Once we’re settled, Colton opens the wine and pours some in each of our glasses. He picks his up, and I follow suit. His eyes look like endless pools with the flicker of the flame dancing in them.
“To us,” he proposes, clicking the rim of the goblet against mine.
“To us.” My words are a whisper, but the uncertainty in my tone is clear. I’m still nervous, and I have every right to be.
Suddenly, a man walks out onto the patio, startling me, and I almost drop my wine, but when I turn, I notice he’s dressed in chef's whites.
“Good evening, folks,” he greets with a grin. “Tonight, I’ll be serving seared salmon with new potatoes and broccoli for mains. Along with French bread and butter. For dessert, I’ve been told a thick chocolate mousse cake with fresh cream is on the menu.”
Two plates are placed in front of Colton and me, and then we’re left alone. “New potatoes?”
“They’re the same recipe my mom would make when I was growing up, with melted butter and rock salt.” He looks like a mischievous boy right now, and all I want is to know who he was back in London. I want to learn who this man is under the façade.
Calming my erratic heartbeat, I sit back and inquire, “So tell me who the Colton from London really is.”
A small, almost shy smile curls on his lips. “I’m a boy who grew up with a mother who had to be both parents.” He offers me a look that’s pure innocence, but I know Colton is anything but. “She was my life and world. My mother taught me how to treat a woman, but I have to be honest. The young Colton King didn’t always adhere to his mother’s teachings,” he admits with a sad smile.
“And your mom? Is she …?” I don’t know how to ask if his mother is still alive, if she’s still well. He speaks as if she’s no longer with us, and the thought tightens my chest. The agony of losing someone you love is paralyzing.
“She… she was a strong woman. She died six years ago.” There’s a sadness to his voice that sends awareness racing through me. The pain in his eyes breaks my heart, shattering it with the sympathy of losing someone who raised you.
“I’m so sorry, Colton,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. “What about friends?”
“Oh, my mates are like brothers to me,” he brags proudly as we have our dinner, and I’m enjoying with every bite. The flavors burst on my tongue as Colton talks about football, which is the American equivalent of soccer, and his favorite team—Manchester United. “And those are the Red Devils,” he informs me animatedly, which makes me smile. His eyes shimmer with happiness when he talks about his friends, his football team, and his time back home. It’s only when his mother comes into the conversation that he seems to shy away from the topic.
As much as I want to, I don’t push it, and we talk about everything else. Colton’s travels, how many shoots he’s done, and even which were his favorite—GQ, Calvin Klein, and a few in strange places like the top of a mountain in New Zealand, and on an island just off the coast of Australia.
“Will you ever tell me about you?” He poses the question with a shy smile. As if he knows I don’t normally talk about myself, even on a date. Last night while we had pizza, I revealed as much of myself as I usually do, and now, I realize I’m going to have to give him a bit more, just to taunt the taste buds.
“I grew up under a shadow.” Even as the words leave my mouth, the bitter taste stings my tongue. “It was difficult. Nothing I ever imagined would compare to living in the darkness of perfection.” I shouldn’t dive into the dark, but if Colton wants me, he’s going to have to know who I am. And this is me. I don’t hide behind pretty dresses or fancy makeup. There aren’t any stylists to cover up all the pain that’s been eating away at my soul for so long.
“Hey,” he states. Reaching for my hand, Colton grips it, pulling it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “There is no perfect here,” he insists earnestly. “I’m the least perfect person at this table.”
19
Colton
The look in her eyes tells me she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her. From the outside, my life looks like it’s perfect—a good job, an expensive apartment, and I get to travel the world. But she hasn’t seen the ugliness that lies beneath. The struggle, the trouble I went through as a teen. And she hasn’t seen the heartbreak I suffered watching my mother get through her life single, with a son who didn’t want the love offered to him.