Nervous at what it could be that he wanted to show me, I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. "I can't wait to see your surprise."
My answer seemed to make him happy and he led me to a bedroom that looked just like his. He opened the door and proudly announced, "I had everything of yours brought here. If you need anything else, just tell me and I'll make sure you get it."
"You had everything from my home brought here?"
"Yes."
"Tristan, I need to know. Am I a prisoner here?" I asked feeling fear for the first time with him since we were racing through the city in his Jag that first night.
His expression hardened and he dropped my hand from his hold. Without a word, he turned and left me standing there feeling terrible for asking a question anyone with a brain in their head would have asked.
I checked the closet and dresser drawers, and all my clothes were in exactly the same spots and the same order as they'd been at my apartment. He'd transferred my life exactly from Sunset Park to his house upstate, the only difference in his mind that I was living with him instead of Jordan.
I couldn't decide if I should be terrified by his behavior or touched by his thoughtfulness.
Lying on the bed in my new room, my mind was a muddle of ideas, one more conflicting than the other. I had the job I'd always dreamed of, yet I seemed to have signed a deal with the devil. Tristan was everything I'd ever wanted in a man. Gorgeous, his face was pure beauty and his eyes were gentle hints at the quiet soul beneath who shone through far too infrequently. He was more successful than any man I'd ever been with and seemed intent on lavishing upon me anything I could desire, no matter the cost, yet I had to leave my home. He was attentive to my every physical need, taking my body to places of pleasure any woman would beg to experience even once, yet there was a distance he forced between us. Above all, he wanted more than anything to make me happy, but it was to be on his terms.
What had I gotten myself into?
I needed to clear my head, so I stripped down, hoping a nice hot shower would help me figure out what to do. As the water steamed up the room, I stepped in and saw every item I kept in the shower at home with Jordan was there, only replaced new. My razor. My soap. My shampoo and conditioner. Each was there brand new. Had he gone shopping too?
What kind of person did this?
Standing under the hot water as it trailed over my head and body, I wondered if I was the one who was wrong. Tristan hadn't done anything to hurt me, and even his attempts to make me feel at home I considered suspect. Why? What kind of person was I to see sinister motives behind everything?
The shower had helped me see things more clearly, so I quickly dressed in one of my new outfits and set off to find him. I wasn't sure what I'd say, but maybe if we could talk a little I'd be able to show him I knew he meant no harm.
But he was nowhere to be found. Either was Rogers or the driver, so I wandered around the house, peeking my head into every room looking for him. By the time I made it to the pool, my spirits were crushed. I'd asked the wrong question and he'd left, likely returning to his penthouse in the city, and I would be left alone here in the country. I began to wonder if I really was a prisoner.
It was a beautiful warm summer night, so I took my search outside to the grounds, knowing he was likely nowhere nearby. The fireflies were putting on their nightly show, one that I hadn't seen since moving from Pennsylvania. I sat down near the front porch and watched as they illuminated the garden, my mind traveling back to simpler times and the nights when my father would watch as I ran around our yard with a glass jar trying to catch fireflies to keep as my own.
Just thinking about his death in my senior year in college still made me cry. After my mother died when I was only five, he raised my sister and me, never having much of a life other than us. I regretted how much he gave up for me, always there to take me to art classes and dance lessons instead of finding someone to share his life with. He died alone before he got the chance to see me as an adult who so wanted him to find love again.
That was the reality of life—loneliness was often a choice. Here I was with the opportunity to have everything I'd ever wished for and all I could do was look for reasons why I shouldn't accept it. Whatever it was that I was letting hold me back—fear, mistrust—I had a chance to share my life with someone. I had a chance to not be lonely.