Reinventing Fate, page 22
“Look, can we talk?” Colin appeals, taking my hand in his. “Just you and me.”
“Don’t do it, Paige.” Rome is instantly on his feet. “You can’t trust this guy.”
“We can go for a walk,” he says with eyes only for me, ignoring Rome fuming over him. “Get some desserts from that little place around the corner.”
It sounds… romantic. I’m not sure why, or maybe I do. It’s something I imagine an old married couple would do after many years together. It’s dangerous thinking that way about me and Colin. Marriage. Me and Colin. The whole of it. There can’t be many years with us.
Rome isn’t having it. “Says the witch to Gretel.”
“You and your witches,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s fine, Hansel. I can use some exercise after that heavy meal anyway. Besides,” I add with a grin, “you have to do the dishes.”
Having waved off Rudy, that’s how we end up strolling down 181st Street. Even in simple jeans and a charcoal gray shirt, Colin stands out, a glorious peacock amidst every-day pigeons. We’re not hand-in-hand, but his upper arm grazes my shoulder with each unhurried step. We rolled around in bed– and on the floor– bare skin to bare skin, tasted each other in ways lovers relish, yet it’s these seemingly minor touches that revive me to the core.
“Nice day,” he observes offhandedly, looking straight ahead under the poor, grimy streetlights. “Summer is definitely knocking.” He pauses, allowing the sound of people and traffic to fill the void for a moment. “Thank you for dinner.”
There are way too many people out and about on the sidewalk, too many shoppers in and out of the small, ancient stores and hole-in-the-wall eateries for us to be alone, yet they’re merely background noises to me. A backdrop for me and Colin.
“It’s the least I can do for the many times you fed me.”
For some reason that earns me a sideway scowl. “It’s not a competition, and I sure as hell hope it wasn’t because of obligation.”
“Okay, I take that back. You strong-armed your way into a meal.”
The scowl turns into a definitive nod of approval. “That’s more like it.” He punctuates that by grasping my hand.
I won’t point out that falls into the category of obligation, not when I’m liking his fingers twining with mine so much. A bus rumbles by, and we walk in companionable silence before I ask, “How was your day?”
“Eventful, one might say. I saw Damian.”
I wait, sensing more.
“He revealed something personal to me.” His hand tightens. “He said he has cancer, but I have a feeling you already knew that.”
Has. Not had. “No,” I reveal in all honesty, devastated and frightened for what Damian must be going through right now. “I didn’t know. Is he okay?”
“Paige.” In the middle of the street, to the irritation of vocal New Yorkers and the curiosity of the corner street vendor peddling steaming hot dogs and questionable coffee, Colin pulls me to a stop to face him, his dark, grave gaze swallowing up the heavy space between us. “How did you meet Damian?”
Anxiety lines his face. We’re so close, I know he’s holding his breath.
“I don’t have cancer, if that’s what you’re really asking.” That wasn’t what he wanted. Because I see myself struggling to hold on to me reflected in his eyes, see his effort to find words to what he’s looking for, I take a half step back. “Damian and I met at church.”
He just blinks, his mind working frantically at the conventional admission. Too innocuous. Mundane. “At church,” he repeats dubiously. “Damian isn’t religious.”
“Not everyone you see at church is religious. I know that sounds paradoxical, but sometimes people are there out of desperation, as a last hope.”
“You’re telling me Damian was ill, so he decided to go to church,” he tests out, clearly not sold, “and that was how you met him.”
“His reasons for going were his own. It wouldn’t be right for me to assume I know what they were.”
“Why were you there?”
It’s my turn to stare at him. “What?”
“Was it for religious reasons, out of desperation, or a last hope? You know what? Scratch the first choice. You can’t be that religious. You’ve never been married, yet you weren’t a virgin.”
“Whoa, das hot.”
Pausing, we both shoot a glower at the hotdog vendor.
“Just sayin’,” he goes on. “Hey, maybe she was like one of them born again Christian or what-eva. Me? I don’t do none of da. No way. Fawget aboutit.” He shrugs, suddenly noticing our slack-jaw scowl. “Wat-ta? Caw-fee? No need to wait.”
“Come on.” Colin exhales with frustration, tugging me onto the crosswalk with the flow of busy pedestrians– and away from the prying vendor. “Let’s get away from the born again dickhead.”
“You can’t blame the guy for commenting. You only blurted out loud the fact we had sex and that it wasn’t my first time,” I reply sardonically.
“I merely said you weren’t a virgin. I wasn’t broadcasting our fantastic fuck time.”
Several heads turn.
Someone snickers.
Jeezers! “Would you keep it down? I kind of like keeping my private life off of 181st and St. Nicholas.”
“What are you not telling me, Paige? Every time I ask either you or Damian, you both give me the runaround. We can deal with whatever you think is so personal.” His huffing and puffing have nothing to do with our sudden purposeful strides and everything to do with frustrated impatience. “You fucking dying or something? You better not be because I’m not going to allow it.”
He said the last parts in sardonic jest, but it was his confident, irrefutable opposition that has my throat choking painfully on itself, my chest squeezing so hard, I’m in danger of suffocating. Tears abruptly burst out of me.
I yank my captured fingers from his, frantically searching my pockets for a tissue. Colin is gaping at me, baffled, helpless, with a healthy dose of male panic. “I just need a minute,” I sob, trying hard to hold down the waterworks when my hands come up empty.
Ramblers break around us while tossing strange and annoyed looks. A woman peers at me with sympathy with a silent outcry of Men! before holding out a folded tissue to me as she slows. A mumbled, “Things will be okay,” then she flips Colin the stink eye and moves on.
Who says all New Yorkers are apathetic?
Maybe she’s a tourist.
Since the time I’ve learned of my bleak fate, I cried only once. It didn’t change anything, didn’t make me feel better, so I didn’t waste a second on it again, not when I had to be strong for Rome. Colin has the talent of bringing my emotions to the forefront, feelings I sometimes don’t know how to deal with. Joy, mischief, excitement, comfort, and even anger and jealousy, as much as I try to suppress them.
I don’t want to die. I never said it out loud, as if verbalizing it makes it more real. There’s too much to love, so much to hold on to and experience that I can’t bear it. Rome. I want to see him make it, see his name lit bright and bold on a marquee, watch him fall madly in love. Cara, be there for her when she finds herself and her place. Work hard for Bob so he can beam at me with pride, and maybe one day, he will finally share his chicken fried steak recipe with me.
And Colin. We only just found each other. It isn’t fair.
Brows puckered, Colin reaches for me, but I quickly sidestep.
“Paige, what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” The frown deepens when I only shake my head, dabbing at my eyes. “All I said was you’re not allowed to di… die.”
His last word passes out of his mouth in a staggered murmur.
Iced over. Everything. Colin. Traffic. City dwellers. Harried shops. Everything iced over as Colin’s eyes darken the night, carefully, urgently searching my face.
The way his striking features plummet, the way his mouth works with nothing coming out of it, I don’t have to tell him.
With a snivel, I turn and run.
32
~ Colin ~
“I don’t give a flying fuck how you do it, you make it happen! You hear me? I’m not asking for excuses.”
Ausfort achieves a flinch in his pole-up-his-scrawny-ass posture. He pulls to his full, unimpressive height. “Sir, I am not a physician, nor am I a pharmaceutical researcher.” Perched a few feet inside my office, he shuffles from one foot to the other with his hands clasped behind his back, but his voice is perfectly calm, his words reasonable and modulated. “Would you like me to contact one for you?”
The reasonable, modulated question successfully manages to piss me off more. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do I look like I need a contact name?” I spit out at him. “Is that why I’m paying you?”
I’m in a mood. I know it. I don’t give a donkey ass about it.
Paige is convinced she’s dying. I’m convinced the circumstances are unconvincing. There’s a cure or vaccine for almost any disease or illness in civilized and medically modernized countries. We’re in one of them. If we’re not in the best, we can fly to one in a heartbeat. We’re not going to give up.
Beta thalassemia. I’d never even heard of it until yesterday when Roman all but impaled me with it. By the time the shock, the bemusement wore off at Paige’s unexpected breakdown, she was more than half a block ahead of me. I gave good chase and nearly got run over by a fucking cyclist, wasting precious minutes arguing with the careless jackass. Paige was racing back to her apartment when I caught sight of her once more, only I wasn’t quick enough to block her from slamming the door in my face.
I pounded, demanding answers on the other side of the solid barricade. That was when her brother stepped out, quietly yet protectively closing the door behind him, and nearly broke me right there and then.
Their mother had it, he revealed, unable to hide his own fear and desolation, lost her life to it when she was only thirty-four. Paige started exhibiting mild symptoms when she was in her late teens but wasn’t diagnosed until she was twenty, which was why she abruptly quit college. She’s been in treatment for five years, but she’s not getting any better. I’m positive that’s why Paige believes her destiny is to follow that of her mother’s.
There’s no known cure for beta thalassemia, according to her doctor.
Then we’ll find a different doctor, the best specialist who will tell me what I want to hear.
Mouth pinching into a disapproving line, Ausfort’s eyes remain vacant, unmoving. It reminds me of a dead fish. “I shall do my best to locate the best hematologist in the world. Will there be anything else?”
The prick is humoring me. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed he’s a patronizing snob. Not overtly, he’s not that stupid. But then, neither am I.
“Yes, proceed to go fuck yourself. Now get the hell out of my office.”
With a tight nod, he wordlessly pivots, neck and shoulders rigid. Donna barges in as he’s slinking out, not bothering to be subtle when she rolls her eyes at him.
“Biggest creep. I hate it when he’s around,” she observes of Ausfort. “Mrs. Thorn-Kutter-Elser is here,” she sniffs. “I tried to tell her you were in an important meeting, but she insisted she’d wait.”
A curse gushes out from under my breath. I’m only surprised she didn’t barge in here, letting everyone know she’s completely entitled to my time and my office. The last thing I need right now is my mother’s brand of nuts and honey, but if I don’t receive her now, she’ll just give me hell in a handbag later.
“Bring her in,” I mutter. “Ten minutes. You know what to do.”
“Wow, she gets eight more than Angela Butt-wax. Color me proud of you. There’s no love like one for a mother.” Donna pokes back her sparkly glasses with a finger, veering out with a smirk.
Mother breezes in, bringing with her an atmosphere of aloof perfume and dollar signs. She’s coolly pieced together in a white dress and heels in the exact same shade, tasteful, elegant jewelry dazzling as she sets down her purse on the sofa.
Obligingly, I’m up and over, brushing my mouth against her smooth, upturn cheek, forcefully shoving the frustration, the anger, and yes, the terror for Paige away for now. It wouldn’t do for Mother to get even a hint of any of them. “Hello, Mother. What a pleasant surprise.”
She’s glancing around my office, her eyes swaying from the modern furnishings to the tasteful artwork on the wall. “You left so abruptly last time. I was worried and thought I would check on you.”
Aw, yes, when I took off from Southampton in search of Paige. That was almost two weeks ago. I’m not fooled. Mother isn’t known for delayed reactions, which means there’s another reason for this impromptu visit.
“There’s no need for concern. As you can see, I’m fine.”
“Hm.” She’s circling my office– not pacing. Mother doesn’t pace. “Do you remember my dear friend Krystal Tamsyn? We served on the board of the women’s club several years back.” The tall heels take a break in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, framing her impeccably. “Her youngest, Katherine, is visiting from Paris. You met her a handful of times. Tall, beautiful, like her mother.”
Who the fuck cares? “How nice for her.”
“Indeed.” Immaculately filled lips lift, just a calculated smidgen. “I promised Krystal you would entertain Katherine while she’s here.”
“That’s not happening.”
Her expression remains passive, pleasant even. “It’s done.”
“Undo it, Mother.”
“Colin.” She says my name like I’m still eight, a naughty, unreasonable boy who refused to listen and accept when his treasured nanny was forced to leave. “Krystal is a friend. That means her daughter is a friend. You would have me deny a friend a simple request?”
“It’s not your time she’s requesting.” My fingers are painfully taut, struggling not to clench. Mother would notice that too. “It’s mine. And I don’t have the time for it. Even if I did, I wouldn’t spend it on her.”
Casually, she flicks back her hair, shiny blonde and artfully highlighted. “The brunette.”
Stiffness grabs a hold of me, icy and startling. I jam my curled fists in my pockets, eyes narrowing on her. “What?”
“The little diner girl you’ve been seen with, Colin. The one who’s been at your home nearly every day for months. The one you brought to what was supposed to be a family weekend, the very one for whom you abandoned us. Despite how I’m treated by you, I’m not buried yet, and neither is my head.”
“That’s none of your concern,” I point out, choosing to ignore her digs. How can she know about Paige? About what goes on at my home? She barely acknowledges me when I’m in the same room with her. Why does she care about who I’m with?
“Isn’t it? You’re my son. Who you’re seen with, who you spend your time with, particularly so much of it, not only impacts you but the entire family name. This woman… she’s attractive enough, but I never figured you for someone valuing minimalism. Amuse yourself if you must, but her place isn’t by your side.”
I’m infuriated, blood boiling my vision, yet I don’t know where or how to begin on this shrewd attack, not with Mother. Not once in my thirty-one years has she ever voiced an opinion on any woman seen with me, deliberately turning a blind eye on the matter, yet she chose Paige to make a statement?
“Whether or not I have anyone by my side is hardly the issue. Paige is an intelligent, remarkable, beautiful person. You’ve yet to meet her, but clearly, you’ve judged and tried her. Based on what? Her occupation? Not everyone has the means to wear pearls, Mother.”
“But you took care of that, didn’t you? Draping her in trinkets and stunning clothes. Funding your little trysts, on top of that. What opportunist would turn that down?” She flicks that away with slim fingers shimmering with diamonds. “The lack of pearls is one thing. Wearing an apron is another.”
“Oh, man.” My head falls back on a humorless chuckle, the sound painful even to my own ears. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“That makes two of us. I always thought it would be Benson who needs the reminder. It turns out, you’re not as level-headed as I initially presumed. I’m disappointed, Colin.”
I straighten to meet her gaze dead on. “That makes two of us.”
“Well, aren’t you clever?” she comments of my throwing her own words back at her, clear eyes hardening to steel. “For your sake, I hope Katherine Tamsyn enjoys your unique wit.”
“She can enjoy someone else’s wit. I’m not doing it.” My exhale is controlled, even if the rest of me is shaking with rage. “You never involved yourself in my affairs. Why now?”
“I’ve never had to. You weren’t serious about any woman until now.” She looks at me expectantly, waiting for a denial. When I don’t give her one, she takes her time, cutting our distance with cool and deliberate movements, until she’s arm’s length from me. “Do not forget who holds your beloved company in her hands. I own the board, Colin. One word from me, and you will need a big box for your personal items.”
I stare at her, coldness seeping into my paralyzed bones. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all. I’m merely encouraging you to do what’s best for you. For the family.” That smile again, the one that screams she knows she’s in charge and loving it. She pats my cheek before turning for her purse. “I must run. I’ll text you Katherine’s information. Have a good day, darling.”
No matter how I twist and turn it, coat it with sugar and molasses, the bottom line is my mother is pimping me out. Outraged doesn’t begin to cover it. I can rip my office apart with my bare hands.
But I won’t. I’ve more self-control than that.
She gave herself away, though.
Now I know who in my employ I need to question and replace.
33
~ Paige ~
Colin knows.
In a way, I’m relieved it’s finally out in the open between us. I spent so much time, so much effort into pushing it aside, not letting others in, frightened for me and nervous about people’s reactions. I don’t need anyone’s pity, or worse, quietly judging me as less because of my medical condition. I refuse to let it define my limits.
