“Okay, I just thought you might’ve stuck around longer.”
“I wish I could, but to be honest, Mickey, I’m struggling to keep my hands off of you. It would be most unprofessional for you to let me behave the way I want to right now. It’d be much easier for me to try and come back later, when I don’t have to worry about offending your adoring crowd.” Jesse’s words are spoken so seductively into my ear that they completely contradict his need to appear professional.
My breathing is heavy as I attempt to speak. “If you don’t make it back tonight, will I see you again?”
At once his mischievous smile is gone and his face indicates troubled thoughts.“Of course.” He pauses for several seconds, his eyes burning into my own as if trying to validate his words. “I'm very proud of you, and now I’m going to go and order some prints to display my pride at home," he says, before kissing me tenderly on the cheek and turning to leave, swinging his long jacket over his shoulder like a cape.
Chapter 12
It's almost midnight and the last of the guests have left. The waiting staff have gone home, Davis too. Zoe and I are left, delighting in the success of the evening. A good proportion of images have already been sold and there’s a lot of interest and possible business ventures to keep me busy. It really couldn’t have gone better. Well, maybe if Jesse had come back. I never thought he would. I try to be grateful that at least he turned up, but I guess I’ll always be left wanting more.
"Here, drink this." I hand Zoe a glass of champagne from the last of the bottles. "Just don't tell your mom."
She takes the glass and pours a large mouthful down her throat, before her face tightens and her hand flies to her mouth. "That's disgusting! Seriously, that’s the worst champagne ever!"
I laugh. "How would you know if you don't drink?"
She giggles back, guiltily. "Erm..."
I chuckle and excuse Zoe of her embarrassment, grabbing my coat and handing Zoe hers. "Come on, it's late." I collect my bag and check my phone, nothing, so I put my coat on and turn the lights out.
"Did you know he's outside?" Zoe whispers.
"Who?" I whisper back. I don’t know why. There’s nobody around to hear us.
"Mr. Jenner…Jesse."
I lean around her and there he is, leaning his back casually against a street light with his hands tucked firmly into the pockets of his jacket. He looks like a vintage movie star, all slick hair and artful lighting.
"He's delicious," Zoe sighs. She nudges me, a smirk playing out across her face.
"I can't believe your mom told you."
"She didn't, I heard her and Grandma talking on the phone."
"Great." They really have been discussing me at length.
"They didn’t sound too pleased. I don’t know why, I think it's fantastic. You look perfect together," she murmurs, dreamily. I roll my eyes but smile at her optimism, remembering how it felt to be young and romantic. I hope she finds someone to meet her expectations. Life rarely delivers our dreams.
We nervously make our way outside. I lock the door behind us and post them through the letterbox. Davis has an additional set for tomorrow.
Jesse steps towards us and I have to chew the inside of my mouth in order to fight the goofy grin that threatens to escape.
He came back.
"Hi." He looks first at me and then nods gentlemanly at Zoe. She smiles shyly in response and I inwardly laugh that she isn’t immune to Jesse’s attractiveness.
"I was hoping that you’d join me for a celebratory drink," he explains.
I check my watch, even though I already know the time. "It's a bit late." I look at Zoe to remind myself that I don't want her to feel abandoned.
His disappointment is evident. "Call it a celebratory night cap then, a quick one." His pleading eyes almost floor me. Zoe tenses her face and ever so slightly nods her head, hinting indiscreetly at her approval.
"A quick night cap then,” I agree before turning to ask Zoe, “Are you going to be okay on your own for a little while?"
"I'm sure I'll manage." She kisses me on the cheek and makes her way across the street to the hotel. "We have a mini bar in our room, right?" she calls back, teasingly, but she’s on the other side of the road before I get chance to reply.
Now it’s just me, Jesse and my awkwardness. I’d already resigned myself to the idea that he had forgotten about me and I was beginning to allow myself to be annoyed with him, so for Jesse to have actually shown up, it throws my attitude way off course.
We start walking slowly. To where? I have no idea, but my feet obediently follow his.
“No car?” I ask.
“We’re not going far.”
I nod in response and then desperately think of something to say.
"She looks like Joanna," he says, breaking the ice on my behalf.
"I know. She wouldn't like to hear it though."
"They don’t get on?"
"It's a long story."
"We have all night."
I contemplate my answer. "Then there must be more important things to discuss," I hint, regretting it immediately. I don't want to start the evening like this. Or end it, considering how late it already is.
"You're persistent." His tone worries me, but when I look up at him, he’s smiling.
"Sorry." I tighten my jacket around myself in order to resist reaching out to him. I don’t want to give in so easy without at least getting some answers first.
"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for." He stops walking and stands rigidly to the spot, encouraging me to stop too. "It's me who’s making this difficult."
"But…why? Surely as soon as we talk then it's behind us and we can move forward." I catch myself, realizing I’m presuming that he even wants our relationship to progress. "I mean, if you wanted to."
He steps closer still and then his arms are around me, providing some welcome warmth.
My weak resistance is broken too easily as I slide my hands over his chest.
"Of course I want to move forward. I want nothing more than for us to put our issues behind us. It's just that…well, it’s difficult when I haven't talked about my past with anyone. Starling is a surreally distant memory. I'm over it."
I stiffen at his words. He's over it? I’m a part of Starling too so in some respects that must include me. Am I just a part of his past that he can’t revisit, a distant memory that he hasn't thought about since he left?
"I-I didn't mean it like that," he stutters, no doubt in response to my obvious displeasure. "I just feel like I’d be opening up a wound that’s already healed. Ya’ know?"
"No, I don't know. My wound never healed." Wriggling myself free from his embrace I turn to look away, in desperate need of controlling my mouth. Jesse is taken aback and falls silent. Neither of us acknowledges each other for some time. We just stand several feet apart, bathing uncomfortably in the cold shower of light from the unforgiving streetlamp.
I contemplate leaving him there and hurrying back to the safety of the hotel. Even though it won’t offer the comfort that home could, it would at least keep me from the inevitable distress of furthering this conversation. He isn’t willing to open up to me. If he isn't willing to face up to his past then he can't fully accept me into his future. I urge my feet to move but they refuse profusely in the unwelcome knowledge that I’m not strong enough to willingly be apart from him.
Without words, he takes my hand. I mentally applaud him for having the balls for such an action when I must look like I want to punch him. We walk a couple of blocks before stopping suddenly.
"This is us," he declares.
We’re standing in front of what I presume is a restaurant or bar. The windows are dark and an exotic name that I can’t pronounce swirls wildly over the blackness that obscures the view inside.
He kisses my hand and watches my face with interest as we step through the doors. The room is breathtaking, like nothing I’ve ever seen before and my mouth hangs open in amazement. There are
what appear to be trees lining the walls but instead of branches of leaves there are extravagant chandeliers that hang artistically above tiny tables bordering the room. There is a bar that stretches along the entire length of space and a couple of young women wearing black uniforms stand behind it, staring inquisitively at us both.
"Bottle of Cristal when you're ready," he instructs them as we walk past. He takes us to the furthest, darkest corner and gestures for me to sit.
"Did you say Cristal?"
"Yes, we're celebrating," he dismisses, not seeming to think it is a big deal.
"Wine would’ve been more than okay," I insist as he holds out my chair for me to sit.
"I want to show you what good champagne tastes like, and it doesn't taste like that poison you were handing out back there." He smirks. He's teasing. I can deal with this Jesse.
He sits opposite, but we’re so close that our knees are touching beneath the table. A small bronze tray of four tea-light candles sit between us, casting an attractive golden glow onto his already exquisite face. It highlights the sharp line of his jaw and strengthens his masculinity. His sharp blue eyes are softened by the dim light and I catch myself staring, entranced by their magic.
A red-haired girl brings over our bottle, all the while undressing Jesse with her vixen eyes. She pops the cork and goes to pour it into our glasses, but Jesse excuses her and takes the bottle to fill them himself. I delight in the fact that his eyes don’t leave mine and Red walks away with her bushy tail between her legs.
The champagne is delicious, and I sip far too frequently.
"Do you own this place?" I ask in realization.
"Yes, it's my latest little venture."
"It's very impressive." My attention is fought for; the lights overhead, the marble floor, the crystal glasses. It really has been beautifully put together. "Did you design it yourself?"
"No, I knew the direction I wanted to take it but I paid someone to create this." I sense he’s trying to sound modest, but I can see his obvious pride.
"I can't believe how well you’ve done, Jesse. You haven't stopped surprising me."
"What did you expect me to be doing?" His wandering hands find mine across the table and I both relax and heat up with his touch.
"I have no idea. I didn't expect you to be a Cristal drinker though." I lower my gaze before anxiously asking, "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me that this was your life?" I look around us, motioning towards his beautiful wine bar, his wealth, his lifestyle.
He shakes his head, looking almost ashamed.
“I know how well you’ve done,” I continue. “I know all about your fame, your success. What I don’t know is why you haven’t told me yourself.”
Pulling my hand nearer and clutching it just that little bit tighter he lifts his eyes to mine. He opens his mouth and closes it, shaking his head again before being able to explain. “It’s not like I’ve lied to you. And it’s not like I’m living in a penthouse and flying around in my private jet.”
“At the rate you’re going, it won’t be long.” We both tap against the wooden table for luck, chuckling at our united gesture.
“Look, I didn’t plan on keeping anything from you. It’s just that,” he takes a moment, sighing heavily. “When I saw you at the reunion it was as if no time had passed. You were exactly how I thought you’d be. Then I got to thinking if I was how you thought I would be. I worried that the money and everything that comes with it would stop you from seeing that it’s still me. It’s still me, sweets. I needed you to see that first.”
“Were you worried that I would be attracted to your money?”
“No, of course not. I know that’s not who you are.”
“I wouldn’t have been blinded by it all, Jesse.”
“I know that now.”
“I understand though, I guess.” I shrug. “I just wish you’d told me sooner so I could tell you how proud I am of you.” I say, running my fingers over our entwined hands.
“You’re proud of me?” he asks, smiling broadly.
“Unbelievably proud.”
Tucking his imaginary hair behind his ear he unknowingly shows the shyness that he works so tirelessly to hide.
“How did you do it, Jesse?” I ask, admiringly.
He shakes his head, as if in disbelief at his forthcoming words.
"It was easy."
"Easy?" I repeat, a little shocked.
"Yeah, when I left Starling I’d no idea what I was going to do. I was worried I’d end up on the streets, or worse, but the first bar I walked into asking for work hired me.”
He stops when I exhale loudly, overwhelmed with relief that he didn’t have to resort to living on the streets like I’d imagined for so long.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Nothing, carry on.”
He proceeds, but not before squinting his curious eyes at me. “Well, I started by clearing the tables and washing glasses for a couple of years and then when I was old enough, or looked old enough, I helped behind the bar." His voice is so soft I have to strain to hear him, but I can't interrupt him again. This is the most information he has divulged about himself since we were reacquainted.
"Vera owned the bar. She was amazing, so funny. She reminded me of my mom before…Dale, except she was pretty old. She took me under her wing and showed me the ropes, letting me live in the room above the bar for nothing. She was my angel." He sighs deep within his chest and my heart aches for him. "After a while she became ill. She didn’t tell me until it was too late, and weeks later she passed away. She left me everything," he says, nodding his head and looking back at me as if that concludes the story.
"Just like that? Didn't she have any family?"
"Just a son, but he was in prison and they weren't close. She left me her home, her money, everything." He fills our empty glasses, and studies my response. "She knew I had nothing, and I practically ran the place anyway. I guess she wanted to leave it with someone who’d look after it, and she knew I would. I loved that place. It was the closest thing to home, a family, that I’d ever known. Apart from you."
His words sting my eyes but I fight through it. "Do you still have it? The bar?"
"Of course. I changed its name to Vera, though." He smiles, wistfully.
"And you made your money from just the one bar?" I can't get my head around it. He has done so well, so quickly.
"Pretty much. Vera owed nothing on the place, so I owned it outright and any profit was mine. After a few years of saving hard there was enough in the bank to buy another and then it just...spiraled." He seems so blasé about it all, as if anyone could do it if they had a little common sense.
"It doesn't just spiral for other people, Jesse. Others spend their whole lives trying to make a living from places like that and you did it so easily. It’s like you’re building up your Monopoly board, not your own little empire.”
"It’s not that simple, Mickey." All of a sudden his voice hardens and I worry that I’ve annoyed him. "There have been times when I thought I was going to lose everything, but I just kept pushing it, risking it all. I mean, what did I really have to lose? Money, that's all it is. Shit, I’ve been without it before.”
This whole conversation has flipped. The answers I’ve wanted are beginning to present themselves and now I feel unprepared. The emotion is thick in the air and I feel like I’m working too hard to keep it all tucked away.
He leans in, watching me intently. “I could lose it all and it wouldn’t be as hard as it was losing you."
My throat tightens, but it's through anger rather than upset.
"You never lost me, Jesse," I whisper, staring down at my glass.
"Yes, I did. I had to lose you."
My eyes dart back to his face, laced with confusion.
"Why?"
"It was in your best interests," he answers. He finishes his glass and places it back on the napkin, gazing at the table, not willing to look at me.
"Just s
top! Stop bullshitting me and give me a straight answer!" My voice is louder than I intended and I’m momentarily aware of the snooping onlookers. Not wanting to put on a show, I lower my head and try to escape their prying eyes by covering the side of my face with my hand.
"Please, Jesse," I manage, my voice now a mere whisper. "I’ve waited ten years to know why you left me. Why you broke what we had. The least I deserve is a genuine answer." I look up from the table and I’m taken aback by his pained expression.
"I’m trying! Stop acting like you’re the only one who hurt. I went through it all too, Michaela. I didn't leave Starling without giving you a second thought. I grieved for you, everyday."
I feel as though I’ve been slapped. His booming voice has recaptured everyone’s attention. I don’t like the volume let alone the context of his words. He doesn’t deserve to compare the end of our relationship to a death when he was the one that killed it.
"I wasn't dead," I snap.
Jesse’s breath becomes harsh but I can’t decipher whether his unsteadiness is due to anger or upset. "I know." He leans back in his chair and straightens his shirt out. "Look, this is getting pretty intense,” he mutters, eyeing the curious crowd around us. “Can’t we just...”
"What? Talk another day?" I interject, nodding sarcastically through my irritation. I can't keep doing this. I stand up and grab my jacket from the back of the chair before turning to leave.
"Michaela."
Jesse is right behind me as I walk onto the street. I don't want to cry again, I hate crying and that’s all I seem to have done lately. But, I'm far too angry to fight the upset and within seconds tears are falling down my cheeks. I can't let him see me like this. I continue to walk away from him, doing my best not to fall in these damn heels.
"Michaela, please don't walk away from me." He calls pleadingly from almost directly behind me. I ignore him. "For fucks sake, Mickey, STOP!" he barks. His voice is angered and aggrieved, trembling in the still air between us.
I stop.
Forget Me Not Page 11