Chapter 5 #2
“I’ll confess to looking up dating etiquette while I was getting ready tonight. I meant what I said before. Dating isn’t something I’ve done much of. I didn’t do a good job last night at dinner, I’m afraid.” She twisted her hands in her lap.
“You did fine,” I soothed her by taking one of her hands in mine and squeezing it briefly before letting go. “What else did these experts say?”
“Oh, ask similar questions. Let me give it a go. Do you play the piano or any other instruments?” The sensual way her voice dropped when she said play came out flirty.
Grinning, unable to help myself, I said low, “I love to play.” She gasped, and I chuckled, wondering if her face was flushed. Damn, I wished I weren’t driving. “Nan insisted I take lessons in the arts. She’d given me the choice between the piano and the violin. The piano seemed safer, somehow.”
“Okay, we may have to unpack that a bit,” Victoria said, her tone resembling my counselor’s voice.
The soft curve of her mouth, the way her fingers fidgeted lightly in her lap, the spark of genuine interest in her eyes. It was…beautiful. And for a moment, I nearly forgot to keep my eyes on the road.
“You think? I promise none of my childhood trauma stemmed from music lessons, although my piano teacher was a bit…I don’t know, intense, for lack of a better word.”
“Most people who are passionate about their art are. Did you know Rachmaninoff wrote this piece while in deep depression? It was so bad he didn’t compose for three years. See what I did there? Look at me circling back and making conversation,” she said.
I huffed out a quiet chuckle, unable to help myself. She was very pleased with herself. There was something so fucking cute about the fact that she studied, analyzed, and then committed to making this evening work on some level. The realization sent a rush of warmth through me.
I replied, “Very well done. I didn’t know that about Rachmaninoff.”
“Well, now, you do. Studying composers and their lives was completely fascinating for me growing up. When I was younger…” Her voice trailed off, and I caught the slightest tremble in it.
After a few minutes of silence, I prompted, “When you were younger?”
“It’s not important. Here’s another piece of interesting trivia about him for you. Rachmaninoff dedicated this concerto to his therapist,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet enthusiasm.
My brow lifted, eyes narrowing with quiet intrigue. Lips parted as if on the verge of a question, but I held back, studying her instead.
“I’m serious. His therapist helped him deal with depression with daily sessions in hypnosis and positive suggestion therapy.”
“Seriously? He had a therapist who did hypnosis?” I shook my head before adding. “Look at you—you’re a wealth of knowledge. Tell me, do you know why he was so depressed?”
“I do, actually.” She beamed, another nugget of information that had her in her element.
“He was despondent because his first symphony was a disaster. The pieces weren’t received well.
He got overwhelmingly negative responses.
It was so bad he actually walked out of the performance early. The experience crushed him.”
“Again, a wealth of knowledge. I love it.”
“Just with composers, I assure you. If you ask me anything else, I’ll more than likely disappoint you with my lack of knowledge.”
“I doubt that very much. You’re actually quite fascinating, you know. And I swear to God, I’ve met you before.”
“We’ve gone over that.” She tensed. “Can I ask how old you are? I assume you’re close in age to…well, you know who?” She gave me a shy grin.
“Thirty-one.”
“Yup, same age.”
“And have you lived in London your entire life?” I asked, probing to see if her answers would match the info we collected.
“Just for the last five years. We moved back shortly before Declan was born. Prior to that, I lived in Italy with my father and visited my mother and grandmother in Ireland on occasion.”
“So your parents divorced, I’m assuming.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding nervous at the direction of the conversation.
She moved her fingers ever so slightly down her legs, stopping at her upper thighs. Rubbing her forefinger and thumb together, she made a pinching motion. The therapist in me immediately recognized the gesture.
She self-harms.
Damn, it sucked. Being so observant and knowing that our conversation had her struggling and needing to feel that release increased my guilt. I would look at her thighs tonight to confirm it and then bring it up later.
“What about friends? What do you and your friends like to do?”
“I don’t have any. Declan is a huge part of my life. The best part really and well, being a wife can be demanding.”
“None? Not even from when you were a child?”
“No, making friends was really hard for me. I’m an introvert through and through. What can I say?” She tried to laugh it off.
“I can relate, honestly, to not having many friends as a child. It’s true.
Hell, I didn’t have any friends until I was thirteen.
” She looked at me skeptically. “And that is the exact look I always get when I tell people. It’s like they can’t imagine how that could be,” I said, adding the last part on a whim, my own emotional scars making a tiny appearance.
“I guess it’s only natural for people to make judgments about what we might have been like by looking at who we are today. With my speech issue, it made opening up and even general speaking hard. It was easy to keep quiet and not embarrass myself any more than I had to,” she said candidly.
“The more and more you open up, the more in common we seem to have with one another. I spent years trying to make myself invisible,” I replied, glancing at her before turning my attention back to the road.
It was the truth, and for once in my life outside my closest friends, I wanted to open up to her. Then, instantly, the internal struggle began. My defense mechanism kicked in and screamed not to over share.
The more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I was ready for her to see me at five, at thirteen, and at every stage in between. We lapsed into a comfortable silence. The music seemed to soothe both of our souls. She’d relaxed her hands, and they sat still in her lap.
“I think the reason I had such a hard time making friends is that I had a group that I eventually spent every day with.” There was something in her voice, but before I could read anything more into it, she hastily added, “At boarding school, we became fast friends. They accepted me in ways I can’t really put into words.
I lost touch with them. The pain of that made me closed off from others. ”
Once more, her hands moved to smooth her dress, only to move and linger again on her upper thighs.
“How long has it been, if I may ask?”
“Since I’ve seen my friends? Gosh, it’s been twelve years now, 144 months, 626 weeks, or 4,380 days,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, and my heart went out to her.
“You must have had quite a strong bond if you keep track like that,” I murmured, thinking about my own bonds and how I could completely relate. I don’t know what I’d do without the guys in my life.
“We lost touch. I went home early one year and didn’t end up going back,” she finally said, but I noticed she shivered in a way that made me uncomfortable. Her gaze fixed on the window. Her reflection left me wondering if she was looking at the scenery passing us by or something inside her head.
“Are you cold, angel?” I asked.
She shook her pretty head. Her eyes turned to me, and during that brief moment before I looked back to the road, two tears trickled down her face.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Tell me about your friends. Do you have a lot of them?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, changing the subject, but as a gentleman, I’ll be gracious and allow it.
I’m blessed to consider five men my brothers, with a new one recently added to our mix.
He’s still feeling his way with us, but truth be told, it’s nice not to be the new guy.
” I chuckled lightly, thinking about Pasha.
“And how long were you the ‘new’ guy?” she teased, not allowing the earlier part of the conversation to keep her down.
“A long-ass time, and damn it’s a relief to pass it on to another,” I breathed, realizing that in so many ways Pasha and I had a lot in common.
It wasn’t easy at first, finding my way with each of them, given they were such a solid unit. It was only after I grew close to Vanya and could act as a bridge for all of us that things really changed. Kinsley was Pasha’s bridge, and that bridge was one of the better things to happen to all of us.
“Just so long as you don’t forget what it’s like,” she admonished me in the cutest way.
“Is that coming from the mother in you?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You don’t need to worry. I couldn’t forget. The new guy is actually pretty important in our group. He won’t be going anywhere. He’s family now, whether his fiancée wants to let him join us or not.”
“A fiancée, huh? And a reluctant one at that. That might spell trouble. I suggest you guard your heart. As important as this new member is, fiancées can be quite persuasive.”
I laughed, thinking about how there was no way in hell Kinsley would let Pasha go.
I had also gotten the sense that Pasha was tired of letting Hannah control every aspect of his life.
For all his frustration about the situation we were in, a part of him was relaxed, almost. Not to mention his confession while we were working out.
“Except you haven’t met the little pixie at home that has known him her entire life and refuses to let him go now that she’s found him again.”
“A little love triangle then? Sounds juicy.” She grinned.
“Oh, you can best be sure his fiancée feels that way. But said little pixie is in quite a unique relationship of her own.”
“Outside of the new guy? What’s the new guy’s name, anyway?”
“The Russian. His real name is a secret. If I told you I’d have to—”
“Kill me? Sounds like this little pixie is a troublemaker.”
“I was going to say kiss you until you forgot about him, but to answer your last statement. She’s not the troublemaker. That title belongs to another one in the family.”
“So, you really had to go home to mediate a family dispute? That might have been interesting to see play out. I’d ask more about it, but it seems we’ve arrived.”
Startled, I looked around, realizing I’d parked the car and we were just sitting there talking comfortably with one another.
“It was a bit more delicate than that. And it wasn’t a dispute per se, more of a need for reassurance.”
I raised an eyebrow as she shook her head. I unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped out of the car. Opening the door, I helped her out and found myself not wanting to let go of her hand.
It felt small in mine, and I couldn’t help myself from easing my other hand to her lower back as I guided her inside the teahouse. Her face lit up in surprise as she took in the transformation.
The tables were rearranged, and there was excitement in the air as people milled about.
“Shall we?” I guided her over to an empty booth.
Settling in, she turned her body toward me, an open invitation almost. I had to warn myself to slow the fuck down.
“If I asked you to share something else about yourself, how open would you be to the idea?” I asked.
“It depends,” she remarked.
“On?”
“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me? I’ve got a therapist, you know.” She narrowed her eyes, causing me to laugh.
I tucked the information away for later, thinking I might see about finding out who she was seeing. Colleague to colleague, so to speak.
“It’s not meant to be that way, although it may seem like that’s what I’m doing. I guess dating a counselor changes getting to know you a bit, doesn’t it?”
“I think you forget, I’m a married woman.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. But this entire moment has date night stamped all over it.
You admitted it yourself. Not to mention, you’re dressed up, so am I.
We’ve been intimate, so acquaintance isn’t an appropriate term.
We’re not quite friends, so we can’t say we’re friends with benefits.
I’ll be taking you back to my hotel room when we’re done, so… ”
“Fine, ask me something.” She sighed, a blush making another appearance.
“How about I preface it as a game?”
“I’m not sure about that.” She looked around nervously.
“It’s easy, I promise. It’s two truths and a lie.”
“I’ve never played it. I know how, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what,” I teased.
“Like I live under a rock. I’m honestly drawing a blank on the lie since you’ve put me on the spot,” she breathed out. “You go first.”
“Seems fair, since I suggested it. Let’s see. I co-own a business in Seattle. I almost drowned, and I’ve been married before.” I made sure that each statement had the same tone, with no inflection in which one was the lie.
“So, I guess which is the lie?”
“Yes, and then it’s your turn.” I couldn’t wait to hear hers.
“Co-owning a business in Seattle?” Her voice wavered.
“Nope, I do actually co-own a club in Seattle. I’ve never been married before.”
She let out a long breath, and then it dawned on her. Whipping her head up, she stared at me wide-eyed. Nan always said it was easier to get someone to open up if you shared your vulnerable side.
This was an easy way for me to let her know in a small way that something significant had happened in my life. But why did she look so terrified?
“Yes, I almost drowned. I don’t think I like the look in your eyes right now, Victoria. Have I said something that’s upset you?”
I drew both of her hands in mine and rubbed small circles on the undersides of her slim wrists. Concentrating solely on her lips, I noticed she counted each complete circle I made. Her mouth opened and then closed, and at that moment I would have given anything to read her mind.