Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
Daisy
I see him as soon as he walks into the gallery.
All the breath seizes in my lungs.
Tall and imposing, he seems to dwarf everyone around him. Shrink the space. Suck all the oxygen out of the room.
He’s greedy like that.
He looks like a modern-day Heathcliff in a long black peacoat.
There’s scruff on his jaw and his dark hair is longer. Thick and wavy, curling a little where it reaches the collar of his coat. Cheeks ruddy from the cold.
His arctic blue gaze scans the room and lands on me. F
or a few long moments, everything around me fades away and it’s just us in a long, narrow gallery with white walls and polished concrete floors.
He’s never looked more beautiful to me and I can feel my heart thrashing against my ribcage.
But if he thinks he can just waltz in here after everything he’s put me through and expect me to throw myself into his arms, he’s got another thing coming.
Anger trumps heartache so I grit my teeth and square my shoulders.
Turning my back to him, I weave my way through the throng of people studying my photos.
They might as well be looking straight into my soul and dissecting it, that’s how naked and exposed I feel.
I can feel the heat of his gaze burning right through me but I purposefully keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t even spare a glance over my shoulder.
He doesn’t deserve to see how much he still affects me and I’m scared my face will give me away.
I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings.
“There she is. Stunning as always.” James pulls me into his arms and gives me a kiss on each cheek then holds me at arm’s length. “How’s my favorite protégée?”
“Excuse me,” Carson says. “But you told me I was your favorite.”
I laugh. “You’re his one and only so of course , you’re his favorite.”
Carson leans in close and lowers his voice for my ears only. “He’s so proud of you.” He jerks his chin toward James who is admiring a portrait of Anna.
James gave me my very first commission for Avant-Garde when I arrived in New York, broke and homeless.
I was just a kid and when I’d show up for a photo shoot, everyone would ask if I was tagging along with one of my parents. Older, more established photographers didn’t appreciate being usurped by a teenager.
But James took a chance on me and since that first shoot, I’ve done a lot of work for Avant-Garde .
“Gorgeous,” James gushes. “You captured her spirit. Her very essence. It’s the eyes?—”
“I do have gorgeous eyes, don’t I?” Anna chimes in.
I turn to her with a smile. She looks stunning tonight in an emerald green silk kimono over loose flowy pants, her silver hair flowing down her back and her lips painted red. “You have gorgeous everything.”
She hooks her arm in mine. “Is that him?” She tips her chin toward Beckett, who is studying each photo so closely that I wonder what he’s looking for.
A glimpse of my soul, maybe.
Funny. I already bared it to him but he never noticed.
I sigh. “Yes, that’s him.”
“Tonight is your night. You’re the star. Don’t let him steal the show.”
“ You’re the star.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “And don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.” But I can’t help but watch Beckett from the corner of my eye as he makes his way around the gallery, laser-focused on the art, his hands clasped behind his back.
To have him this close, in my space, but not approach him takes every ounce of self-restraint I possess.
I’m proud of myself for not caving though and make a studious effort to ignore him and pretend he doesn’t exist.
Easier said than done.
I’m so hyper-aware of him that my body tingles with awareness even when he’s all the way across the room.
It’s not until the evening ends and I’ve said my goodbyes to all the friends and acquaintances who showed up, that he finally approaches.
I steel my heart against further damage as he takes my coat out of my hands and helps me into it.
I can feel the heat of his body, his large hands on my shoulders as he adjusts the collar and then he draws me closer until my back is against his chest, and my eyes drift shut.
I inhale a deep breath and my head is filled with the scent of him.
Leather. Spice. Pheromones.
I pull away and turn to face him.
“Daisy.” He smiles, the dimpled, boyish smile that always disarms me.
Despite myself, my body betrays me. I have butterflies in my stomach. “Beckett.”
“You look beautiful.” His gaze is so heated I feel like my body might spontaneously combust on the spot.
You hate him, remember?
He’s an asshole.
Stick to your guns, Daisy.
“And your work…it’s incredible.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Anna says, drawing herself to her full height. “Daisy is extraordinary. It’s a shame you didn’t realize that sooner.”
“Anna,” I chide. Anna is fiercely protective of me and I love her for it but it’s not necessary. I can stand up for myself.
“You’re right,” Beckett says, his eyes on me. “I should have realized a lot of things sooner.”
Anna sniffs. “I certainly hope you’re here to grovel.”
To my surprise, Beckett laughs. “I’ll do my best.”
“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Daisy. I’ll share a taxi with Celeste. Goodbye, my dear.” She pulls me into a hug and squeezes me tight. “Make him work for it.”
She releases me and wags her finger at Beckett. “Watch your step, young man. Or you’ll have me to answer to.”
On that note, she walks out the door with her friend, Celeste, and when they’re gone, I turn to Beckett. “Why are you here?”
“Why do you think I’m here? I’m here to see you,” he says as he ushers me out the door into the chilly November air. “Do you want to get a drink? Some food?”
I shake my head no. “I just want to go home.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call a car.”
“I’d rather walk. I could use some fresh air.” To clear my head .
God. Why does his nearness affect me like this?
“Not sure you’ll get any fresh air here,” he says skeptically as the cars and taxis fly past. “It’s not safe to walk at this hour.”
“It’s only ten o’clock. I’ll take my chances.” I stride ahead, taking deep, cleansing breaths to try and calm my racing pulse.
With a loud sigh, he falls into step with me. “If you’re so insistent on walking, I’ll escort you home, so I won’t have to worry about you getting back safely.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time without him “escorting me home.”
He’s the only one I need protection from.
I still can’t believe he’s here. In Brooklyn.
Then again, he’s always gone after whatever he wants with dogged determination so I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d eventually turn up.
When I returned from Paris last week, I signed for a special delivery—all the clothes he bought me that I left in the closet.
“I keep buying bags of oranges,” he says when we stop at a crosswalk and wait for the light to change. “I don’t even know why. Who the fuck can eat all those oranges? I don’t even like oranges that much, but they keep finding their way into my shopping cart.”
The lights change and we cross the street.
“I can’t even watch a movie without wondering what you would have to say about it.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Why are you here, Beckett?”
“I’m here because I wanted to see you.”
“You flew across the country just to look at me?”
“I would have walked but flying was quicker.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
He’s horrible, really. Cynical. Sarcastic. Rude. But he still makes me laugh. And I hate him for it.
I hate him for making me miss him. I hate that my breath quickens at his nearness. That I’m so hyper focused on his presence that the scenery blurs and all I can see and feel is him .
But most of all I hate him for never putting me first.
For choosing to pursue revenge instead of honoring my wishes.
And for breaking all his promises.
“Why did you throw away the roses Finn sent?” I ask as we walk up the cracked sidewalk under the streetlights. It’s only a hunch but a good one.
The man is so hell-bent on destruction and revenge that it stands to reason that he would have destroyed the roses.
He snorts. “Why do you think I did it?” He stabs the button at the crosswalk. “That asshole didn’t deserve you or a second chance.”
My God. This man. I spin to face him and we square off. “That wasn’t your decision to make.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No? So you think that a bunch of roses makes up for everything he did to you? I was trying to protect you.”
I laugh incredulously. “Right. So you destroyed the roses and then you thought… I know, I’ll get her to stay longer so she won’t have to deal with Finn. I’ll take the decisions and all the choices out of her hands and make them for her.”
I stab my finger at his chest. “You never told me any of this. You kept me in the dark while you schemed and manipulated behind my back. Everything was just an elaborate game for you, wasn’t it? A game where only you knew the rules.”
“That’s not true. It wasn’t a game.”
“Right.” I huff out a laugh and cross the street.
“I hope you kicked him to the curb.”
He doesn’t even deserve an answer but I want him to know that I’m not a doormat or a pushover.
I’m an adult who is perfectly capable of making my own decisions. “I asked him to leave. I cut him out of my life.”
“And how did that go?” he asks quietly.
“It was hard,” I admit. “One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
“Because you’re still in love with him?”
I shake my head. “No. Because he was a part of my past. And even though I talked a good game about the girl in the mirror, telling yourself that you deserve better and actually believing it are two very different things. I’m still a work in progress.”
I stop and take a breath. “I’m only telling you all this because I think it’s important to be honest about who I am and where I’m at in my life. ”
I stop outside my apartment building—a four-story brick building across from a graffiti wall and turn to him.
“Daisy—”
“You hurt me, Beckett.”
His eyes find mine and he nods slowly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I just…” I let out a breath, my gaze wandering to the graffiti wall across the street. “I felt so betrayed.”
“I didn’t lure Astrid there.”
“But you were working behind the scenes the whole time we were together, weren’t you?”
He presses his lips together and nods. “I told myself that what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. I never meant to get you involved.”
“Best laid plans.”
He grabs the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I couldn’t just let it go. I wanted to make her pay for what she did to my mother and for what she did to you.”
I can tell that he’s being sincere and that he truly believes that he did all that for his mother and for me but he already knew my stance on seeking vengeance. “And how did it make you feel when you got your revenge?”
He sighs. “You know the answer, princess.”
“And the million dollars?”
“I donated it to a mental health organization. Why?” He lifts his chin. “Do you think I should have given it back?”
I snort. “No.”
His lips tug into a smile.
“But you know what the best revenge is?”
He reaches out and wraps a lock of my hair around his fingers, tugging on it. I smack his hand away and he gives me a chagrined smile.
“Sorry.” He sighs and jams his hands in his pockets. “It’s so fucking hard to be around you without touching you.”
“I’m not yours to touch, Beckett. Our arrangement ended with my mother’s arrival.”
He nods and runs his hand over his mouth.
“As I was saying…the best revenge is to live well and to be happy. My mother will never be happy. Nothing will ever be enough for her. So when I told you that I didn’t want to be anything like her, that’s what I meant. What you did was exactly what Astrid would have done. Do you honestly believe your mother would have wanted that for you? Do you think your grandmother wants that for you? When someone loves you, really loves you, they only want the best for you.”
He nods solemnly. “I know. And I only want the best for you.” He looks up at the front door of my building. “Can I come up?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not asking for sex.” He holds up his hands. “I won’t even touch you. I just want to see where you live. I want to imagine you here surrounded by your things. I want to see the life you created.”
“And then what? What will you do after you’ve seen it?”
“I came with one goal in mind. To win you back. I was planning to do whatever it took.”
“And now?”
“And now… I just want to see where you live and to finish this conversation, preferably in a place that doesn’t reek of garbage and have used needles on the ground. Are all your neighbors junkies?”
I almost laugh. He’s such a snob. I live in a perfectly good neighborhood in Greenpoint. “Not a fan of Brooklyn, huh?”
“I’m not a fan of you living in a place that doesn’t feel safe.”
“I’ve never had anything bad happen to me here. I’m as safe as you can be anywhere,” I say, digging my keys out of my bag and unlocking the front door.
Inside, we climb the stairs to the second floor and I unlock all three locks and push my door open. Then I remember the state of my apartment and turn to him, blocking his entrance.
“I’m not the best housekeeper so don’t judge me.”
He gives me a two-finger salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’m not falling for that one again,” I grumble, closing the door behind him and flicking on the lights then dimming them as if that will shield him from the mess I left behind. “You probably weren’t even a Scout.”
He laughs. “I wasn’t.” He takes off his coat and tosses it over the arm of the sofa while I hang mine on the hook on the wall.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I call from the kitchen as I stack my dirty dishes in the dishwasher. How does one person use this many mugs? “I have tea or Kombucha or water.”
“Do you have anything stronger?”
“Nope.”
“Water is fine.” I pour two glasses of water and set them on the coffee table then gather up all the books and magazines and photos strewn across it and stacking them into piles while he combs my shelves and studies the art on the wall.
“You signed over your half to me,” he says, taking a seat across from me on the green velvet chair. “The house, the winery, all of it. It’s the only house that’s ever felt like a real home to you but you signed it away. Why would you do that, Daisy?”
“Because I always thought you belonged there. That vineyard was meant to be yours.”
“You were right.” His gaze drifts to the pink neon sign on the exposed brick wall: it was all a dream . “It was my father’s apology.”
I nod. I’m assuming he got a similar letter to the one Harold sent me after Beckett decided to keep the vineyard.
Robert fucked up, and he knew it, but he didn’t know how to make things right, so he gave his son the thing he loved most.
And I did exactly what he knew I would—signed over my half to Beckett.
With the letter came a gift from Robert. Ironically, he left me a million dollars. The same sum Beckett “stole” from my mother.
I still haven’t decided what to do with it. I thought about setting up a scholarship fund. Maybe opening my own gallery.
“Have you forgiven your father?” I ask.
Beckett doesn’t answer right away. “Someone much wiser than me once told me that if it isn’t serving you, let it go. Hating my father is no longer serving me.”
That’s not the same as forgiveness but if he’d answered yes, I wouldn’t have believed him. Things like that take time. And maybe it will never happen.
Life is messy. Not everything can be wrapped up in a pretty bow.
“My mother was sick,” he says. “I blocked a lot of those memories. But even when I was a little kid, I remember how she’d disappear for days at a time. My father would tell me she needed rest. That she was tired and we shouldn’t disturb her. I remember how there were days when her smile didn’t reach her eyes. When she seemed to be listening but days later, she’d have no memory of our conversation. I remember wishing that she would be there for me.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been so hard for you.”
His eyes meet mine. “I think you know exactly how that feels.”
I think about it for a minute. I guess we both have mommy issues and a sense of abandonment.
“What’s the opposite of hate, Daisy?”
“We’ve been over this before.”
“Say it.”
I gaze at him across the room in his black cashmere sweater and black cigarette pants, his large hand wrapped around the glass of water and I wonder if he’s capable of giving me what I want. “Unconditional love and respect.”
He nods and sets his glass on the table. “Over the past several weeks, I realized that everything I did in our time together was with the expectation of getting something in return. I was selfish. Only thinking of myself. And you…”
He swallows, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. “You were the opposite. Everything you did was for me. So I’m here to apologize. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I didn’t put you first. You deserve better. I want to do better. I want you to come back with me and live in the only house that ever felt like home. You can redecorate it so it feels more like you. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
He stands and starts pacing. “But I want you to come home with me. I miss you so fucking much it hurts. I’m no good without you. I’m fucking miserable without you.” He exhales loudly like saying all that wore him out.
A part of me would love nothing more than to take him up on his offer. I want that, too.
But I don’t know if I can trust him and I’m not ready to put my heart on the line again.
I don’t want to keep repeating the same old patterns.
I don’t want to keep putting myself out there only to be disappointed when he shows his true colors.
I stand from the sofa and he comes to stand in front of me.
“Why now? Not so long ago, you hated me and now you’re asking me to come back with you and… what? Pick up where we left off? As what? Would it still be just sex and nothing more?”
“It was never just sex. And I never really hated you.” He takes my hands in his and brushes his thumbs over my knuckles. “I wanted to hate you because of who your mother is. But I couldn’t. Because you’re you. I want you to have the vineyard. I want you to have it all. As long as you’re mine, what’s mine is yours.”
He gives my hands a gentle squeeze and I yank them away, clasping them behind my back.
I wonder if he realizes that was another stipulation. If you choose me, you can have it all. But I guess that’s how relationships work.
“I choose you, Daisy. Above all else. I. Choose. You. If you want me on my knees for you, I’ll do it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want that. All I want is for us to be equals. But you never treated me like an equal. You were too busy trying to control me and everything around you.”
He blows out a frustrated breath and pushes his hands through his hair. I can feel the tension radiating from his body. “You are my equal. Come back to California with me and give me a chance to prove it.”
This is so like him to show up here unannounced and expect me to drop everything and run to do his bidding. “How do I know you’re not just saying all this because you hate to lose? How do I know I’m not just some prize to be won? How do I know I can trust you?”
He looks me in the eye. “Try me, princess. Take a chance on me.”
God. There’s nothing I want more than to say yes. But I’ve been here before.
Finn was always making empty promises, and whenever I’d agree to give him another chance, he’d be on his best behavior for a while. But inevitably he’d go back to his old ways.
People don’t change overnight, and I’m not delusional enough to believe that Beckett has.
This is the same man who told me he doesn’t believe in second chances and yet here he is, asking for one.
I’ve always been too impulsive in the past and let my heart rule my head but this time I need to use logic.
This man hurt me. Lied to me. Kept me in the dark. Controlled and manipulated and badgered me until he got his own way.
Who’s to say he won’t do it again?
“I need to think about this. I need time.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I can’t just come running back to you because you’ve decided that now you don’t want to live without me.” I square my shoulders and draw myself up to my full height.
I’m proud of myself for standing up to him and telling him what I need.
“Okay.” He nods slowly and strokes his jaw. Knowing him, he’s probably trying to come up with a new angle. “I’ll wait.”
“You’ll wait?” I repeat. He nods.
Beckett is not a patient man. He takes what he wants and demands that it’s done on his terms and to his specifications and rules.
“How long? A week or two? A month?”
“There’s no time limit. No expiration date.” Our eyes lock and hold. “Originally, I was going to fight for you and refuse to leave until you agreed to come back with me. But that’s exactly what you’d expect of me. You deserve unconditional love and respect.”
Is he saying that he loves me?
He takes a step back. “So I’ll wait for you, Daisy.” He scoops up his coat from the arm of the sofa and puts it on like he’s preparing to walk out the door right now.
“But what if I never show up?”
In one long stride, he’s standing in front of me and takes my face in his hands. And then he presses his lips against my forehead. Softly. Gently. So tenderly that my eyes drift shut and tears prick the back of my lids.
I clutch his coat lapels, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
Is there anything sweeter than a forehead kiss from the man you love? I think not.
He pulls back, taking his warmth with him, and gives me a soft smile. “Then that’s your choice and I’ll have to respect it.”
It takes me a second to figure out what he’s referring to. But what if I never show up?
My gaze lowers and I swallow. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch me again.
“Is this a trick?” I ask warily.
“No. It’s not a trick. I’m not Zelda,” he scoffs.
I laugh. That sounds more like the Beckett I know. “So you’re just giving up? Just like that?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not giving up. Quite the opposite.”
I lift my gaze to his face and for the first time I notice the bleakness in his eyes. Like he’s scared that he’s already lost me.
“This is me fighting for you with everything in me. I’m choosing you, Daisy. I’m choosing you so that you can choose yourself. But just know that you’re my number one. You’re it for me. There is no one else. Only you,” he says, desperation seeping into every word. “So I’ll wait. And if you don’t come… I will still be waiting.”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I stand, rooted to the spot while I watch him walk out the door.
I’m so tempted to run after him, to tell him that I don’t want him to leave without me, but I bite my tongue and let him go, my knees so weak I have to lean against the wall for support.
The ball’s in my court. The choice is mine.
Beckett has given up the one thing he’s always held on to so tightly. Control.
It’s only after the door closes behind him and I hear his footsteps retreating that I wipe the tears off my cheeks and whisper, “ I love you too .”