I think about you when I write down when I fell in love with you like Jane asks us to.
First we write, then we share. I like the idea of remembering what we have so we can delve into the present. To remind ourselves of our connection, our foundation. Because I know we’re both scared of what the future holds for us.
When you surprised me that day at my house, I was expecting lunch. Maybe wasting away the afternoon over coffee. I never, ever expected you to take me to a loft in the middle of downtown. Gorgeous with the tall windows and exposed brick and open floor plan. I loved the sound of my heels clattering on the hardwood. Powerful and purposeful as we toured the vast space. That I naively assumed to be your new office.
Not the perfect studio.
That you found for me.
So you bought the entire building.
Somehow I found my voice to speak, explaining that while I really appreciated your efforts and generosity I couldn’t afford this despite how much I loved it.
You shook your head, waving me off when I tried to argue the reality of the facts. If that wasn’t enough to deter you, I told you that I was offended because I can take care of myself. My own irritation rising as I explained that I don’t need or want you controlling me. Your face may have been impassive but the severity of your tone left no doubt of your reaction to my complaints, when you told me I was now yours to protect.
I should have been beyond furious at you. Who are you to try and take over my business and make decisions on my behalf? And I was. Kind of. But you made it so darn difficult with your sincerity. How could I be mad at someone who worries about my safety enough to go to all this trouble? To spend his time and money to ensure my well-being?
Even more curious that you cared. So quickly and so deeply. After just one photography session, following a single date. That you felt this intense urge to take care of me. To buy me a building instead of a latte like a normal man.
That made you laugh. All of your indignation evaporated. “I’ll buy you a latte too if that’s what you want. Caramel or vanilla?” you asked with a mischievous tone.
So then I was the one who was mad. You were being obtuse on purpose. Teasing me instead of discussing the issue with me. Acting calm and untroubled. As if I’m the crazy one. Winking at me before you walked off to inspect the storage room. Leaving me to chase after you. Boy did I. I hustled as fast as my stilettoes would let me and yanked the back of your jacket. The cashmere suit luxurious under my fingers. Rich and opulent. Like you. Like this place. Like your life.
Not me or mine.
All of your cocky nonchalance faded when I told you I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you like this. I didn’t want you trying to buy me.
I learned quickly why people fear you. No one defies you and lives long enough to regret their challenge of you. But I made that mistake. I could tell you were summoning all your patience to rationalize why me working there made perfect sense.
You have money, I don’t. You want me to be safe despite how unconcerned I am with my own security. You want me to have this because a man takes care of his woman. You explained to me why I’m the crazy one between us not to accept your gift.
Well, that messed with my entire rationale. Making me question my logic. Causing me to doubt my judgment. My arguments seemed trifling. You could do what you want with your money. It wasn’t like you were going to go broke or anything. One loft in a huge building could be spared for me.
I knew deep down inside it was all levels of wrong and crazy and irrational. But that’s what you make me. What you do to me. I told you I had to think about it. You ignored me. I told you I would let you know. You said nothing. I told you if, and only if, I agreed, I would pay you something toward the rent. You went back to checking out the cabinet interiors. When I told you I was leaving, that finally got a reaction.
This time you chased after me. I wanted to hate you as well as my body’s reaction when your hands slid around my waist and you whispered in my ear. But you are some kind of sorcerer, and I stupidly let you hold me and reassure me that you would never hurt me. Promising me that you’d make sure I’d never regret giving myself to you. Vowing that all you wanted was to spoil me and if that included buying me a damn building then that’s what you’d do. Swearing that you never wanted anyone the way you want me and you couldn’t let me walk away.
And my stupid head and heart and lady bits liked all of that. Way more than I should have. I knew better. You were a dangerous mobster who could kill me as easily as look at me. Stuff my body in the cupboard you just rifled through. But I couldn’t help myself. Death be damned. I wanted everything you offered.
Earlier I was berating myself for wearing a slinky dress and carefully applied make up to look good for you. Which is bad enough to be one of those kind of girls, and now I’m considering accepting this extravagant present from you. I know I didn’t have much experience—well hardly any if I’m honest—and there I was acting like a fool over you. At that point, I almost certainly deserved to be strangled and stuffed in that closet.
But luckily you weren’t a psycho or a serial killer or a rapist. Just an impulsive, passionate, generous man who wanted to pamper me for no other reason than you could. My naïve heart swirled in my chest as I nodded. Accepting you for who you are and agreeing to let you in my life. Because I knew you’d never leave me.
Well, at least not in the way you did.