by Holly Rayner
I’m out of arguments. “Okay,” I concede. “I’d like that.” God help me, but I would.
Tomas scoops Lara into his arms. Her head droops against his shoulder, and he kisses her cheek sweetly. “Back shortly,” he says softly, and disappears.
I pick up my glass of wine and head into the living room. I’ve never been in here before, and it’s so fancy that I feel nervous holding a glass of wine. The carpet has a nice, thick pile to it and the sofa looks incredibly soft. I’m afraid to sit down, so I hover beside the fireplace instead, examining the pictures on the mantelpiece.
They’re all of Lara. Every single one. Lara in her ballet outfit, Lara climbing a tree, Lara dressed for some fancy occasion in a beautiful white dress with a poufy skirt. In one picture, Tomas is featured too, holding Lara in his arms and smiling as she kisses his cheek.
I would have never connected this series of photographs with the ones I saw online, the photos of the Playboy Prince with a different model on his arm every day. It looks like a cross section from a different life altogether.
Just who is Tomas von Meyer, really?
Chapter 10
Emma
“Do you like our pictures?”
I turn. Tomas has come back into the room, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of fresh glasses in the other. He comes to stand beside me and looks at the picture in my hand, the one of him and Lara together.
“That was taken on a trip to Rome,” he says. “She had a wonderful time.”
“What did you do in Rome? Were you there for work?”
“No, just a vacation. We went to the opera.”
“The opera? She can’t be more than five years old in that picture.”
“She’s very well-behaved,” he says with a smile. “But I think she liked the gelato carts better. I let her get a cup every time we passed one.”
“She must have been completely strung out on sugar. I’m surprised she could sit still for an opera.”
“She fell asleep, actually,” he says with a laugh.
“Sugar crash,” I nod.
“You think?”
“Definitely. I know little kids’ tolerance. They wipe out pretty suddenly.”
He nods pensively. “Too bad we didn’t have you with us.”
I laugh, feeling awkward. “You wouldn’t have wanted me with you. I don’t know anything about opera. And I don’t speak Italian.”
“Actually, this opera was in German.”
“I don’t speak that either.”
He turns to look at me, those stunning green eyes catching mine, and I feel a sudden wrench of helplessness. I shouldn’t be here, I think. I should go home. I open my mouth to tell him so.
He starts to speak at the same moment.
We both stop, caught in the awkward moment.
“You first,” he says.
“No, you. Please.”
He bites his lip, looking awkward. “The truth is, I think I owe you an apology,” he says.
“An apology? For what?”
“For what happened in New York.”
My heart lurches. I had begun to believe we were never going to talk about what had happened in New York, that we were going to go on pretending we’d met for the first time in his library here in Luxembourg. It had seemed as though the only concession he wanted to make to our past was that brief moment in which he told me that we ought to keep things professional. I thought I was the only one with a whirlwind inside my head each time we saw each other.
It seems I was wrong.
He’s been thinking about it, too.
“You don’t owe me an apology,” I say quickly. “It was only coffee. You didn’t know we’d end up working together.” Even though I’ve felt regret about the time we spent together in New York, I really don’t want to hear that he feels the same way. That would be too embarrassing.
But he shakes his head. “I’m not sorry I took you out,” he says. “I’m sorry I never answered your texts.”
“So…so you did get my texts.” I realize a part of me has been clinging to the hope that maybe he just never received them.
He bows his head. “I did. And it was wrong of me not to answer. It was disrespectful, and I’m sorry.”
I nod slowly, not sure what to say. Should I tell him I forgive him? The truth is that I’m not sure I do, and I don’t want to say so just to extricate myself from an uncomfortable moment. Should I ask him why he didn’t text me back? I’m not sure that’s a question I want to hear the answer to. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that I’m not a supermodel.
“Okay,” I say slowly, more to buy myself time to think than anything else.
His eyes rise to mine, examining my face earnestly. “Will you forgive me?”
Just like that?
“Do you need me to?” I ask. “I thought we were keeping this professional.”
“I’d hate to think that my daughter’s tutor harbored a grudge against me.”
So that’s what it’s all about. I turn away and replace the picture of Tomas and Lara on the mantel.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I say. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my job without letting personal feelings get in the way.”
He frowns. “Can you and I find a way to get along?”
“You stood me up,” I say quietly. “You ghosted me. Do you know how that made me feel?”
He heaves a sigh. “It was wrong of me. There’s no excuse, and I won’t try to make one. But I can give you an explanation.”
I wait, still not sure if this is something I want to hear, but unable to decline the offer.
“The truth is that I was hurt by your rejection of me,” he says. “When you didn’t want me to come up to your apartment, I took it as a slap in the face.”
“It was our first date,” I protest, turning to face him.
He nods slowly. “I’m not accustomed to being turned down. I know how that makes me sound, and I’m sorry. Every other woman I’ve ever been involved with has been very…eager. Very open to taking things to the next level.”
I think of all the pictures I’ve seen of him with supermodels and wince internally, though I try to keep my expression steady.
“When you texted me,” he said slowly, “I felt humiliated. But I told myself that what I felt was righteous indignation. I told myself I was too good for a girl who would turn me down like that. I decided that you’d missed your chance with me.” He shakes his head. “It was a foolish thing to think, a foolish way to act. I allowed myself to be blinded to the remarkable chemistry that exists between the two of us.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I think you’ve felt it too,” Tomas says quietly. “At first I believed you hadn’t, because you’d turned me down. But now I think you must feel it. I’ve never felt such an attraction to anyone. And I…” He hesitates, swallows. “I very much regret not taking advantage of the opportunity to get to know you on that level. You opened the door to me, and I refused you. It was a mistake, and one I’m sure I’ll regret for a long time.”
I don’t know what to say. Everything he’s saying feels true—I have felt the chemistry between us, of course I have, and it’s wonderful to hear him confirm that it’s real. There is something here. It’s not just a silly crush.
“I’m sorry too,” I say to him, crossing the room and taking a seat in an armchair. I can’t look at him as I say it. I want the air to be clear between us. I want us to be able to start over, this time from a place of good will, and he’s been very courageous in apologizing to me like this. But it’s still hard for me to say what I know I have to say.
Tomas looks puzzled. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I’m not like the kind of girls you date,” I say. “I’m sorry for being different. For making things difficult for you.”
“You weren’t under any obligation to ask me up to your apartment, Emma,” he says quietly. “Yo
u’re right. It was our first date.”
“But I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” I say.
I can’t help thinking of the women I saw him photographed with, the pictures from the tabloids online. They must be so free with themselves, so confident in their sexuality. And I know it’s because of the hang-ups I have from my past that I’m not able to be the same way.
If I’d dated normally when I was younger, if I had been more aware of what was going on in my relationships, I would be able to relax with men now. I would have been able to ask Tomas up to my apartment without obsessing about what it meant and whether we had a future. I would have been able to just enjoy myself, the way other women do.
Tomas looks troubled. “Emma, you shouldn’t be apologizing to me,” he says. “I mean what I said. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you especially shouldn’t apologize for not being like other women. You don’t have to live up to anybody else. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“And it’s not your fault I felt badly about what happened,” he continues. “That’s my fault. That’s me letting my own history and my own baggage dictate how I treated you. It was wrong of me to judge you against other women.”
“I have my own history and baggage,” I say quietly. “It can be hard to keep that kind of thing out of your mind when you’re getting involved with someone new. I can understand that.” I can’t even begin to tell him how well I understand that.
He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Please don’t ever wish you were different,” he says quietly. “Don’t wish you were less yourself and more like other people. You’re unique, Emma. That’s what drew me to you in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Do you remember that day?” he asks. “When I saw you in the park?”
“Of course I do.” I remember it better than I’d like. I’ve had a hard time turning my mind away from it over the past few months. But of course I don’t tell him that.
“I was captivated by you,” he said. “By the way you were looking up into the trees. By the way you were taking pictures of things that most people wouldn’t have noticed. You seemed so unselfconscious in that moment. The women I’ve dated, the women I’m used to…they always act like they’re on a stage. Like they’re on display. They’re always aware of the image they’re projecting to others.”
I frown. “Are you saying I wasn’t giving off a good image?” Did I look stupid?
“No, no.” He runs his hands through his hair, his mouth twisting in frustration. “I’m saying it all wrong. I’m saying that the reason I came over to you was that you looked interesting. You seemed different from the women I’d met before. I wanted to know more about you.”
“I thought you came over because you thought I was taking pictures of you.”
“No. I saw you before you saw me, remember? I had already decided to approach me when you turned your camera on me. That was just my opening.”
“Oh.”
“And then later, at the coffee shop…it was different there, too,” he says. “Usually, the women I date aren’t exactly sparkling conversationalists. But you were interesting to talk to. You had stories I wanted to hear. You had a history I wanted to know.”
“I was interested in you too,” I admit. “But you weren’t giving anything away. You never even told me you lived in Luxembourg.”
“I told you about Lara, though,” he says. “I don’t know if you realize what a big deal that was. I don’t tell a lot of people about her.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because she’s private,” he says. “She’s not something to be shared with just anybody. You see how special she is.”
I nod. I do see it. If I had a child, I probably wouldn’t go around telling everyone I dated about them either… At least, not if I dated as many people as Tomas does. But that’s a hard thing to imagine.
“Anyway,” Tomas says, “I’m glad we had a chance to talk. To get this all out in the open. It’s been weighing on me.”
I nod. “I’m glad too.”
And I am. I can tell that my working conditions are going to be much better now that we’ve talked. I don’t feel rejected or betrayed anymore, and I no longer have to wonder if the spark I’ve felt between us is just me deluding myself. It’s like getting a breath of fresh air after being held underwater for a long time.
I cross the room and collect the glass of wine I left on the mantel.
“I should really be going,” I say. “It’s getting late, and I hate to keep Karl waiting.”
I catch a flash of something I don’t recognize in Tomas’s eyes. Is it sadness? I’m not sure. It seems to me that our working relationship is better now than it’s ever been, so what has he got to be sad about? Is it possible he regrets opening up to me?
Or could it be something more?
Is it possible he’s sad to see me go?
No, that’s probably just wishful thinking. Even though we’ve reconciled and put the past behind us, I still have to be mindful of my feelings for him. I can’t allow myself to think of him as anything more than Lara’s father, my boss. There was a time when we had potential, but that time was three months ago. We missed our moment.
“Come on,” Tomas says, getting to his feet beside me. “I’ll walk you out. It’s dark out there.”
He escorts me, not to the oak front doors, but through the kitchen and to a side door. This leads out onto a small, normal looking paved driveway that wouldn’t be out of place alongside any house in the suburbs back home. It’s so different from the cobbled showcase in front of the house that I actually stare at him for a moment.
He laughs. “I know. It’s a departure from style. But it’s more convenient for the cars to wait back here, where it’s well lit.” He waves, and I see Karl in his car waving back.
Tomas walks me to the car door. “By the way,” he says, “were you serious about bringing Lara along on a photography expedition? I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured into it.”
“Yes, I really think it could be fun,” I say. “Provided it’s all right with you, of course. Were you serious about coming with us?”
“If you don’t mind,” he says. “I don’t get to spend enough time with Lara, and I always like to accompany her when she’s out of the house. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that she’s so excited every time she sees something new. I don’t want to miss out.”
“Well, you’d be welcome to come,” I say. “I know it would mean the world to her. She absolutely adores you, you know.”
“I absolutely adore her too.”
“You’re very lucky to have each other.”
He smiles. “We are, aren’t we. How would you feel about scheduling the field trip for your next tutoring session? Would that be all right?”
“So soon?” I’m surprised. I had expected a little more time. “I don’t know where we’re going to go. I’ll have to do some research.”
“Let me choose the destination,” he suggested. “It’s my home, after all, and I know it well. I know you don’t like to be guided, but there are things I could show you. Things I think you’d appreciate, and things I’d love Lara to see.”
“Well, that sounds fine,” I say.
“It’s not too soon?” he says. “You don’t need her here for her next lesson?”
“We can learn English just as well outside the house as inside,” I say. “My only rule is that we only speak English during tutoring. Do you think you can stick to that?” I give him a teasing little grin.
“I think I can manage,” he says. “It’s a good rule.”
“Where will we go?” I ask.
“Oh, let me see what kind of arrangements I can make,” he says. “I’ll come up with something good, though, you have my word on that. Make sure you remember your camera.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say, touching my
bag. “My camera comes everywhere with me.”
He grins. “You might also want to pack an overnight bag.”
“An overnight bag?”
“And your passport.”
“My passport? What do I need that for? Where are we going, Tomas?”
But he only grins and shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
He opens the door of Karl’s car for me and I get in, my head spinning madly with a combination of curiosity at the prospect of what’s ahead and overwhelming emotion at everything we’ve discussed this evening. As we drive away, for the first time, I look back out the window at the manor. Tomas is standing at the end of the driveway, watching us go. That look that might be sadness is on his face again.
Strange.
And stranger still—where does he plan to take me on our photography outing? I had been imagining a drive through the countryside, maybe a stop at a lake or at the base of a mountain for a picnic lunch, and then returning back to the manor after an hour or two. But an overnight bag and my passport? Is he really planning to take me out of the country?
Not that that’s as dramatic a prospect here in Europe as it would be back home, of course. But still…
The butterflies in my stomach, which have set up a quiet but permanent presence since my arrival in Luxembourg, kick into high gear. An overnight trip to a new country, a place I’ve never been before. I’m thrilled at the prospect of seeing a new place. But overshadowing even that excitement is another feeling, a giddiness that I know I should be trying to set aside.
I’m going to be traveling with Tomas.
My stomach does a happy somersault at the thought.
Chapter 11
Emma
The weekend seems interminable. All my nerves are sparking constantly with excitement and curiosity about what Monday has in store. Part of me is itching to grab my phone and text Tomas, to ask him what we’ll be doing, but I know he won’t answer any questions, and I don’t want him to know how insanely eager I am. It’s still a little embarrassing.
But packing without having any idea what to expect is difficult. Tomas said to pack for overnight, so I include pajamas, but what am I going to want for day clothes? If we’re going to be hiking, I’m going to want something completely different from what I’d want to wear for a nice meal. With no way to be sure, I pack a couple of my nicest sundresses, figuring they’ll do the best job of being suitable for both casual and semi-formal atmospheres. If I miss the mark, he’s just going to have to forgive me. He didn’t tell me what to expect, after all.