Dating Games(95)

“I was in Paris this morning.” He peers up at me through his long lashes, the confidence he typically wears like a shield absent. He still looks amazing in his dark suit, and smells even more sinful, but he’s pale, dark circles under his eyes from an obvious lack of sleep.

“Did you come here to rub that in my face?” I press my lips in a tight line, my tone sharp. “If that’s the case, mission accomplished. I’ve never had the luxury. I hope you enjoyed some macarons while you were there.”

He shakes his head, briefly lowering his gaze. “I didn’t mean it like that. You see what you do to me? You make me so…flustered.”

He runs his hand through his sandy locks, tugging at them. My fingers twitch at the memory of what his hair feels like.

“I was there for work. This morning, as I went through my routine of reading the newspaper while having coffee, the TV was on as background noise, some classic movie channel. Do you know what was playing?”

I swallow hard, not saying a single word. My heart echoes in my ears as my eyes fixate on the despair and remorse hanging over him.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” he says in a measured tone. “It was the final scene. You know the one when Paul finally calls out Holly Golightly for who she really is, for being scared of falling in love because she doesn’t want anyone to put her in a cage?”

Tears form in my eyes as I recite one of the most poignant lines from the film. “‘No matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.’”

“Exactly.” In an instant, he’s on his feet, striding the short distance toward me. When he cups my cheeks in his hands, a current runs through me, my body waking after a nearly two-week slumber.

Drawing in a deep breath, he rests his forehead on mine. “I don’t want to run into myself anymore. I am absolutely petrified of this, of you, of us. But I’m even more scared of not feeling this anymore.”

I close my eyes, allowing his words to fill me with the hope and promise I’d been yearning for since it all came crumbling down. But is it enough? Does it change anything? How do I know it’s real?

Shaking my head, I release myself from his hold. I need more than that, more than him being scared of losing me. I need…him. All the broken, damaged pieces that make up who he is.

“Thank you for finally admitting that. I can only imagine how difficult it is. But just because you’re scared of losing me isn’t enough reason for me to stay, not after…” I trail off.

“Guinevere…” He grabs my hands in his, pleading with me. “You have to believe me when I say I’m willing to try. For you. That’s all I can give you right now. Please understand.”

“I do understand.” I pull away, glancing at all the clothes he spoiled me with, all of it as artificial as he is. All glamour, no substance. “But I need more than that. Just two weeks ago, you wanted me to believe you’d never change who you are for anyone.”

“I lied.” He rubs his temples, his jaw clenching. “Okay? You know I lied, too!” He returns his impassioned gaze to mine. “You saw the truth.”

“You’re right. I did.” I sling my purse over my shoulder, retreating from him into the living room and toward the front door. When I reach the foyer, I pause, glancing back at him standing a few feet away, looking confused. “The truth is, I don’t know what to believe. You can say you made a mistake today, but how do I know it’s because you truly believe it, not because you have some ulterior motive?”

“Please, Guinevere.” He closes the distance between us, his chest heaving in desperation. “I want this. I want you. I can’t function without you in my life. Nothing is right in the world. And I’m sorry I was a fool and pushed you away. I promise. I won’t push you away again. Just please… Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

Pulling my lips between my teeth, I consider his plea. Then I place my hand on a hip. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His eyes light up as he goes to close the last bit of space between us, but I step back, holding up my hand to stop him.

“Prove it. Now. Prove you won’t push me away again.”

He parts his lips, his brows pulling together. “How?”

“You say you want this, that you want something real with me.”

“I do.” He reaches for my hands, clutching them in his. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Real relationships aren’t all romantic dinners and snuggling on the couch. They require a connection, sharing yourself. All parts of yourself, even the ugly ones. That’s what makes it real. Looking past the ugly at all the beauty hidden beneath the surface.”

Julian swallows hard, his fingers growing cold as understanding of what I’m asking rolls over him. He drops his hold on me and turns from me, staring blankly into space.

“I want your ugly, Julian. It’s the only way this will work. The only way I’ll know you’re in it for real. So I’m going to ask you one question. Whether you respond will determine whether I walk into your arms or out that door.” My voice trembles as I struggle to hide the emotion at the thought of walking away from him yet again. But I can’t be with someone who only allows me part of the way in. I made that mistake with Trevor. I won’t do it again. “How did you get your scars?”