"I haven't given you anything you don't deserve. Don't ever forget that."
Within just a few minutes, the melancholy that had covered him lifted and he was the Tristan I loved to be around. We made love sweetly and tenderly, and as we lay there in each other's arms, I tried to forgive myself for what I'd done.
The truth was that I sometimes didn't know how to act around him. He was so hard to gauge at times, which made me feel like being myself was inappropriate. In the beginning, I had thought it was the money—the way he spent money on me unnerved me, making me feel as if he believed I was someone I wasn't. I'd never pretended to be anyone but myself, but I found it hard to believe that a man would simply give gifts just because he could. It was never him but me who had the problem. Just because I'd never been fortunate enough to meet someone like him didn't mean I didn't deserve him.
I didn't know if he knew how troubled my mind was over things like that. If he did, he never spoke a word about it. But that was his way. He wasn't a man who spent hours talking about what was on his mind. He decided on matters and they happened.
It was one of the many things about him that I admired.
I absentmindedly ran my hand over his ribs, loving the feel of his body under my touch. Even now after a wonderful lovemaking session, I could spend hours worshipping his body again. He had that effect on me, unlike any other man I'd ever met had.
"Tristan, are you asleep?" He twirled my hair around his finger, a sign that he was still awake. "I'm really looking forward to seeing the museums tomorrow."
"Good. It will be educational for me since I know little about art."
I lifted my head from his chest and looked up at him, confused. "I've seen your house and penthouse. I think you know a great deal about art."
He smiled and pursed his lips. "I know a great deal about hiring people to decorate the places I live in."
I didn't know why, but his remark stung my feelings. The truth was that I was an employee of his, no matter how intimate we were after work hours. But something in his tone signaled a disdain for the people he'd hired to decorate his homes, and I suddenly felt like I was grouped in with them.
Rolling over, I turned my back to him and worked to push these thoughts out of my mind. I was sleeping next to him in our hotel room in Venice where he'd brought me for no other reason than to enjoy a city renowned for something I loved. Whatever slight I'd felt was silly.
His arm snaked around my waist, and he pressed his body against mine. "What happened there? Suddenly tired?"
"It's been a long day," I said as I stared at the wall.
He kissed my neck, nuzzling the space between my shoulder and my ear. "I love you. Get some sleep and we'll head out bright and early so you can teach me all the things I should know about art so I'm not a philistine anymore."
His self-effacing way made me smile, and I turned my body to face him. Kissing him, I said, "You're no philistine, even when it comes to art."
"Well, I'm a cultured philistine then," he joked.
Wrinkling my nose, I said, "I don't think such a thing exists."
He leaned forward and kissed me. "Then maybe I just want to impress the woman I love."
And with just those words, any slight I'd felt melted away. "I can report that the woman you love is already impressed."
Pulling me close, he held me and kissed the top of my head. "She loves me and is impressed. I must be doing something right."
"Definitely."
He fell silent for a long time, never releasing his hold on me. Finally, just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard him say quietly above me, "She loves me."
I did. More than I could ever explain to him.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunrise in Venice was just as incredible as the sunset the night before had been, and after a light breakfast, I was ready to show Tristan some of the greatest artwork in the world. The idea that I could be better than him at something thrilled me, and I wanted to impress him as much as he wanted to impress me.
Dressed comfortably in a light yellow cotton dress and flats so we could visit as many museums as time allowed, I walked out of our bedroom to see Tristan ending a phone call. His grimace was profound, marring that beautiful face.