Lost in Us (26 page)

T
he restaurant is as impressive as the reception area. The furniture is made of the same cherry wood, and the high ceiling is also painted—albeit in different patterns. The biggest difference is that instead of one enormous chandelier, there are a lot of smaller ones hanging from the ceiling here and there. It looks cozier this way. But right now, it also looks a bit frightening, because the place is completely empty except for one waiter who stands solemnly at the side of the only table that will be occupied tonight—by James and me.

"You shouldn't have booked the entire place," I say as I sit down, sliding a bit on the silk cloth that covers the chair. I place my minuscule purse in my lap. 

"I thought you'd be more comfortable without other people around."

The waiter gives each of us a menu, and I flip through the pages with interminable lists of wines, pondering how many levels of lame I would seem to the waiter if I ordered a Sprite. I glance at James, who is deeply immersed in the menu, and my heart jolts painfully in my chest. No, Sprite won't do. I have a hunch that I'll need copious amounts of alcohol if I ever want to get through this evening. Perhaps the alcohol can numb my mind and my body to the wrenching impact this man has on me.

I put my menu down. "Why don't you order wine for both of us?"

"What would you say if we start with champagne? After all, we have things to celebrate."

"Sounds good."

He orders a bottle of champagne I've never heard of, and when the waiter disappears, he says, "Jess tells me you got a job offer in San Francisco."

"I did. It's from an investment bank."

"And are you thinking of accepting it?"

I shrug. "Well, it's not like I have any other offers."

"You'll receive more, I'm sure." He winks. "Where else did you have interviews? Parker mentioned something about New York at some point."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat at the mention of Parker, and I try to gauge from James's expression whether Parker is still mad at me for the stunt I pulled. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyebrows raised. There is curiosity behind his eyes and something else that I can't quite read. I open and close my mouth a few times but can't pick up the courage to ask him about Parker, so I decide to let the matter drop. For now.

"I did have interviews at an investment bank in New York."

"Would you like to… move there?" he asks. There is an edge to his voice when he pronounces the word
move
that sends shivers down my spine. The waiter arrives with the champagne and I watch him pour it.

"I haven't thought very much about that possibility, to be honest. I don't think my chances of getting the job look too good. New York is crazy competitive."

He raises his glass when the waiter is gone, and I do the same, until they meet in the middle with a clang. "You shouldn't put yourself down. You have an excellent résumé. Though personally, I hope New York won't work out." He smiles, as if he's said the words as a joke, but his eyes darken a notch, and I know he was more serious than he wants to let on.

"How encouraging," I say sarcastically, but smile back. I take a sip from the champagne. It's sourer than I'd hoped, and the bubbles fill me with a jittery kind of energy that no doubt will transform in a blissful state of pre-drunkenness before long.

"You know what I think the perfect workplace would be for you? My dad's chocolate factory."

I choke on my champagne, and do a lousy job trying to disguise it as a cough. I clear my throat and then say in what I hope is a very steady voice, because James seems to be dead serious, "What could I possibly do there?"

"They do have a finance department, you know. I could talk to my dad—"

"That won't be necessary, James," I say. "I prefer to build a career on my own."

"You would be building a career on your own. My father doesn't hire or promote people unless they prove their worth. My introducing you to him wouldn't give you much of an advantage, I assure you. Just keep that option in mind."

"I will." I raise my glass to my lips again, and realize it's full again. The waiter replenished it before I emptied it. That's not good. How will I keep track of how many glasses I drink? As I take another sip, images of James and me in the chocolate factory start playing in my mind, and a hot shudder runs through my whole body as I remember his tongue licking off the chocolate I smeared on my breasts, and the way he made love to me in that office. If he hadn't talked so seriously about it, I would think he brought it up on purpose, to arouse me. To torment me. To make me forget everything that happened between us except that night. Is it really possible that the same images aren't playing in his head right now? His solemn expression as he sips from his glass tells me they aren't.

But then he puts his glass down and leans in slightly over the table, running his tongue over his lips, leaving them wet and oh so appealing. There is a playful twinkle dancing in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"I could come visit you after work," he says. His voice is deep and throaty, and I think the alcohol isn't numbing my senses—it isn't making me immune to him. Quite the contrary. "We could take another… private tour… through the factory. I've developed quite a taste for chocolate after our last trip there."

So he did bring the chocolate factory up on purpose. I take a deep breath, leaning back in my chair, my hands behind my back, pressed between the silky backrest and me. I dig my nails in my palms, and I don't feel anything in the beginning, but as I dig them deeper in the flesh, it hurts. The pain needles me, not as strongly as I'd liked, but it's enough to remind me why I must remain firm.

At the end of indulgence there will be nothing but pain.

"What makes you think I'd go anywhere with you?" I say. My words come out weak and entangled. I decide on the spot not to drink one sip more.

His sits up straight, the twinkle in his eyes vanishing. "All right. Let's do what we are here for. Let's talk."

We lock eyes, and for a few seconds, or perhaps minutes, neither of us says anything. I find that holding his gaze isn't as strenuous as I thought. It's much easier, in fact, than talking.

"Don't be quiet, Serena."

"I don't know…" I take a deep breath. My tongue feels like it's made of iron. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say."

He frowns at the glass in front of me. "Why don't we start with you explaining to me why you ran off that night?"

"What more is there to explain? I don't want to be with you."

"That's not true, is it, Serena? Your body was telling me something completely different that night."

"My body has a habit of ignoring my mind." I bite my lip, looking away. "Especially around you."

"Then we'll just have to do something about your mind, won't we?"

"Do you care about my mind at all?"

"Of course I care," he says, raising his voice slightly. He pulls his chair closer to the table, tilting forward, until his chest presses against its edge. I remain as flattened as ever against my chair. I wish there was a way to put more distance between us. Suddenly, the inexplicable fear that the wooden table between us will melt, chills me. There will be nothing protecting me from him if it does. "You're not just a body to me, Serena. And I hope to God I'm not that for you, either. I know I could have you right now. You want me; your entire body shouts that. Just like I want you. But I don't want only your body. I want your mind, your heart."

"You have those, too. You know that," I whisper, lowering my gaze. One more reason I can add to the list of why I should never drink alcohol. The dizziness it brings seems to come with an acute urge to be honest.

"Look, nothing happened between Natalie and me that day I left from the hospital."

"But you went to her." I bolt upright in my seat, as if an electric current coursed through me. I prop my hands on the table to steady myself, because the brusque movement threw me off balance. I find myself inches away from James, but maybe distance isn't the best defense I can build for myself right now. Confronting him is. Does he truly not understand that regardless of the outcome of that day, that the act of seeking her out is devastating in itself? "Which means you—"

"Which means I made a mistake. I cannot take that back, and I cannot change it. But you know what? That is one mistake I don't regret."

I gasp, a burning sensation I am all too familiar with starting to form behind my eyelids.

James shakes his head, grabbing both my hands in his. "That didn't come out right. What I meant was I do regret, from the bottom of my heart, that I hurt you. But I'm also glad I went to meet her. Because it made me realize that the only person I want to be with is you. I need to be with you."

"What's to say you won't make other mistakes like this? I can't bear the thought that something… unpleasant… might happen between us, and you'll just run to her again."

He shakes his head more vigorously than before. "I'd never do that, Serena. I've learned my lesson. If it puts your mind at ease, I can cut off any contact with her."

"You'd do that?"

"Yes. I'd do anything to reassure you. I'm serious. One word from you is all I need."

I suck in my breath, suddenly painfully aware of his hands on mine. They're warm and soft, and trembling slightly. Here it is, my one chance to get rid of the lark. I gaze into his dark blue eyes, and there is no flicker of hesitation in them. If I ask him, I think he really will do it. But if I ask him, I'll transform myself into the kind of selfish person I never want to be. Not only selfish, but also weak.

"I can't ask you to do this. I… I know she's part of your company. It would cause a lot of trouble for you to exclude her from your life."

"Then you will have to learn to trust me and be patient with me."

"Patience isn't my strongest suit," I say. "And it's not just Natalie I'm worried about. Your whole lifestyle… being with another woman every other day or week or whatever… this is what you do, what you're used to. This is what you like. You wouldn't do it if you didn't like it."

James pulls his hands away from mine, leaving the skin on the back of my hands prickling with a sense of cold and loss. He rests the fingertips of both his hands together, forming a triangle between them and his lips.

"I used to be a better person, Serena," he says in a low voice. "A very long time ago."

"When you were with Lara?"

He jerks his head back, the tiny muscles around his eyes tightening. "In the very beginning of our relationship, yes. But then I don't know what the fuck happened, and I began to transform into this monster that made her life a living hell. After she . . ." He inhales deeply, his gaze darting away from me. "After she passed away I worked my demons out with parties, booze. And women. Many women. It was refreshing not to have to think about feelings at all. It gave me a sense of freedom, a space where I could exist without my guilt. They were my entertainment, and, as far as I am concerned, I was the same to them. You're right, I got used to that life. So much that even after I decided to change from a good-for-nothing party boy to a decent man who worked his ass off, I still kept my habit of messing around with women. I never once attempted to have anything more with any of them. This is what I thought I deserved. This is all I had to offer until now. But I can offer more, I know that." His voice is nothing more than a whisper now.

His eyes search me, and I think he's expecting me to say something, but there's a lump in my chest, heavy and biting—a warning that I should keep my words to myself. My head is so fuzzy from the champagne that I'm not sure the words would come out right anyway. James stretches his hands toward mine but I pull them back quickly, resting my balled palms below my chin. He grabs his glass instead, clutching it so forceful I'm afraid he might break it.

"I can offer happiness, too, not just suffering, Serena," he says with urgency. "I made you suffer, you think I don't know that?"

I don't think he truly knows how much he hurt me. I'm not sure I want him to know how many tears and sobs have plagued me since I've met him, and the creases they've carved all over my heart. So I grit my teeth and look away. There are kinds of pain that are better left unshared.

"But that's not all there is to me, I swear. I used to be a better person. I want to change. I want to be that person again."

"You won't ever be that person again, James. You can be whoever you want, but not your past self. No one can do that. Everyone changes for a reason. Whether we change for better or for worse, it's a choice we make." I swallow, biting my lip hard. To my astonishment, I don't feel any kind of discomfort in my lip. Too much alcohol, for sure. "But you can't go back to being the way you used to be, no matter how much you want to. That person is lost forever."

His features tighten. "So you don't think I can change?" He fixes the bottom of his glass with his gaze. "You don't think I deserve to be happy, do you?" His voice drips with grief and it tears me apart to know that I have caused it. The way his head is slightly tilted forward... it’s almost as if he's awaiting my words like a verdict.

"James, that's not what I meant to say. Of course you deserve to be happy. You're sweet and kind and wonderful… what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't strive to become someone you were years ago. If you want to change, strive to be the best possible version of yourself now."

He twists his glass between his hands, still staring at the last few drops of champagne on the bottom of it. Under the table, I can feel him jiggling his foot. "You said everyone changes for a reason, right? Well, you are my reason. I have—"

"Why me?" I ask. I cannot help it. I recall Jess telling me James wants to change for me, and how convinced she seemed of it. The next words sail past my lips almost without my permission. "Why not Natalie? You've known her for so long…"

James snaps his head up. "I've known her for so long that I'm certain I'd never be the kind of person I hope to be next to her. I won't lie—it crossed my mind a few times over the years. I thought, since she'd seen me at my worst and for some reason still stuck around, why not try more? But Natalie and I would never work out. She knows that, too. She has a tendency to… not let me forget the past." His neck stiffens. "I don't think she does it on purpose. We just seem to bring out the worst in each other. There hasn't been anything romantic between us in years."