Chapter 27 Daniel
DANIEL
When we make a final stop in Champagne, only spending a few hours visiting an inn there, I can’t escape the sense that time is unwinding.
Time is running out for us to enjoy this make-believe romance.
We have business to do, and we are all business at the final inn, checking the details, peering into the corners, conducting our due diligence before we board the train to Paris.
As we cross the countryside, we roll up our sleeves, rub our palms together, and prepare a budget for the potential acquisition.
Cole texts that he wants to meet us before we put in the offer. We make plans to catch up with him at the Paris office near the train station. As we rumble along, one hundred miles away from the city that Scarlett considers her soul mate, we power through work.
Once or twice, I get the sense that she wants to dip into a what-if conversation.
I’m secretly praying that she’ll toe the line. That she’ll say, This ends when we return to Paris, just like we planned.
That would make life easier.
Then I won’t have to say the hard thing.
When we’re only fifty miles away, she clears her throat. “Daniel, do you want to talk?”
A bolt of tension slams down my spine. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” I say breezily, leaning on the usual lightness that she knows so well from me.
Hoping it’ll work.
But she’s no fool. She presses on. “Yes, but do you want to talk about what happens when we return to Paris?”
I react quickly, dodging. “You go to your flat and I go to the hotel?” I ask, trying cheekiness on once more.
She gives a faint laugh, then studies my expression as if she can figure out what’s rolling through my head. “I think you know that’s not what I mean.”
Ah, she’s seen through me in seconds, and she’s yanked back the curtain.
There’s only one option now. Rely on the practical. “I thought we talked about this already. Did you change your mind?”
She draws a sharp inhale like I’ve hit below the belt.
“Right,” she says, that one word from her lasting a minute.
Maybe I have hit below the belt.
She turns her face away from me, clicks on her tablet, and says, “Let’s go back to the spreadsheet.”
Maybe I’ve dodged a bullet. Or perhaps I’ve fired one. My God, I don’t know how anyone navigates relationships. They’re brutal battlefields.
As the train rattles into Paris, she tries again, setting her hand on my leg. “I had an amazing time with you this week, Daniel.”
“It was incredible,” I say, because that’s the truth. Because I can say that without hurting her.
She’s undeterred, so strong, so determined. “I was hoping that perhaps we might give this thing between us a chance beyond the trip. A chance in Paris,” she says, without guile, laying her cards on the table.
Bloody hell. She’s so fucking amazing. She’s so wonderful, so daring, so fearless. I want her nerves. I want her guts. I want her courage to step into the great unknown.
But I don’t possess them. “I had a feeling you were going there,” I say evenly, trying to avoid hurt—me hurting her, her hurting me.
“And do you not want to? Have I been reading you wrong?”
I want to lie. I want to dance around it. I want to say, Of course you’re reading me wrong. I’m just me, happy-go-lucky, nihilist me.
But she deserves better. She deserves the truth.
I shift in my seat and clasp her face. “I would love to be in a relationship with you, but I fear I would destroy us,” I say heavily, the hard weight of the truth tugging me down.
She blinks, then breathes out hard. “Wow.”
She didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect it either. But she deserves the full truth of my heart, since it’s all I can give her. I have nothing more. “That’s all I know how to do, Scarlett. That is all I’ve ever done.”
She seems to swallow around a knot in her throat. “I understand why you feel that way. You don’t even want to try?”
“I do,” I say, pleading with her to understand, clasping her tightly.
“I desperately want to try. But I would hate myself if I hurt you. And I’ve spent so many years already hating myself.
It took me years to stop hating myself after what happened to my parents.
If I damage you, if I hurt you, I don’t think I could survive it. ”
Pain and resignation cross her eyes. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“I love the idea of you and me. I want it more than anything. I am mad about you,” I say, then sigh heavily. “But I won’t be the architect of more pain.”
There is no room here for anything else. I won’t hurt her.
She takes another sharp breath, her eyes shining with wetness. “So this is it?”
“I suppose it is,” I say heavily, running a finger along her collarbone. “Scarlett, I’m in love with you. I knew it a few days ago. I’m madly, wildly in love with you. And because of that, I don’t want to ruin you.”
She inhales roughly, then seems to steady herself, lifting her chin. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. And I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit.”
I bring my hand to my chest, trying to implore her. “I don’t know how to give myself credit. I haven’t in years. And I care too much about you to take a chance at hurting you.”
As the train stops, she deals me a cool look. “The funny thing is, I’m in love with you too, but I’m willing to take a chance.” She sighs, resigned. “I suppose that’s where we’re different.”
I wince but take it on the chin. “I suppose that is indeed where we diverge.”
She stands, turns her back to me, and reaches for her bag. When it’s on the floor of the train, I take it from her, and we exit, saying nothing as we go to meet Cole to make the offer.
Once that’s in motion, Scarlett shoulders her purse, reaches for the handle of her bag, and says the fastest goodbye in the history of this city. “I have someplace to be.”
She walks away.
Cole looks at me, reading me. “What did you do wrong?”
Where do I even begin?