Chapter Fifteen
“Where are you?” Her mother’s voice bordered on frantic.
Jaime looked out the windows at the setting sun, such a beautiful sight as it dipped over the mountain, the streaks of color reflecting on the surface of Lake Tahoe. The water shimmered with a mosaic of pinks and silvers.
“The wedding is only four days away, Jaime. I expected you to be here by now.”
“I won’t miss the wedding, I promise. But I’m not exactly in control of the timeline.” She rolled her lips in at the lie. Lake Tahoe had been her request. Reno would have been on the way, but after Las Vegas she wasn’t interested in sharing Xavier’s attention with anything. Not after they’d proven so good at finding secluded places to celebrate nature everywhere they went.
“How close are you?” Fingernails tapped on a countertop. Guilt seeped through the line, tensing Jaime’s shoulders. If she told the truth, they’d have to be home by dinner tomorrow.
“A few days.”
“Jaime, the rehearsal dinner is in three days! If you’re delayed―”
She knew they had to go. Had been avoiding the reality pretty well for a week now, but a low level hum of guilt had plagued her for her entire life. “I’ll be home for Shabbos dinner.”
Anxiety burned through her veins like acid at the thought of having to let Xavier go. She might catch sight of him at the wedding, but he was flying home the day after.
“The Myers are coming as well for a pre-rehearsal dinner. Invite Trent’s friend, will you?”
“I’m not sure he’ll be interested, but I’ll ask.” She swallowed, not wanting to risk having Xavier in her childhood home, surrounded by her extended family in a situation that felt, well, intimate. Letting him go would be hard enough without having to walk by a chair he sat in, or have her mother ask about him.
She prayed her emotions were the product of this indulgent break from her reality, because if she were as in love with him as it felt, she’d never be able to forgive herself. She knew better than to fall for someone who had no intention of catching her.
“I wish you were coming home sooner. I wanted some time together before things get crazy.”
“We’ll have plenty of time after the wedding. Until then, it’s all about Allison.”
“She’s being so demanding, Jaime. Every day it’s something else.” Jaime let her mother vent her wedding gripes, not the least bit remorseful about not having witnessed the catering mishaps firsthand.
After ending the call, she walked through the suite looking for Xavier. He’d needed to make some calls as well, so they’d gone into separate rooms. She found him pacing in the bedroom, spewing rapid-fire French she had no hope of translating.
She lay on her stomach on the bed, propping her chin in her hands, and watched him. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the spectacular view, but she only had eyes for him. He spoke with an air of authority that would have frightened her if she were his employee. He didn’t even cast her a glance when he switched to another call, then another, and another. In the hour she watched him, she realized he spoke at least five languages, his father and sister were bickering and he was in the middle.
He worked his cell phone, tablet and laptop simultaneously, making her dizzy trying to keep up. Odd, how you can spend weeks with someone without seeing whole sides of them.
She’d stopped asking about his work, not wanting to know too much about him. Not wanting to care. She wasn’t sure how flings worked exactly, but she was pretty sure work and family were not supposed to be involved.
Except he was going to meet her family, he’d seen the kids she taught. And yet he seemed completely unaffected at the idea of the affair ending when they crossed the Oregon state line.
Finally, he set his phone down, closed the lid of his laptop and sank down on the bed beside her. “Sorry that took so long.”
“Don’t be. You had work to do.” She rolled toward him, propping her head on her hand. “We’re more alike than you ever let on. In fact, I think in the real world I’m more relaxed than you are.”
His low chuckle rumbled through her. He reached for a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “I do tend to go to extremes. If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
He inched closer, his lips reminding her of all the things he did so very well. “You’re not just the CFO, your family owns Marie-Chloe?”
“You were listening.” He pulled back, the waning sun casting dark shadows on his face and burnt orange streaks in the sky behind him. “I forget how many languages you speak.”
“Was it some top-secret issue? From what I could make out it sounded like a squabble with a fabric supplier.”
“I suppose you won’t be selling the story to the French tabloids.” His tight smile made her think he’d experienced that before. “My father canceled my sisters’ fabric order because the supplier is an ass. She retaliated. It’s quite the lovely mess I’m flying home to. But I fixed things, for now. I don’t want to think about embroidered silk for at least a week.”
“Is that why you really took this trip? To get away from the industry? Or to make your sister stand up for herself?”
He blinked. “What makes you say that?”
“Watching you was like looking in a mirror. I think I realized why I opted for Washington, DC. I could have worked closer to home. Los Angeles has schools in the same program. But I wanted a break from being the mediator. I think it must be an oldest child thing.”
“Aren’t you insightful.” He flashed a smile that made her temperature rise. “I didn’t put that much thought into it. I needed to be here for the wedding, and there were things I wanted to see in the States.”
“Oh. So you planned this whole adventure, just stringing me along to make me think we were roaming the land.”
“No plan. Just a list of things in my mind.” His eyes darted away from hers, making her stiffen. She’d learned to read the telltale signs of lying in her students. Xavier teased, sure, but why was he bothering to lie now?
“You have a list, don’t you? Probably detailed maps and driving directions too.” He started to sit up. She knew she was onto something, so placed her hand on his arm to keep him with her. “What? You don’t want to show me your itinerary? I showed you mine. You threw it out the window, so the least you can do is fess up.”
He cleared his throat and pulled free from her grasp, rising from the bed to stand before the window. The initial blaze of glory of the sunset had faded to a soft blush of color in the sky. Her heart started to ache with the realization she had fallen in love with him and her feelings would not fade like the sunset.
He’d lured her to him with physical intimacy, but what she craved was something deeper and far more dangerous. She wanted to believe that together they could overcome their fears, let desire soothe away the ache. She wanted to believe the romantic notion, but she couldn’t. And she knew that telling him how she felt would end things abruptly. So she swallowed her feelings, hiding them the way she always had, keeping them safe until they made it through the wedding.
They’d crossed the bridge together. It was best to burn it so there’d be no going back. With a deep breath for strength, she joined him at the window, wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his back. After a long, heavy moment where their bodies learned to rise and fall with the same breath, he spoke in a whisper.
“I didn’t make the list. In a family everyone has their own issues. They deal with it their way. This was my way.”
“What do you mean?” She tightened her grip, hearing his heartbeat pick up. He took one of her hands in his and pulled it to his lips for a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
“My sister and father, they’re fighting. It’s how they deal with her being gone. But I never fought with her, so it doesn’t help me.”
“Who didn’t you fight with?”
“My mother. She died last winter.”
“It’s her list.”
He dropped her hands. “I don’t want to do this.”
“It’s what you came here to do, isn’t it? This is how you’re saying goodbye to her.”
He tried to turn, but she tightened her grip on him, instinctively knowing this would be easier for him if he didn’t have to look her in the eye.
“It’s a beautiful way to honor her memory. Tell me about the list.”
His head shook and she felt him swallow. “Things she wanted to show me. She always carried a journal with her for when inspiration struck. I don’t remember her ever being without one. After she was gone there were boxes of them. My sister wanted them to be on display at Marie-Chloe, but I wanted to go through them and make sure nothing personal was in them.
“In one I found a few pages of this crazy list of things to show the baby about America. By the date, she must have written it when she was pregnant with me. She wanted me to know her homeland, but growing up there was never time.”
“Are you trying to blame your mother for Carhenge?” She tried for a joke to lighten the tension. She could feel him closing himself off.
“I’m sorry for dragging you along. I should have just taken you home.”
“I’m not sorry. If you hadn’t insisted on taking the long way, I would have wound up miserable in Medford for the next few years. Now I know I can grow my relationship with my mother from Seattle or Chicago as easily as if we were in the same town. Maybe better, because with my brothers in college she can come see me and we can have alone time.”
“I’ve given you your fill of small-town America?” He took her hands again, bringing them to his lips for a kiss one at a time.
“You made me stop and think. I guess I should be grateful to your mother, for showing me what I’d been missing by charging ahead instead of enjoying the now.” She barely got the words out without her voice breaking. He’d shown her what it felt like to be in love, and for that she’d forever be grateful.
Jaime had thought she’d been in love before, but it had never felt like this, a feeling that was its own entity. There was nothing companionable or sensible about it. It just was. A huge pink elephant in the middle of her heart.
Xavier squeezed her hands. “She’d like that. She said that when she was designing the world stopped and all she could do was feel. I think that’s what art must feel like. Makes me jealous, you know?”
“You want to be an artist?” That must be what his Frank Lloyd Wright obsession and collection of camera lenses was about. “Why not try your hand at designing for Marie-Chloe?”
“Oh, I’ve tried. Failed miserably. Tried every medium at some point, but I just don’t have what she had. My father ran the business side for years, but even he designs. Jewelry is his passion.”
“What’s your passion?”
“I don’t have one. I’ve tried. Sculpting, photography, music, design, even poetry if you can believe it.”
“I believe it. Mine’s reading, I think. Someday I want to write a book.” She stood on her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder at his bleak expression in the glass.
“You should do it. Start as soon as you get settled. Why wait?”
“I don’t think it’s as simple as that.”
“It is when you have a talent. My sister designed her first dress when she was four. Safety scissors, fabric scraps and glue were all she needed to express herself. She’s never happier than when she is creating. Our mother was the same way. They’re busy, but they shine, sparkle really when they’re in that frame. I’ve looked everywhere for that feeling. I don’t know why I thought this trip might help.”
“I do.” Jaime smiled, taking his arm and turning him to face her. She’d have to be more bold than she was comfortable with, but nothing ventured nothing gained. She had to risk it to see what she was made of, to keep him open to her. “You are an artist.”
He smiled, leaning to brush a teasing kiss across her forehead. “Really, I’m not. The camera was my last attempt. You’ve seen the pictures I’ve tried to take on the trip. Even those are mediocre.”
“They’re fabulous. Well, except for the spotty ones you claim are ghost orbs.”
“Adventures make good pictures. None of them are art.”
She completely disagreed. The shots from the horse sanctuary brought the moment back to her in heart-pounding glory every time. “That’s because you keep taking pictures of me. I’m ruining your shots.”
“Those are the only shots I like.”
She shook her head. There was no convincing him about the pictures. She’d tried every time he’d let her see them. “Think bigger. Not something you can see like a picture, touch like a dress, hear like music. You remember how you said Wright’s medium was architecture?”
“I tried designing a home. My mind just doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re not listening. Think about the list. It’s about celebrating life, seeking out excitement.” She framed his face in her hands, pressing her body against his. “You’re an artist, just with the physical.”
Her kiss must have convinced him, because she found herself on the bed before she took her next breath.
“I suppose that makes you my muse.”
“More like your canvas.” She lifted her arms to help him slide her tank top over her head. Her nipples were already primed and puckered, ready for more of the sensual creativity he’d lavished on her for the last two weeks.
“An evolving work of art. I like that.”
“You know what else you might like?”