I go still. “What?”
“My father and I have the same name, and it’s been a blessing and a curse. I probably should have changed it a long time ago, but in spite of everything, it’s the only thing I have left of him.”
“What does this—”
“I swear to you that it will make sense,” he says into my hair. “But it will take a moment.” There’s a long moment and I fell his chest expand with breath.
“It happened right after college. It’s been twisted by the media now. But my father left my mother. He left her for a girl that had just turned eighteen. In fact, though I wasn’t aware at the time, I found out later that he left right before midnight so that he could be with her—and fuck her—the minute she turned eighteen.”
The reality of what he’s saying is sinking in, and there’s sweet relief along with horror.
“She was a senator’s daughter, and the scandal tore everything apart. My mom sold her house and I moved with her to Leighton City to get away from the media. My father was arrested for statutory rape, but it couldn’t be proven so they had to drop the charges. But the public doesn’t change their minds that easily.
“The girl’s father kept them apart, even after they got married and tried over and over to be together. And after a few years of being hounded by the press, separated from his new child, he killed himself.”
I don’t dare move an inch. I barely dare to breathe. Tristan seems like he’s in a trance, and I think he needs to finish telling me this as much as I need to hear it. Like an exorcism.
“It destroyed everything. My mother never really recovered from losing him, and the media never stopped trying to do stories about us. It took years. Even now there are people who ask about it. Which is my fault since I kept his name.
“The other thing though is that I look like him. Always have. I look so much like him now that sometimes I’m startled in the morning. And when I was younger, it made me wonder about myself. If I looked so much like him, maybe I was like him.”
He holds me closer for a moment, and slowly, I slip my arms around his waist.
“Your dad knows all about it. He knew I was afraid of being like my dad and he told me that I wasn’t. And I promised him that I never would be.
“And then you happened. That night when you turned eighteen, I had never looked at you on purpose. I knew how beautiful you were and I knew that I could never, ever cross that line with you. But that night in the kitchen—” His voice cracks off with emotion. “I wanted you more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. You painted the image of our life together and those pictures filled my mind like they were waiting for me. Like I already knew that they were right. I almost fucked you up against the refrigerator.”
“I would have liked it,” I whisper, admitting what I’m sure was painfully obvious to him.
“So would I. But you were eighteen, and I was thirty-eight, and all I could think about was that you were Bruce’s daughter, and that I swore that I would never be like my dad. And it would have been the same. I could see the headlines about the daughter of the ice cream tycoon getting knocked up by the son of Tristan Swallows—like father like son.
“I felt dirty and sick for wanting you. Like scum. But I knew if I stayed that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. So I ran away.”
I hold him tighter, everything falling into place and new tears slipping down my face for him. I wish that I would have known. That I could have spared him this pain.
He pulls back and looks at me. “I am so sorry, Nicola. I should have told you. I came back because after four years of suffering without you, I knew I had to do something different. I was going mad. And I knew that now, even though I can’t pretend that the age difference doesn’t make me nervous, you’re not eighteen. There won’t be any question of propriety when you were underage. And I didn’t think that I could live without you any longer.”
I pull his face down to mine and kiss him for real. I never should have doubted him. I never should have thought he had the capacity to deceive me like that. I’ve always known that he was good. It’s what drew me to him in the first place.
“I’m sorry that I doubted you,” I say. “I didn’t know how to feel. But you don’t have to worry about me now. I know I’m only twenty-two, but I know my own mind. I still choose you.”