Being Me(Inside Out 02)(57)

“Very.”
“Okay.” I breathe out. “I’m trusting you on this.”
“But not on everything.”
There is a coolness to his eyes, and I wonder how soon his walls will slam down in front of mine. I’m backed into another corner. If I tell Chris everything I may lose him. If I keep him shut out, he may shut me out, again. It’s time to at least start down a path that leads to my hell.
The plane jolts again and my heart drops to my stomach.
I tug my hand from underneath his and lift the armrest, and hopefully the proverbial wall separating us as well. “We were my father’s pets,” I say, angling in his direction. “He left us at home and ran off to his many mistresses.”
Understanding seeps into his expression and he shifts to face me. “When did you find out about the other women?”
“Once I moved away for college. That’s when my mother’s rose-colored glasses came off me.”
“She knew.” It’s not a question.
“Oh yes,” I confirm. “She knew.” I can’t tame the bitterness seeping into my tone. “If we were his pets, she was his lapdog.
She was so in love with him that she’d accept anything she could get from him, which wasn’t much.”
His expression is thoughtful, concerned. “How active was he in your life?”
“He was my idol who was never home. I worshiped the ground he walked on, just like my mother. I had no idea we were his token family to look good for business or whatever his reason was for keeping us around. I think it was about power.
Or because he could. Or because he didn’t want my mother to get all his money. I have no clue. I stopped trying to figure it out years ago. There had to be a reason that made sense to him.”
“Do you think your mother knew why?”
“I think she convinced herself he loved her. She was blinded by love.”
“Don’t take this wrong,” he warns gently, “but was it love, or the money?”
I hate the question I’ve asked myself, and rejected, too many times to count. “I don’t know really what was in her head. The mother I thought I knew wasn’t the one I discovered after I took those glasses off.” I shake my head. “But no. I never felt like she was about the money.” My mind travels the past. “She gave up everything she loved but painting. She’d hide her work and supplies when he was home.”
“You said she created your love of art.”
I nod. “Yes. Very much so.” I let out a heavy sigh, trying to escape the tight sensation strangling my airways. “Looking back, it was an abusive relationship, almost like Stockholm syndrome, where the captive adores her captor.”
The plane jumps again and I grab his hand. As his strength and encouragement seep into me, I’m glad I told him.
“Do you have any of her artwork?” he asks after a few moments.
“No. After I left for college she gave it up completely. My father wanted her time spent doing high-profile charity events that made him look good. She was coming home from one of the events organized by the network when she died. He wasn’t even in the country at the time, of course.”
“That’s why you blame him for her death.”
My gaze drops to my hand that has somehow settled on his leg. I relive a searingly vivid memory of the moment I heard my mother was dead. Chris caresses my cheek. “You okay?”
“I just … I’m remembering the day she died.” I have to mentally shake myself to continue. “I don’t blame him for her death. I blame him for her miserable life. Though she made her own choices, that doesn’t make his abuse of her acceptable.” An acid burn slides through me just thinking about what I’m about to reveal. “He didn’t even cry at her funeral, Chris. Not a single tear. Not one.”
His hand goes to the back of my head and he rests his forehead on mine. He opens his mouth to speak and I quickly warn him, “Don’t say you’re sorry. You know that doesn’t help.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Slowly we sink back against our seats and I settle onto his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.
He’s here for me yet again, and it’s bittersweet because I know the next few demons will be more than mine. They’ll become his.
Once we’re in L.A. and in the back of a private car to the hotel, Chris checks his messages. “Blake found Ella’s flight out. It was one-way. Do you think she planned on staying in Paris and didn’t want to tell you?”
“She left everything she owns and she said she’d be back in a month.” I shake my head. “No. She didn’t intend on staying. She was going to Italy, too.”