Romantic Secrets

by Monique DuBois

  “So you moved right in on her,” Liam growls. “And hell, yeah, I hold a grudge. You would, too, if one of your buddies bedded your woman the minute you turned your back.”

  Anthony exhales. “That’s not how it happened, but I can see nothing is going to change your mind, not after all these years.”

  “Damn right,” Liam says. His expression is dark, brooding, and sweat beads his brow.

  Anthony puts his arm around Isabella. “Time to head out before things get ugly.” He gives Liam another glare. “See you around.” He glances at me. “Watch yourself, Abigail. Don’t borrow trouble with this hothead.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Liam says, his voice rising. He leans forward and gives Anthony a hard push. “You have some nerve.” People around us gasp.

  Anthony pushes Liam back, his brows pulled low. “Bring it on,” he growls.

  Isabella jumps between them. “Stop, you guys! Don’t do this.”

  The manager rushes over. People murmur. Everyone in the restaurant is staring at us.

  Liam steps away from Anthony and stands, glowering, with his arms crossed. He looks as though he’s visibly trying to control himself. Anthony, ever the gentleman, speaks a few words of subdued apology to the manager, who nods. Then Anthony escorts Isabella away without a second look back. When they reach the doors, Isabella turns back and mouths to me, “I’ll call you later.”

  Liam and I take a seat. I smooth my napkin over my lap, my heart thumping. “What was that about?”

  He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he calls the waiter over and orders a bottle of wine.

  As we wait for the server to return, Liam is silent, looking around the room and avoiding my eyes. I watch him, confusion swirling through my brain. He was married?

  The waiter reappears with the wine and pours us each a glass. Liam takes a long sip before setting his glass down and finally meeting my eyes.

  “Yes, I was married,” he says simply, answering my unspoken question.

  “For how long?” I ask.

  “Nine years.”

  “Wow. What…happened?”

  His jaw clenches and he looks away again. Uh oh, this doesn’t look good.

  “It’s okay,” I add. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

  He takes another sip of wine. “No, it’s all right. I probably should.” He pauses, and then says, “She died.”

  I gulp, and then swallow hard. “She…died?”

  “Yes.”

  I breathe out slowly. “I’m sorry.”

  The muscles in his neck look taut, strained. His entire face is etched in pain. My heart clenches for him.

  “I haven’t talked about this to anyone,” he says in a low voice. His eyes sear through me. “But for some reason, I feel comfortable in your presence. There’s something about you…”

  I don’t say anything, but his words grab my heart and twist. He feels the same way I do… What is it about this man that always seems to do this to me? What is it about him that makes me irrationally, nonsensically want to give myself over to him, to trust him, and to let him enter into my heart? I’ve never felt like this before, and it unnerves me.

  “My wife wanted to have a baby,” he says, looking down at his glass. “We tried for years. She finally got pregnant. We rejoiced, celebrated. Then…” He pauses and wipes his brow, and then swallows hard, as if trying to find the right words. “She lost the baby.” He looks up and meets my eyes, and the pain in them just about knocks the breath out of me. “And then she killed herself.”

  I inhale sharply. “What?”

  “She took her life. Downed a whole bottle of pills.”

  My heart thuds to the ground. “Oh my God.”

  “I found her.” His voice trembles, and then he abruptly clears his throat. He reaches out and grabs his water glass and takes a choking sip. “I’m sorry. This is harder than I thought.”

  “You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s okay. Actually, it feels good to talk about it. I’ve buried it inside for so long. Seeing Anthony Valenta brought it all back. Not that any of it is his fault. I shouldn’t have taken it out on him. It’s just that…seeing him was a shock. It reminded me…” He clears his throat. “I hate the thought that he had sex with my wife before we got married. It’s something I wanted to share with her only. Every time I see him, it reminds me that he, too, once shared her body…the body that is no more. The body that’s lying in a grave.” His voice turns hoarse, and he passes a hand across his eyes. He sits like that for a long moment, his head down and hand covering his eyes. His other hand holds his wine, which trembles slightly in his grasp. Then he swallows hard and looks up, putting his glass down with a thump. “I’m sorry. This is some heavy shit I’m dumping on you.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. I’m seeing a different side of him, and I can’t help but be touched by this aspect of him. He’s showing me his vulnerability, which is rare in a man. I wonder why now? Why me? But then I tell myself not to question it. He’s offering me a gift, and I need to honor it.

  He exhales slowly, meeting my eyes. “I don’t know why you’re the person to unload this on, but for some reason…” He stops and stares at me with those haunted eyes looking out of an impossibly gorgeous face, and my heart seizes up. A trickle of fear also runs through me, though. I’ve never let myself be completely vulnerable with a man before, and yet this guy is bringing up all sorts of emotions that I thought were dead and buried. Most of all, something about him makes me want to take care of him…and have him take care of me. It’s strange, but true. Sometimes things just are.

  Even if they’re terrifying as hell.

  “I feel the same way,” I say softly. “I know we’ve just met…again, but—”

  “About that,” he interrupts. “I need to tell you something. Something important. I owe it to you to explain our last encounter.”

  “Okay,” I say hesitantly. I can’t imagine what else there is to reveal, and part of me doesn’t know if I’m ready for it. This is all happening so fast. But, strangely, despite my fear, part of me also welcomes this newfound vulnerability within me. It’s the most alive I’ve felt in years…sitting here with this handsome stranger who I feel I know, on some level, to the deepest core of my being. It’s not just the attraction I feel for him. It’s a knowing…a sense that we understand each other somehow, even though we barely know each other. It’s a familiarity, as if we’re of similar minds and hearts. It has me completely flummoxed.

  “Okay, here goes,” he says. “You should know that I use escorts on a regular basis.”

  I choke mid-sip on my wine. “Okay…well, that was unexpected. I guess it shouldn’t be, considering how we first met and all, but—”

  “Hear me out. It’s not how it sounds.”

  “Okay…” I raise a brow. This guy is one giant bag of surprises.

  “Ever since Mia died, I haven’t been able to feel anything. Not love, not excitement, not physical pleasure, not joy. Nothing. Just emptiness.” He speaks slowly, haltingly. “For the past four years, ever since she died, I’ve been hiring escorts with the hope that one of these times, I’ll actually feel something with one of them. Sexual release would be a start, but I haven’t even been able to get that far.” He pinches his lips together, looking embarrassed. “Truth is, I haven’t been able to get an erection since Mia died. There. I said it.”

  I stare at him, my chest squeezed tight. “So…I wasn’t the only one?”

  He shakes his head wryly and runs a hand through his hair. “No. Unfortunately, something happened to me after she died. It’s as if part of me died that night, too. It’s the only way I can explain it. Fact is, I haven’t been able to get aroused with any woman since Mia. And trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve dated every type of girl you can imagine, but haven’t been able to feel a thing. It’s as if I’m an empty, hollow version of who I used to be. After all that time
of trying, I finally decided to give up on the whole thing, right before I met you. When I walked into Ms. White’s office that day, I was going to resign from the agency, tell her it wasn’t working out. She had promised me that she would match me with the best girls, the most seasoned and professional, the best of the best. She’d promised I would eventually get aroused, and that I would start feeling something again. Well, she was wrong.” He meets my eyes. “But then I saw you. You were different. I didn’t know what it was, but something about you captivated me, intrigued me.”

  “Maybe it was the fact that I was standing half-naked in too-small lingerie?” I joke.

  He shakes his head. “No, actually, it wasn’t that, although you do have a smoking-hot body.” He gives me a half smile. “You looked so lost in a way, like you were trying hard to be something you weren’t. You looked scared out of your wits. Something in me wanted to protect you.”

  I stare at him, shocked. “I looked scared? I thought I’d seduced you with my abundant cleavage and come-hither smile.”

  He smirks. “On the contrary. You looked as if you were playacting, and I felt sorry for you.”

  I exhale. “Great. Some escort, huh?”

  “It wasn’t what you were meant to be. Clearly.”

  I press my lips together. “I didn’t have what it takes, in more ways than one. You clearly didn’t feel enough to get excited with me, either. So I was no different than the other girls…except I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

  “Actually, you were different. It was strange, but being in your presence caused me to feel something for the first time since Mia had died. It surprised me and caught me off guard, but it also gave me hope. I thought that feeling would naturally transition over to the bedroom. But I was wrong.” He looks pained, his face creased and broken.

  I reach out and touch his hand across the table. “It’s okay. Sex isn’t everything.”

  “It was to me. I mean, that’s how Mia and I expressed love. I guess that’s never going to happen for me again.”

  At the sound of her name, a small trickle of jealousy hits my breastbone. I check myself quickly, reminding myself that it’s ridiculous to feel jealous of a dead woman.

  But he loved her. And apparently, that love ran so deep that he’ll never be able to have sex with another woman again. Just that thought alone makes me feel sad…and yes, jealous.

  He looks away again, his jaw tight. “Yeah, I’ve been officially diagnosed as permanently impotent,” he says abruptly.

  I gasp. “What?” I can’t imagine a doctor would tell a young, strong, virile man like Liam that he was permanently impotent. “I’m sorry, but your doctor sounds like a quack. You should get a second opinion. There must be a way to…solve the problem.”

  “There isn’t.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry.”

  I swallow hard, not knowing how to respond. Part of me wants to cry, not for myself, but for him.

  “Anyway,” he continues, looking down at the table, “the undeniable fact is that I haven’t been able to become sexually aroused since my wife died. I’ve tried everything, including medication, Viagra, therapy, you name it. Nothing has worked. So I’ve come to accept it. Well, not really, but I’m learning to come to terms with it. Somehow.” His jaw clenches, and he picks up his glass again. “Anyway, I feel that full disclosure is important. I’m sorry I didn’t explain to you what happened that night, but I was still in the denial phase. She had only died a year before we met. I still had hope that I would be able to find a woman who would make me feel something again. A woman who could heal me…make me feel whole. But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m sorry I wasn’t that woman.”

  “But you were, or at least that’s how it seemed when I met you. I felt the first twinge of emotion that I’d experienced since her death, which is why I was so surprised when I failed myself again in the bedroom.”

  “You didn’t fail yourself…or me,” I whisper. “Truly.” I pause, trying to formulate my words. It’s time for me to be fully honest with myself for the first time so I can also be honest with him. I owe him that. After all, he just told me the raw, unvarnished truth. The truth, offered up with all the vulnerability that comes with it, is a tremendous gift. I owe him the same in return.

  “I think I was part of the problem,” I say quietly. My voice trembles. Crap, this is hard.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, looking at me curiously.

  “Well…” I take a deep breath. “I’ve never felt anything during sex. Well, at least not emotionally. Opposite of you. So actually, that night when we met, I was just going through the motions.” I bite my lip. “That’s all I’ve ever done, in fact. Go through the motions. Play act. Pretend. Okay, maybe I feel good physically, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  His eyes widen. “You mean you’ve never felt anything emotionally during sex?”

  I slowly shake my head. “No.” I give him a wry smile. “See, we’re more alike than either of us even knew.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. “Sex can be beautiful with the right person. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I guess not. But it’s hard to miss something you’ve never experienced, right?”

  “This is a personal question but…have you ever had an orgasm?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  His jaw drops. “Never?”

  “No.” Just then, the waiter mercifully arrives with two large plates of lasagna, interrupting this excruciating line of questioning. Suddenly, I wish I hadn’t opened myself up to Liam. He’s staring at me as if I have two heads…or three. Yes, I’m a freak. What woman my age hasn’t experienced an orgasm? But there it is. The truth. I laid it out for him. The difference is that he said he felt better after talking about his wife’s death. Right now, I just feel like a fool. I feel scared, vulnerable, and not a little mad at myself for opening up. It’s one thing to confess that your wife died and you haven’t been able to be intimate with anyone since. It’s quite another to confess that you’re so fucked up that you are so stone-cold unfeeling and unattached during sex that you’ve never been able to have an orgasm.

  He must think I’m soulless, incapable of any emotional depth or feeling. But that’s where he would be wrong.

  I do feel. Deeply.

  I’m just really good at burying it even deeper.

  We eat in silence. The rest of the meal passes uncomfortably. The lasagna is good but I barely taste it. It’s as if neither of us knows what to say to the other now that we’ve both disclosed our biggest secrets, the cracks in our armor. No, not cracks. All the broken pieces. Because that’s what we are. Two broken, shattered people.

  How can all those broken pieces ever fit together to make a whole?

  The answer is, they can’t.

  And I think we both know it. I finish my lasagna and don’t order dessert. I have the sudden urge to wrap things up, get out of here, and go back to the comfortable, safe life I’ve built for myself.

  When the bill arrives, I try to grab the check but Liam won’t let me. He takes it from me, and when our hands touch, a tingle of electricity once again travels over my skin.

  He feels it too, I can tell, by the way he’s gazing at me. I break the stare by looking away and grabbing my purse. Yes, there’s no denying we’ve always had chemistry between us. But that’s all it is. Nothing more, nothing less. No use unnecessarily complicating things.

  As he signs the receipt, I steal a glance at him. Holy hell, he sure is one handsome man. I’ve never seen a man so gorgeous. He has a model’s face with that cut jaw, deep-set eyes, and smile that shows a dimple on one cheek. But he’s more than just good looks. He has depth, which surprises me. He’s intelligent and kind. He’s the full package.

  His wife was a lucky woman. She had all of him.

  And clearly, always will.

  I push my chair back and stand. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll take a cab back. And if it’s
okay with you, I’ll ask John to assign the listing to another agent. Conflict of interest and all that.”

  He raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks as though he wants to get away from me as quickly as I want to get away from him. “Don’t worry, I get it,” he says, pushing his chair back and placing his napkin on the table.

  “Get what?”

  “I get why you’re leaving.”

  “And why is that?” I want to hear it from his mouth. That yes, there’s good chemistry between us but it’ll never work. We’re just too different. Too damaged. Damaged people don’t make good relationships. Not that he was looking. Not that I was, either.

  Not at all.

  “You’re leaving for the same reason all the women leave,” he says flatly. “The minute I tell them the truth, they run. I don’t blame them, though. In fact, I expect it. Who wants to date an impotent man, no matter what else he has to offer?”

  My breath leaves me in a whoosh. “That’s not why I’m leaving.” I frown at him, my ears ringing. “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes.” He meets my stare, unblinking. “What else?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it to you. But it’s not that.”

  “Yeah, right.” His eyes look dark, stormy. They’re walled off to me. So different from earlier. “No woman wants to be with a man who can’t get it up.” He spits out the words with a venom that surprises me.

  I shake my head. “You have to believe me, Liam. It’s not that. Yes, it’s nice to have a man who gets aroused, but I truly think that’s fixable…eventually. It’s not that…” I stop myself. I can’t bring myself to say any more, to admit any more of my truth.

  “Then what is it?” He looks at me in a challenging way.

  I open my mouth, and then close it again. How can I explain to him that by opening myself up to him, I also closed off the possibility of ever being with him? Because the truth is, I can’t do it. I don’t have it in me. I don’t operate that way. I’m a girl who looks out for herself. I’m better on my own. I take care of myself and get on with things. I don’t rely on anyone but myself. It’s safer that way. I don’t have time for complications or vulnerabilities or everything that comes along with trusting someone with my inner secrets. I almost did that with Liam. I almost trusted him completely. As it is, I let him know too much. And now I regret it.