Chapter 9 #2
I pull back just a bit to look into his sad eyes. He has the line between them, the one that means confusion and-slash-or sadness. His arms wind around me, his hands spanning over my ribs as we continue to sway.
“What did you forget about me?” I ask again quietly. “While you were gone, was there something you couldn’t remember?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I… I don’t know.”
“Nothing?”
“It was you and me for a really long time, Lana,” Christian says, putting his forehead back to mine. “I know you.”
I nod.
“What did you forget about me?”
I swallow. “I can’t say I forgot anything. I know you too.”
“Yeah?”
“I know that you used to trim your stubble every Sunday to start the week fresh. I know that you organize your shoes favorite to least favorite starting from left to right—”
He laughs.
“I know you secretly like bubble baths with the oils and salts, but you will only ever take them with me.”
Christian smirks like a menace. “That's the only right way to take a bath.”
I shove his shoulder. “Don’t be a perv.”
He kisses my cheek. “I know that every time you go to the supermarket you have to grab at least two of everything because what if you like it too much and want more?”
“That’s a reasonable thing to do.”
He chuckles. “You only ever buy fettuccine.”
“It’s the best one.”
“It’s not,” Christian laughs. “And your nails…”
He unravels an arm from around his neck and puts my hand over his heart, holding it there. “You only ever paint your nails two colors,” he says. “Ballet Slippers or Sunny Business from Essie.”
I nod, biting on my inner lip.
“And you like your meat on the right side of the plate, everything else on the left.”
I want to tell him to shut up. “Are you trying to break my heart?”
“No,” Christian says. “I’m just…trying to put it back together.”
“I did that already.” Eighty percent of it.
“Okay.” He swallows. “Then let me keep it that way.”
“Why did you come back?” I whisper. “What did you do in New York, Christian?”
“Lana…”
“What did you do to yourself in New York?”
He shakes his head, grimacing. “I don’t… Lana—”
“I need that,” I say. “What happened to your mother? Why did you have to take over? Why did you leave with her?”
“She’s still in New York. She wasn’t happy when I left but I told her to deal with it.
After my dad died… I think my mother doesn’t know how to be alone without a man telling her what to do.
She was so used to her conditions, she forgot herself,” he says.
“So when my dad died, I guess she just couldn’t do it.
My dad was trying to groom me for this even when I wasn’t interested. ”
“Was it hard? Becoming CEO?”
“Very,” he breathes. “That is when things got…worse. Worse than the way I left.”
My heart breaks for him, the way it always did when he came home broken and bruised.
When I saw him blacked out drunk on our kitchen floor or on our couch.
I can’t imagine Christian in a worse state than the way he left.
Alcohol consumed him, in New York it was poisoning him— killing him.
It took him further and further away from me.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers. “Don’t cry for me.”
I feel the wet drop on my cheek just before he wipes it away.
I was always the emotional one, crying for Christian and his pain as though it were my own.
It’s hard not to when you love someone like this.
You want to heal them, put up shields around them and defend the lines.
You want to put your hand in their chest, hold their heart in your hands and show it affection until the wounds close.
You want to take their pain in any way you can because you’d rather suffer than watch them suffer.
I love Christian too much to watch him suffer.
“I can’t help it,” I croak.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“I am, baby, I promise,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
I nod. “What happened last night… it can’t happen again.”
“Okay.”
“Not until—”
“I know,” Christian says. “I agree.”
“You do?”
“Despite what you might think,” he says, “I can control myself around you.”
I scoff. “Okay.”
Then he pulls back to spin me into his chest and dips me, a new dance move. His face hovers over mine and with the sunlight, I have the perfect look of his eyes. Coffee brown with flecks of honey around his irises that you’ll only see if you’re paying close enough attention.
His eyes drop to my lips and the tip of his tongue darts out, pressing against his bottom lip before he looks back into my eyes. His face comes in closer and closer until I feel his breath, and he whispers, “I think maybe it’s you that can’t control yourself around me.”
Probably.
“I don’t think so,” I breathe, my eyes dropping to his full lips that part. “Stop that.”
“What am I doing?”
“You know what you’re doing, Christian Calloway,” I sigh, taking a step back and out of the bubble.
He smirks. “What am I doing, Lana?”
My eyes narrow. “Christian…”
“We’ll have rules,” he says.
“Rules?”
He nods. “Yes. Other than the condition of the key, we’ll have rules.”
I blink and my body gravitates toward him, in both intrigue and the lack of him. “What kind of rules?”
“You can’t have sex with me.”
I guffaw. Loudly. My head tosses back and the belly laughter makes my muscles ache. “You think I can’t control myself? Are you serious?”
He shrugs, half smiling and amused. “Very serious.”
“Fine,” I chuckle. “You can’t kiss me.”
Christian gapes at me. “No.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I’m vetoing.”
I point my finger at him. “You can’t veto that!”
“You could have vetoed my rule if you really wanted to.”
I groan. “You are—”
“—a genius.”
“—annoying!”
He’s smiling down at me, victorious, and my nostrils are flaring. My fists are curled at my side, lips pressed together, and I’m one stomp of my foot away from looking like a child throwing a tantrum.
Christian smirks as his eyes drop to my lips, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.“Can I kiss you?”
“Ugh!” I walk away from him and sit back at the island to eat breakfast.
“You’re so cute.”
“Don’t talk to me right now,” I grumble and shove my fork through the omelet, smashing against the plate beneath with its points.
I feel my immature anger flicker like a dying out flame, until it’s gone.
I must have a problem to enjoy pointless arguing.
Not like but…feel the things it makes me feel.
Not that it is entirely pointless, I don’t know.
Maybe it is just more proof that there is something to fight for.
Maybe I wasn’t holding onto all this hope for nothing after all.
Despite there being something to fight for, I also have to fight to protect myself. Two fights, and where’s the balance? This won’t work if I don’t let him in, I keep telling myself that.
Christian huffs a soft laugh. “Can I hug you then?”
Frowning, I nod stiffly. The top of the stool twists around until I’m facing him and he’s smiling down at me. In a second, his arms are around my small body and his face is buried in my neck. I wrap my arms around his neck, sitting up taller to reach more of him.
I haven’t been hugged like this in years. There is something so healing about a hug.
“You can only kiss me when I allow it,” I murmur into his neck.
Christian kisses the curve of my neck. “Anywhere?”
“Stop,” I warn.
He pulls back and his hand cups my cheek. With soft eyes, he runs thumb across my bottom lip. “Can I kiss you here?”
Yes. “No.”
“No?”
“Yes.”
“So yes?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Christian whispers, somehow moving closer to me and standing between my legs. “And if I say please?”
I release a shaky breath. “Maybe.”
“Can I kiss you?” Christian asks. “Please.”
My eyes flit to his full, perfect lips, and I wet my bottom lip before biting into it. I dip my chin and both of his hands are holding my face. His nose bumps mine, his breath tickling my lips—so close, yet so far away.
“Are you going to kiss me or not?” I whisper.
“Don’t rush me,” he whispers. “This is for me.”
I huff a small laugh, my hands fisting his shirt at his waist. Then I hear the way his breath hitches and I can feel his heart hammering even at his sides, a slight tremble in his arms and hands too. “Christian?”
“Yeah,” he breathes against my lips.
“Are you nervous?”
Unconvincingly, he says, “N-no.” He clears his throat. “No, I…”
“Christian?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, sounding relieved and putting his forehead down on mine.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing, I—I’m fine.”
“Christian—”
“I don’t know.”
“Christian,” I breathe. “This isn’t about a kiss, is it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Christian, it’s okay,” I whisper and wrap my arms and legs around him. “Hey, its fine, it’s just a ki—”
“I, um—” He releases my face and breaks out of my hold, taking a few staggering steps back. “I’m…going to go to the gym.”
“Christian—” Don’t do this.
The guest room door slams shut and I blink, startled by the sound.
I sigh heavily, defeated. I finish my breakfast and five minutes later, Christian emerges from the room, dressed in his gym clothes with the bag on his shoulder.
“I’ll see you later, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes averted low and away from me. He’s ashamed. “Have a good day.”
“You too, Chri—”
He’s already running for the door.
Christian is a man who can’t be pushed. When he’s ready, he’ll talk. Otherwise, it’s not up to me or anyone else. He’s always been that way, so to push is only ever a bad idea. I can’t afford pushing Christian, not when he’s this close again. Not when he’s trying to prove himself to the both of us.
He will talk when he’s ready, I tell myself.