"It happens."
She nods. "He was everything. Handsome. Radiant. And charming, but not in a witty or sarcastic way. Not removed. Honest, vulnerable, romantic."
It's a beautiful image.
Almost the way Simon describes his brother.
He uses "romantic" because he sees himself as a realist.
Is that why she uses it?
Or is it something else?
The warmth he brought to a cold, hard world.
What was she like before she met her husband? Was she like Simon and me?
Or like the man who won her heart?
She continues, "he agreed to my terms to keep things physical, even when he fell in love with me. He didn't ask me to reciprocate. He didn't ask me to leave my husband. He let me know he wanted that. He wanted to run away with me. But if he couldn't have that… he said he'd rather have me an hour a week than not have me at all."
"Did you believe him?"
"Not at first. Eventually… it didn't matter. I fell in love with him too. One day, I woke up, and I saw it. The possibility of a life filled with love. I believed I deserved it. I was ready to fight for it… Then he…"
"I'm sorry."
She nods. "I was grief struck for a long time. I lost that strength. But when Seb was born, I found it again. I owe him that much. Both of them."
"Leaving is the hardest part."
"Is it really?"
And not going back.
She seems sure, but I've seen plenty of determined people return.
Then it gets worse and worse. Until someone is dead.
But I'm not here to scare her. I'm here to keep her calm and comfortable until we find a safer place.
It's not my skill set. I run numbers. I charm donors. I schedule meetings.
Regina is good at this.
But Regina isn't here. I am.
"Leaving and sticking with it," I say.
She nods. "Listen to me… all dread all the time. Tell me about your friend."
"My friend?"
"The one you left in a cocktail dress."
"He's a friend, that's all."
"Really? You came home at seven for a friend?"
"It's physical. Like your previous arrangements."
"Is that how you want it?"
It was. But now? I'm not sure. "It makes sense. We both work demanding jobs. And he's all wrong for me."
"In what ways?"
He's a spoiled rich boy turned stuck-up suit. That's my usual line.
And it's true in some ways.
Simon did grow up with a silver spoon. And he did grow into a stuck-up suit.
Only he's not stuck-up. And he looks as sexy as fuck in his suit.
"We want different things," I say.
"What do you want?"
"To save the world. He teases me about that."
"What does he want?"
"Money."
"That's all he wants? Money?"
"You wouldn't believe that?" I ask.
"Plenty of men only want money. But I can't imagine you with one."
"You barely know me."
"I could tell the minute I met you," she says. "Years ago. I could tell you're the kind of person who cares."
I am. I can't object.
"You wouldn't be with someone unless they cared too. Even for sex. He must care about something."
He does. "His family. His brothers. His sister. A future wife and kids."
"Is that what you want too?"
In theory. If I can find someone I trust. If I can hear the word "wife" without seeing my mom covering her bruises. "Only if I find the right person."
"And he's not the right person?"
Simon wouldn't hurt me. I know that.
Why?
I'm not sure. Because I've known him since he was fourteen, I guess. Because I've never seen a hint of anger in his posture.
Or is it because I want to believe it?
He's handsome, skilled, caring.
A gentle lover.
But plenty of gentle men are cable of roughness.
That doesn't necessarily mean anything.
"You like him?" she asks.
"I do." But I'm scared.
She can tell, but she doesn't call me on it. "Am I, uh, what do they say? Cock-blocking you?"
"Maybe a little, but it's good. He's jealous."
"Oh?"
"I told him a friend from school is staying with me. From my MBA program."
"A man?"
"I didn't specify."
"But he assumed."
I nod.
"Do you like him jealous?"
"Certain things." As long as it's that light tug. And not possession. Or rage. Or anything that reminds me of my biological father.
"There's an idea of jealousy as romantic," she says. "I felt it with him, Seb's father. This jealousy of the other women in his life. The people who could love him freely. But we know the ugly side of that, don't we?"
"We do."
"Do you see that in him?"
"No," I say.
"But it could be there," she says. "You never know if it's there."
I swallow hard.
"It's hard to trust sometimes."
It is.
"Are you jealous? Of the women in his life?"
"Not usually."
"But you have been?"
"A few times."
"Was it ugly?"
"No." Not the way she means. Maybe he's the same.
No, he is.
There's no reason to doubt Simon. No good one.
Only the fucked-up shit in my head.
"It's not serious," I say, but neither one of us believes it.
"You trust him?"