Chapter Twenty-Five Before—Poppy
| Twenty-Five |
Before—Poppy
I gave notice to both my jobs, and I felt freer than I had in ages.
Bennett and I were having dinner at Le Coucou to celebrate.
I move in with him in a week. I’m still a bit in shock myself, but sometimes when the universe hands you a gift, it’s foolish not to grab it with both hands.
And Bennett is definitely a gift. Another artist who understands the need to create: that yearning to be alone with your ideas and turn them into a tangible reality.
There’s nothing else like it. And now I’ll get to do it full time while living with the man I adore.
He raised his glass. “To our life together.”
“To our life,” I echoed. The diamond on my left finger caught the light as I lifted my glass to touch his.
It was beautiful and a ring I’m sure most women would swoon over: an emerald cut in platinum, ten carats, Bennett was sure to tell me.
The thing is, I don’t wear fancy rings. They tend to get caught when I’m creating my sculptures.
But he was so excited to give it to me that I didn’t have the heart to tell him.
He leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass of wine, and stared into it as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“What’s going on in that brilliant mind?” I asked.
He looked up, a worried look on his face. “I have something to tell you.”
“Ooookay.”
Before he could continue, our waiter returned to take our order. I was about to ask for the halibut when Bennett spoke.
“We’ll both have the canette aux figues,” he said.
I was momentarily stunned. “Uh, no. I don’t care for duck. I’ll have the halibut beurre blanc,” I said, smiling sweetly.
“Very good, madam,” the waiter said, his expression never changing.
“And another glass of wine, please,” I added.
After he left, I leveled a look at Bennett. “Don’t ever do that again.”
He put a hand up. “Sorry, sorry! The duck is amazing. I just—”
“I don’t care. I’m a grown woman. I can order for myself.”
He smiled at me. “Duly noted. Won’t happen again.”
“Great, so what were you going to tell me?”
“When we were telling each other about our dating pasts, I left something out.”
I took a sip of my wine, my stomach fluttering. “What?”
He blew out a breath. “I was engaged. It was a few years ago.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “I’m not really sure. She texted me a week before the wedding and told me it was over. Not to call or try to find her. She just disappeared.”
I didn’t understand why he’d kept it from me. Was he still in love with her? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed. But I don’t want to start our marriage with any secrets.”
Maybe he was worried she’d show up suddenly. “Are you still in love with her?”
“No! In fact, I’m not sure I was ever in love with her. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do about you.”
I studied his face for signs of deceit, but there were none. “How long were you together?”
“Almost a year. Looking back, I’m glad now. Otherwise, I’d never have met you. But I wanted you to know and also to understand if I get a little possessive at times. I can’t lose you.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, relieved he finally told me. “You’ll never lose me. I promise. Is there anything else I should know?”
He shook his head. But there was something in his eyes. A flash or flicker that made me think he was lying.