Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
LEXI
Today was better. Totally.
Probably.
Nope. Who the hell am I trying to fool? The only thing that made today better was that Mom wasn’t at work and we went to shop for my own pjs and other essentials.
I had a long call with Tessa and basically bawled my eyes out.
Nothing helped. Not even Tessa’s dry remark that for once I’m the one doing the ditching.
Now I’m in freshly washed and still-warm-from-the-dryer fleece pjs and pulling on new sleeping socks too.
Everything is soft and cuddly, but nothing is going to distract me from my broken heart.
I choke down my tears. Day five of being torn from Tristan, and there hasn’t even been an email from him. Nothing. My heart isn’t just broken, it’s splintered into a thousand pieces.
I’m a mess. I’m not good company and want to stay in bed, but Mom will only allow me to wallow so much.
She is, after all, one to turn that frown upside down and has already popped the popcorn for some Hallmark movie we’re going to watch.
As if I needed romance right now. My sleeping cycle is still so messed up, but better to watch some mind-numbing TV than doomscroll my phone for hours.
As I finally scrape my scattered courage together to emerge from the bedroom, the doorbell rings. Mom didn’t say anything about ordering takeout, but I’ll take it. I’m in a stuff-my-face mood, and that isn’t going away anytime soon either.
I wipe my eyes, and as I walk into the living room, Mom calls, “I’ll get it.”
She opens the front door, and snow drifts into the doorway. On cue, a laser of cold slices through the apartment. The weather here is a bad motherfucker and not doing anything for my state of mind.
“Perfect timing,” Mom says. A man’s tall frame fills the door, his face obscured by a fur-trimmed hoodie. Mom wraps her arms around him in a hug, and my heart falters. For a long second, my mind plays with me, making me think it’s Dad. He’s here… Of course it’s Dad—who else would Mom hug so close?
But then he pushes the hoodie back, and his gaze meets mine over the length of the room. My pulse falters, and my stomach drops. “Tristan?” I mutter, convinced this is an optical illusion.
Mom steps away to let him in.
“Babes.”
Time stands still. I want to tell him to not call me that, but in the same breath I want to tell him how much I missed hearing him call me that.
Beyond it all, I want to touch him and make sure he’s real.
That Tristan Martinelli is actually standing in the doorway of Mom’s small apartment, snow dusting his broad shoulders.
“Come inside,” Mom says as she reaches for her coat and scarf. “I’m going for a drink at Elsie and Joe’s.” She turns to me with a wink and a sly smile. Heat and chills somehow manage to spread over my skin at the same time. “See, sweetheart? It’s all about timing.”
With that, she’s out the door, and Tristan closes it behind her. He drops his bag and stares at me as he shrugs off his thick jacket and toes off his shoes. He’s not ready for this weather either.
“What?” I say, folding my arms over my chest as he hangs his jacket on one of the hooks on the wall. “Why are you here?”
“I—” He takes a step closer but falters. “Lexi, I—” He breaks off again and drags his fingers through his hair, streaking the snowflakes through. “Babes—”
“What happened? Did Beaumont fire you?”
“No. I left.” He swallows hard, and I blink. His fingers are trembling.
“Left? How did you just leave? What about your project? Your deadline?”
Tristan shrugs. “It can wait. You forgot a few things on Ne’emba Island, and it was important that I brought them to you in person, if you know what I mean.” He licks his bottom lip, trying to disguise the smile that makes my heart go weak. “I brought the charger too.”
I choke on a laugh as I roll my eyes, heat invading my face.
“You shouldn’t have.” I wish I had it in me to run up and jump him, forcing him to catch me as I hug him with all my life, but I’m aflutter with fear and hope and a desperation I never knew existed.
All I manage is a measly step in his direction.
“I left it for you as a reminder of…fun times.”
“Lexi—” he starts again as he takes another step closer. Then he chuckles drily when I remain in my spot. “Not going to make this easy, are you?”
“I don’t understand. What is there to make easy? Ne’emba was a mistake and a fuckup, to say the least.”
“Don’t say that.” He shoves a hand into his jeans pocket and pulls out a clunky fold of white paper. “I also knew I was going to mess this up, so…” He looks down and then meets my gaze, a flush on his cheeks. “I wrote you a letter.”
“A letter? Why on Earth would you do that?” I eye the paper he’s carefully unfolding, my pulse going wild as I inch forward.
“Because I’ve never done this before, and I don’t want to mess it up.” Something slips from the paper’s fold, and he catches it in his palm, out of view.
A long beat of silence hangs in the air. “Doesn’t look like you planned to mail it, now did you?”
Tristan fiddles with the paper with those fingers, those perfect, manly fingers that know just how to touch me. “No. They didn’t have envelopes at Heathrow Terminal Five. I opted for hand delivery.”
My heart skips a beat. Heathrow Terminal Five, where all this started. “I see.”
He takes a few more steps and closes the gap between us, forcing me to look up at him. “Here. Read it, please.”
I’m too scared to unwrap my arms from my body. This grip I have on myself is the only thing keeping me standing. “No… Since you’re here, you read it.”
“Don’t let me mess this up, Lexi. I don’t plan to ever do this again.”
“Go break a leg then.” If he wants to apologize for everything that happened, I won’t stop him, but I was the fool to rush in.
“Okay, this is the rough draft,” he says softly. “I don’t think I can do more than a rough draft…with my handwriting and all.”
“Good thing you’re reading it,” I tell him as I gauge the unruly pen scribbles that lean askew on the page. “I don’t want to misread here.”
“Yep.” He clears his throat. “Dear Lexi.”
“An auspicious start,” I tease, nodding encouragement.
He smiles, his gaze shy, and I want to hug him so hard, it almost consumes me. “Okay, shush now. Otherwise I’m going to chicken out.”
“Okay. Please don’t chicken out.” I suck in my lip and dig my nails into my ribs, trying to stay calm. Something is up, and Tristan has flown all this way. That says something, doesn’t it?
“Dear Lexi, Growing up I didn’t have the best example of relationships, of love or how any of this works,” he reads.
“Flying here from Ne’emba, I had a lot of time to dig through everything going on in my mind, and I’ve realized that—that I’m scared.
” He pauses. “I’m scared that I’m going to turn out like my dad: flippant, dismissive, and emotionally unavailable.
I’m scared that eventually I’ll hurt you.
” He takes a deep breath. “The last thing I want to do is hurt anybody, least of all you.” He meets my gaze, and his eyes are shining with tears.
“And then I realized I was already hurting you, like I hurt you five years ago, by not being truthful with you in the moments where the truth matters the most.” He lowers the page but keeps talking, even as his voice breaks.
“And this isn’t the man I want to be. When I told you you weren’t ready, I was only lying to protect myself.
I wasn’t ready. And by not being truthful, I’m more like him than I ever care to be.
So here’s the truth. The feelings I’ve always had for you have changed.
They’ve evolved so much that I can no longer deny that I’m in love with you, that I love you, that I love you so much it hurts when I’m not with you.
All I can think about is you. I need you with me.
I need you to be happy and cared for, for me to be happy.
” He swallows hard and wipes roughly at his face.
“To be one hundred percent clear,” he says as he tilts my chin up with a fingertip, “you’re the only person I want to be with, for better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.
I want to promise to love and cherish you, forever. ”
Tears run down my cheeks, and I close my eyes as his thumb brushes them away.
Tristan has written a love letter—to me.
“So you see, angel, when at Heathrow I bought this ring and said I was the last man to ever put a ring on a woman’s finger, what I should have said is this: This beautiful hand, this perfect finger is the only finger I ever want to put a ring on.
” He turns his hand palm up, and there rests the airport Tiffany.
“Can we try again, and this time make it real?”
I’m sobbing now, wondering how I can cry so much when I’m sad, and cry just as much when I’m happy.
“Say something, Lexi,” he whispers. “Anything.”
My throat is too tight. My heart is beating too fast as I sniff and look at the ring. “I missed it.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses the heel of my palm, and slips the engagement ring back on. It slides on without a hitch. In this moment, it’s as if the whole world rights, and there can never be any more wrong.
Tristan doesn’t let go of my hand, and I squeeze his fingers. “I know the people who were supposed to love you the most also hurt you the most, Tris, but you don’t have to make it so hard for the rest of us to love you.”
“Yes.” His expression tells me I’ve basically summed it all up. “Please, Lexi. I don’t know how else—”
“I love you, Tristan Martinelli. Always have.” I fling my arms around his neck, sending his letter flying, and as if he senses everything I need, he cups my butt and lifts me so I can wrap my legs around his hips. “I missed you so much. What took you so long?”
His chest heaves and shudders against mine, and we draw in shaky, emotional breaths as we cling to each other. I bury my face in the warmth of his neck, inhaling his scent, still thinking I’ve slipped into a heavenly dream.
“Ne’emba Island is very far away,” he informs me.
I laugh. “It is.”
He walks us to the sofa, and I slide down, but as soon as he sits, he pulls me to his lap to straddle him. “And then I thought you went to Miami, so I made a little detour and got yelled at by Evan, who probably still wants my blood.”
“Oh hell.”
“Hell indeed,” he whispers as he pulls me closer.
Our lips aren’t even an inch apart. “But this…this is heaven.” He kisses me softly, and I sink into him—the warmth of his embrace, of his heart and soul.
He pulls away and brushes his thumb over my lips.
“What say you, my angel?” His gaze searches mine. “Please say yes.”
“Yes, babes,” I say, smoothing my hand up his chest. “It’s always been yes.”