Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(44)

“I’ll chill it. If I don’t burn our pasta sauce, it will be a perfect accompaniment to our meal.”

Natasha wasn’t sure she was going to make it through an entire meal. She took a gulp of her wine, sat down on a stool near the counter and cleared her throat.

“I need to talk to you.” The firm and resolved tone she’d gone for had come out more like a plea.

“Then it’s my very lucky night.”

“No. I mean yes, I need to talk with you.”

He came around the edge of the counter.

“Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.”

He took a step closer, and she held out her hand in a stopping gesture.

“No, don’t. I can’t think when you’re close to me.”

“Then that makes two of us.” He pulled out the other stool and sat, bringing him closer to her eye level.

“Tell me what’s troubling you. And if it’s Inspire you’re concerned about, I already know.”

“It’s not that, it’s everything. It’s—” His words sank in. “You knew?”

“My sister Coco told me yesterday. But she swore me to secrecy. She’s on the board at Inspire. Maybe you knew that?”

Natasha shook her head. And the speech she’d been so confident in being able to give scrambled under the intensity of his gaze.

“Adrian, you’ve been nothing but kind. But our lives, they don’t match up. The fact that Tyler and I landed in a homeless shelter should be evidence enough. Although we are moving out this weekend. Into a place of our own,” she added, wishing her tone didn’t sound so defensive. But she was feeling defensive, there was no denying it. “We’re getting out thanks to you and Casa del Sole. Thanks to my job.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she’d come to love. His biceps bulged under the sleeve of his T-shirt. No, she shouldn’t be thinking about his body at a time like this. She snapped her gaze to his. And wished she hadn’t. The muscles around his eyes tightened with his frown.

“Natasha, there’s no rhyme or reason why someone is born here or there, why one person is born with privilege and another isn’t. But I’ve learned that no matter what life may have dished out, if we meet challenges without letting them dim our dreams, then there’ll be a better outcome.”

She wouldn’t let his seductive words feed oxygen to the stubborn embers of hope that she was fighting to keep safely under control.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

Was it challenge she heard in his voice? Maybe if he understood, it would make what she was about to do easier. Maybe he’d help. She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and hauled in a breath.

“I’m afraid of my past,” she said, exhaling and looking into his eyes. That was a mistake. She looked away, her eyes seeing but not focusing on the massive stoves against the wall facing her. “I’m afraid that no matter how well I pull things together, it will always follow me, drag at my world, like a big black bag tailing me that I can never escape. I know it’s maybe crazy, but I keep thinking that if I can cordon it off and send the worst of my memories to a nice private asylum-like island in my imagination—an island with a very, very high fence—that I someday won’t feel so bothered, so trapped. That I can start fresh. Like I’d hoped to do with you. Until I found out who you are. What you are.”

“I don’t believe the past determines the future. If I believed that, then I’d have no hope, not for my life or what’s possible for creating a better world. I think our dreams determine the future far more than the past ever can if we only let them.”

She could feel his eyes on her, like a beacon. She drew her eyes back to his. “I wish I could believe that.”

But it was a dream that had inspired her foolish bet. Following a dream had upended her world in a flash. Tears welled, and she couldn’t fight them back. They’d been threatening for weeks and now rolled out of her eyes and onto her white cotton shirt. Horrified, she rubbed at her face with the back of her palm.

Adrian slid his stool closer and handed her a linen handkerchief. The darned handkerchief was just one more symbol of the gulf between them and made her cry harder. Her sobs had her gasping for air. He tugged her into his arms, and her cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest. Held, circled by his arms, she allowed all the tears she’d dammed up for so many years to flood out. Tears for the innocent girl she’d had to leave behind when her mother died. Tears for all the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of greedy, self-serving foster parents. And tears for all the things she wished she could provide for Tyler but hadn’t yet found a way to afford. She even let loose tears for her deep regret at not being able to reciprocate the kindness and generosity of the people who had been helpful to her while she’d had to focus so hard on survival and safety. But the most painful tears that escaped were for the future that would never be, a future with a man she’d finally found to love.

He rocked her, murmuring against the top of her head. And until her sobs subsided, he never let go.

A smoke alarm wailed, high-pitched and screaming.

Adrian didn’t move. But Natasha pressed away from him.

“There’s smoke,” she said, wiping her eyes with the monogrammed linen cloth. “Smoke,” she repeated.