Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(23)

“Hey, baby,” Chris calls out, walking into the bathroom.

“I’m afraid I just got cornered into a meeting tomorrow morning. It’s at a café across the street from the Musée d’Art Mod-erne de la Ville de Paris, so you could go explore and I’ll join 84

you afterward.” He stops in the closet doorway, gives me a quick once-over, and says, “What’s wrong?”

“You said I could get a job and earn a living here, Chris.”

Understanding washes over his face. “You can, baby. You just need an employer to sign of on your work visa.”

“Katie says jobs are hard to ind.”

“You have two options. I can recommend you, and—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to do this on my own.”

“Or,” he continues, “you volunteer where you want to work and prove yourself.”

“And to prove myself, I’ll need to speak French.”

“It’ll help.”

“How am I supposed to earn a living?”

“Sara. Baby. You do realize we have plenty of money, right?”

“We don’t have anything, Chris. It’s your money. I have some money from my sales at the gallery, but that won’t last forever. I have to buy a wardrobe here, and I—”

“Sara.” His hands settle on my legs. “I know how hard it is for you to see my money as your money, and that you see this as depending on me. And I know very well that not only have the people you depended on in life let you down, but I also shut you out after Dylan died. That gave you reason to believe I’ll let you down, too, but you can depend on me. And I fully intend to prove that to you.”

Once again, he’s seen what I haven’t in myself. My old demons are back and they’re breathing ire. They tell me that anyone I count on will simply go away at some point. I shove them down into the deep recesses of who I am and don’t want to be anymore, and focus on what’s important. Present. Not past.



“I trust you, Chris, or I wouldn’t be here. You aren’t like anyone else in my life—but that doesn’t change the fact that earning my own living does help me feel that we’re equals.”

“We are equals. Money doesn’t determine worth.”

“It’s about power. You yourself said that.”

He grimaces. “I hate how your father and that bastard Michael made you feel like their money was a weapon in relationships. It’s not, and it’s going to be part of our life, because I intend to always have plenty of it.” He sighs and shakes his head.

“Look. We have a lot before us. Having money shouldn’t be part of that equation, and your inding a job shouldn’t be, either.

I didn’t talk about the work situation because I knew you’d ind opportunities.

“Since we have money, you have the luxury of volunteering at the museums to work your way up to a full-time job if you decide you want it. Or you can buy and sell highly sought-after art from an oice here in the house. You’d basically be doing what you did for Mark at the gallery, but as a consultant. Hell, you could even sell to Mark. Then we could travel, and you could use the trips to hunt for pieces you want to buy.”

My apprehension quickly turns to excitement. “Would I need some sort of international license for that?”

“We can certainly talk to the attorney about it tomorrow.”

“Yes. Please. I love this idea!”

“I’m glad you do, but remember that it’s only one idea. You can explore your options, and you can’t do that when you’re worried about money. I do what I love, and I want you to do what you love. Believe me, it’s going to take restraint for me to 86

sit back and let you ind your own open doors, when I want to open them for you. But I will.”

Every time I think I can’t fall more in love with Chris, I do.

“Thank you. I do really need to know I have my own success.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice softens. “Sara. I need you to leave the money thing right here in this room tonight. There’s plenty of other monsters in my closet for us to face, and I can’t set those free if I can’t even get past this.”

I lean forward and frame his face with my hands. “You can tell me, or show me, anything.”

His expression turns solemn. “I know, and I’m going to.

And that’s what scares me more than anything.” He walks into the bathroom, leaving me to stare after him.





Eight


Chantal turns out to be a lovely, patient, twenty-three-year-old native Parisian. And considering it’s nearly noon, and I’ve been sitting with my new tutor for two hours and I haven’t learned much, she deserves my high opinion of her.

I lean back against the red leather couch in the amazing library on the same loor of our bedroom and drop the “word chart” Chantal has me using on the cofee table. The famous pieces of art Chris has on the walls are far more interesting than learning French. “You do know it’s actually three or four in the morning for me? The time change has got to be afecting my ability to absorb the lesson. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking with it for at least a week. Then I’ll come up with something else.”