Chapter
She needs to know. She deserves to. Is sharing the truth a little self-serving, too? Maybe. But it can be both things. Good for her and good for me. But it can’t come from me. It would seem like I have ulterior motives, which I guess I do. But that doesn’t change the facts.
I love her. I know that much for sure. And, right now, that’s exactly as simple and complicated as it seems. Sometimes you can just know something, though.
That someone is the one, for instance. She feels the same way.
Deep down. All the rest of it, the things she does that don’t fit—they’re just theater.
We’ve been speaking the same language from the start.
When I see her across a room, her face bathed in light, she is the only thing that matters to me.
Like today in the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
She sat facing what was left of that building, just sat and sat and sat.
Staring at it with this far-off look on her face.
I wanted so badly to go over and ask her what she was thinking, to crawl inside her head and stay there.
But not today. Not yet. This thing is going to take time. It’s a project that needs the right approach. A delicate one. But that’s okay. I’m a patient man. And I’ve got time.