scream at me that I broke her and call me a pussy, a liar, and anything but a child of God.
But her heart wouldn’t allow it.
Despite the pain I had caused, her heart remembered the good times––the better version of me before it was tainted by my actions.
The version that made her laugh and hugged her when no one else knew she needed one.
The one who could read her like her favorite novel without her having to say a word.
The man who whispered our future into her ear before I kissed her head and left.
Tatiana wanted to hate me. Everything inside her was torn between what she needed to do and what she wanted to do.
She hated herself because she couldn’t give me the hate she so desperately wanted to give.
It was something I had to carry with me––something I wanted to work so hard to change within her.
I was here to pick up the pieces and rebuild the heart I had broken.
I’ve always been told to clean up my messes, and I had made a mess of the woman sitting in front of me.
Tatiana didn’t cry. She didn’t shout or slam her fist against my chest while demanding answers. She sat still. Almost too still. Behind that reserved look was a woman trying to hold herself together while quietly unraveling at the seams.
“That’s fair,” I muttered, because that was the only words that made sense in this moment.
Tatiana snorted, low and bitterly, as she reached for her laptop like the conversation was already done.
“There isn’t anything that’s fair,” she said flatly, finally standing.
Her wide hips filled out the silk robe, forming perfect parentheses.
I didn’t move. Instead, I remained in place, wishing she would just brush against me once.
I’d settle for that. I watched as she retreated into the kitchen as if searching for something––possibly peace amidst the chrome appliances and white marble countertops.
She placed her laptop on the island, flipped the screen up, and clicked a few buttons before turning to the espresso machine as if it was routine. One foot pressed on top of the other as she fidgeted, her fingers trembling enough to make my heart ache.
I moved closer, close enough to smell the steam from the machine mixed with her perfume that clung to the silk of her robe.
Tatiana didn’t take her eyes off the espresso machine. I didn’t need her to.
I stood behind her, saying nothing. Just standing there with my hands extended on either side of her and resting on the counter. My heart calmed because she was near.
Her ass was pressed against me as she kept focused on her cup. The machine came to life, spitting out the espresso into the mug. The bitter concoction was a reminder that she still couldn’t sleep.
I shouldn’t have cared what she drank or when she drank it. But who was I kidding? Everything about this woman was my business––the curve of her back, the weight in her silence, and the way she bit down on her bottom lip whenever she was deep in thought.
Like now.
I wanted to be with her, love her, and heal the wounds I caused within her, but she wouldn’t let me in. Her vulnerability came at a cost, and no matter how much I had or acquired, it would be far too expensive for me to buy.
“Can I hug you, Tata?” I asked, my cool breath, with hints of bourbon, caressing her earlobe.
She sucked in her breath and remained stiff as a wig from a beauty supply store.
Her body froze, and she looked as though she couldn’t gather her words.
I could tell she wanted me to, but was scared.
If she allowed me to touch her, it might do more than just comfort her.
It could break her open and maybe leave her even more terrified than she was now.
Gently removing one of my hands from the counter that cornered her, she grabbed the cup from the machine and looked at me briefly. “Good night, Nazir.”
I watched her gently close her laptop and leave the kitchen. I wanted to follow her but knew that wasn’t fair. Everything was my fault, and it was selfish to try and force anything. She had to want me as much as I still wanted her.
I went back into the living room and sat on the couch, resting my head back as I took in the view––a view I had witnessed so many nights before. The only difference was that I used to have her lying with me when I took them in...and I planned to have it that way again one day.
“Mrs. Sterling, don’t worry. We’ll get everything with your jet squared away. As a courtesy, we’re placing you on one of our company jets. Complimentary, of course,” the man said, his words coming out as quickly as the sweat pouring from his forehead.
He stammered over every word while nervously tugging at the collar of his blazer like it would save him. He looked like someone who realized he had fucked up...or someone who was hiding some shit.
Tatiana remained poised. Her shoulders back, head slightly tilted.
My baby never let shit rattle her, so she would be damned if she allowed anyone see her upset.
Even with her eyes hiding behind those dark shades, I could still see that look she was giving him––one he should have been blessed he didn’t have to see.
She didn’t speak, and her lack of words continued to send this man into a spiral with more sweat pouring from his pores. Yaya stood to her left, her arms crossed, glancing between her best friend and the man who I thought would turn into a puddle at any second.
“Why wasn’t I notified that there was an issue with the jet?” Tatiana asked, finally breaking her silence.
Her voice was even–calm with a hint of irritation laced within her words. The man blinked a few times like he thought it would be worse.
“We…we called, Mrs. Sterling. There must have been some miscommunication between the team. We’ve always been instructed to call.” He paused as he quickly snatched the iPad from the assistant standing beside him. “Carlotta.”
“I don’t remember Carlotta telling me anything about the jet.” Tatiana looked over at Yaya. “Did she say anything to you?”
Yaya raised both brows. “No. I would remember if she told me something like that. So, who exactly did you contact?”
For a second, he thought he had gotten her off his back. His face fell when he had both of them questioning him. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His silence irritated Yaya, who continued to give him looks until he finally parted those lips, and words fell out.
“We have the best team fixing the issue. In the meantime, do you want to rest in the lounge while the jet is being fueled?”
Tatiana exhaled through her nose. “Fix this shit.”
Without waiting for him to make false promises and apologies, she turned around and went toward the lounge. Yaya remained as she pulled her phone out to start confirming his story.
I followed behind Tatiana as she stepped into the lounge, plopping into one of the armchairs like she had finally processed what he had told her.
She wore a pair of wide-leg sweats, designer sneakers, and an oversized crop top that hung just right off her shoulder.
The travel Chanel bag was stuffed to the brim with her laptop and any and everything she would need for the flight.
It sat slouched in the seat beside her like it knew everything wasn’t going as planned.
We were supposed to be airborne, but now we were seated, waiting for them to tell us when the jet would be fueled.
I watched as she messed in her hair. It had been in a tight bun earlier when she iced homie back at the desk.
Now, it was pulled loose, falling wild onto her shoulders as she ran her hand through it continuously.
Frustration clouded the small space between us, and she didn’t have to remove her dark shades for me to know.
I took the seat across from her. Even with her shades on, she wouldn’t look at me. Not even a turn in my direction. I watched her. Every breath, the shift of her fingers through her curls. Last night was etched in my brain. The memory of being that close to her.