All of Me (Inside Out #5.5)(12)

“How do you know Tristan?”

“I . . .” She looks flustered. “Sara, he needs me. I need to go.”

Tristan needs her? “How do you know him, Chantal?”

“I wanted a tattoo, and I met Amber once when I was at your place. She wasn’t at the shop when I went, so Tristan gave it to me.”

“You got a tattoo?” I ask, shocked that Ms. Prim-and-Proper would do such a thing.

She looks indignant, her feathers clearly and thoroughly ruffled. “Yes. I did. That’s not a crime. I need to go check on Tristan.”

“He’s gone. Check on him where?”

Her lips purse. “I need to go.”

She knows where he lives. That has to be it. “You’re right; he’s not in a good place, Chantal. He’s a dangerous person to get involved with. What happened to Rey?”

“You said Rey was too old for me, and he agreed. He treats me like I’m a child. I don’t want a big brother.”

Tristan’s just as old, but I don’t have the chance to point that out before she adds, “I’m not a fool. I know he’s using me to get through the pain, but I’m okay with that.”

“He was with some other woman last night at The Script.”

She hugs herself, huddling into her jacket, lowering her head a moment before she looks at me again, but I see pain in her eyes. “I’m his friend,” she states. “Just a friend.”

There’s clearly more to this story than I know. “Chantal,” I start gently, but she holds up her hands.

“Don’t say my name like that. I don’t need pity.”

“Pity? That has to be a translation issue—because where did that word even come from?”

“You feel sorry for me because you think I’m acting like some lovesick puppy. He’s a friend. He doesn’t lie to me. He doesn’t tell me fairy tales. And I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She doesn’t wait on my reply, darting away in the direction Tristan has disappeared.

I hesitate a moment, and then my protective instincts win out. I start after her, only to have a hand come down on my arm. I whirl around to find Chris standing there.

“Let her go, baby.”

“You don’t understand. She’s involved with Tristan.”

“I heard her, but think about it. If someone had told you to stay away from me, would it have worked?”

“You aren’t Tristan.”

“Sara, he’s not into drugs, or booze, or pain. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just heartbroken.”

“And he’ll use her and hurt her. He was with another woman just last night.”

“She knows. You told her, and she clearly stated she has open eyes. We are all the sum of all our broken pieces. She has to live her life in order to grow, and warning her away from him is only going to make him more enticing. Besides, he’s going to need all the support he can get after what I’m about to do to him.”

“What does that mean?”

“In the middle of the night, the locks will be changed on The Script. In the morning, he’ll be served with papers that give him one of two options. Either he claims ownership in twenty-four hours, or I put all of the equipment into storage and he has two years to claim it.”

I swallow the instant knot in my throat. “He’s going to freak out, Chris.”

“Believe me, I know, baby. But this protects him and me at the same time. It gets this situation behind us so we can all heal.”

“If he takes ownership.”

“Either way, I’m out and protected. As for you, my little schoolteacher, big sister to the world . . .” He pulls me close and l slip under the soft leather of his black coat. “Enrique Estaban is at the Louvre for a meeting. I thought you might want to go meet him.”

I gape. “As in the renowned artist?”

“That would be him.”

“Oh my God.” My fingers curl around his coat lapels. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Please.”

He chuckles, low, deep and sexy, lacing his fingers with mine. “I thought you might be interested. Let’s go play in the calm before the storm.”





      Part Four



   Acceptance





Somehow Chris and I have a fabulous evening, as if we both just needed to escape the quicksand of all the tragedy we’ve been living inside of for the past few weeks. After we have dinner with Enrique Estaban and go home, I know that Chris has found a window of peace, because we make love instead of f*cking. Instead of the dark, turbulent sex of recent days, it’s a slow, tender exploration of everything we’ve become together.

Morning comes, though, and ironically so does another dark, stormy sky. We lie there a long time, curled together, thunder rumbling in the background. We don’t talk, but eventually Chris moves, standing and taking my hand, his green eyes filled with the shadows he can’t escape. He leads me into the bathroom. We’re already naked, body and soul. He turns on the shower and steps in, dragging me in with him. One minute we’re staring at each other, and the next I’m against the wall, my legs around his waist, and he’s buried inside me. He is insatiable, as if last night was right and good, but just not enough. He’d found a sweet, safe haven to shelter us and left the rest of the world behind, but now the world has returned and with it, his demons.