in ways no one else ever has. As I wander through the tourists, I concede his point. “I do. I care for her deeply.”
“At some point, you’ll need to tell her, then,” he says. “About your family.”
My muscles tighten, coiling uncomfortably. “Why?”
“Because what happened is your history. It’s who you are. It’s the very reason you don’t let people in. It’s why you haven’t ever let yourself care this deeply for someone before.”
I wince, tension mounting like someone is cranking my insides. “We’re not at that point,” I say, stepping out of the way of a pack of tourists as a green-and-white awning outside a café comes into view.
The sign is like glimpsing an oasis.
Coffee. I know someone who loves coffee at all hours of the day.
“But you might be at some point. Think about it, Daniel. Just tell me you’ll think about it,” Cole presses, urgency in his tone.
I heave a sigh, dragging my hand through my hair. “I’ll think about it.” I’ll probably do nothing but think about it, so at least that’s true.
We say goodbye, and I head into the café, ordering coffees. At least I can do that for her.
I make the return walk to the hotel, and when I’m inside the inn, I find her at the pool, lounging by the placid water and wearing a red one-piece, her chestnut hair slick and wet, droplets of water still glistening on her skin.
The sight of her like that, having just gone for a dip, looking au naturel, makes my heart hammer.
No artifice, no wig, no pretending.
She’s simply the inimitable Scarlett Slade.
She waves to me, patting the lounge chair next to her. I join her, handing her the drink.
“Coffee is always a good idea,” she says.
“You went for a dip.” I state the obvious, savoring the view of her après swim.
“I did. I felt a little like playing hooky.”
“How was the water?”
“Fantastic. The pool is another for the pro column. Guests rave about this pool, and with good reason,” she says.
“You doing due diligence while going for a dip is too sexy for words.” I lift my cup, taking a drink, then set it down on the small table between us. As I do, I stare at the jagged scar on my right hand.
Part of me thinks I should wait for a sign. But I don’t believe in signs. I believe in moments.
I want to share some of who I am with her. She deserves that much given all she’s shared with me.
I set my scarred hand on her leg, and I begin, carefully doling out the pieces of my puzzle I’m ready to offer.
“When I was younger, I was a concert violinist. I had a different last name. I’d played in St. Petersburg, Vienna, Tokyo, all by the age of seventeen. Stages all over the world. Child prodigy. And I was going to attend university on a music scholarship.” Her eyes widen as I speak, like she’s gobbling up all of the things that I’ve never told her. I’ve hardly told anyone but Cole about my life before, and where I’d been headed.
“But when I was eighteen, right before I left for university, I received some new information about my parents’ deaths.” That horrible day flashes before me, the cruelty of the memory slicing my flesh, cutting my heart once again, and I bite out, “And I punched a wall.”
She gasps, perhaps in horror. Perhaps knowing where this story is going.
I hold up my hand. “I suffered permanent nerve damage.”
She sighs sadly. “My God, Daniel.”
“My hand works fine. It works fine for everything. For typing. For making sandwiches. For sex,” I say, pushing out a laugh. “It even works fine for playing the violin in an above-average fashion.” I take a beat, and then say the hardest thing. “It works fine for everything except playing Beethoven and Brahms on the world’s greatest stages.”
“That was your dream,” she says.
“It was my only one.”
Her lips quiver. Twin tears slide down her cheeks. She sits up straighter, reaches for my right hand, takes it between hers, and brings it to her lips. Then she kisses my scar like a benediction, like it can erase everything that went wrong.
I close my eyes, melting into her touch, which almost feels like forgiveness. Like I’m forgiving myself for what I did stupidly, foolishly, violently in a fit of anger over something I haven’t fully revealed to her.
How I came to end the greatest thing I’ve ever known.
But then, so many things had