One To Watch(108)

“No, Ray. You haven’t told me why this took so long. Why we never got together when we lived in L.A. Why you kissed me once, then moved away and never said another word about it. Why sleeping with me freaked you out so badly that you had to cut me out of your life.”

“I told you, with Sarah—”

“But why did you get engaged to Sarah in the first place? You always said you wanted to come back to L.A., so why did you follow her to Atlanta instead? Why didn’t you come home to be with me?”

Ray shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Bea didn’t know if there was even a point to pushing him on this, whether she was accomplishing anything more than pouring salt in her own wounds. But she needed the truth. If she was ever going to move on—either with him or away from him—she had to know.

“I read this article once,” she said, “about this scientific researcher who analyzed people’s porn searches.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” If Ray looked confused before, now he was downright bewildered.

“Yeah, so, he got access to all this data, and he compared it to a survey of what people said they were looking for in a romantic partner, to try and figure out what people say they want versus what they actually want. And he found that some huge number of men, I forget the percentage, but it was really high, was looking online for porn of fat women. But when you ask men what kind of body type they want in a partner, almost none of them said they wanted someone fat.”

Ray’s face clouded with emotion as he started to understand what Bea was getting at.

“So the researcher talked about how this plays out,” Bea continued, “how all these women are trying to lose weight because they think that’s what men want, and all these men are trying to date thin women because they think that’s what they’re supposed to want. Do you know what he called it?”

Ray didn’t answer—he just looked down.

“He said it was inefficient. A waste of time.”

Ray blinked rapidly. “I know I wasted your time, Bea. Years.”

“But why?” Bea pleaded. “Ray, I can’t forgive you if you won’t say what you did.”

“Back then I ruined things with every woman I slept with, and I couldn’t do that with you. I needed you too much.” He shook his head. “I thought I was protecting us.”

“By my count, the last two women you slept with were me and Sarah, and you ruined those pretty well too.”

He took a long drink of wine, and Bea saw his hands were shaking.

“When we were in L.A., I knew I loved spending time with you. I knew how important you were to me. And I knew—fuck, Bea. I knew I wanted you.”

“Is that really so hard for you to say?” Bea’s voice was cold and quiet.

“Yes, but not for the reason you think. It’s hard because I’m ashamed of how small-minded I was. Back then, when I tried to picture the two of us together—really together—I just couldn’t. It didn’t make sense to me. When I met Sarah, I thought, Okay, this makes sense. I moved in with her because it made sense, proposed because it made sense. It wasn’t until last July that I realized what an idiot I’d been, how much I’d fucked up my own life—and yours, and hers—but by then I felt like it was too late. I couldn’t see a way out of it.”

“And now?” Bea pressed. “Now—what? You saw me on TV and suddenly the clouds parted and your true path was lit from above? Ray, how am I supposed to believe you’ve changed? After everything? How can I believe it?”

“Because I’m here.” He put his hands on her knees, and she felt the warmth of him spreading through her, the same way she had on the Fourth of July. “Because I stole Sarah’s copy of People and stared at you in that gown for hours. I bought every single magazine you’ve been in, by the way. I started reading all the blogs, all the rumors, desperate for any information about you, about these guys who were trying to take you away from me.”

Bea was so nervous she was trembling. “They weren’t trying to take me, Ray. You didn’t want me.”

“You’re wrong.” Ray wrapped his hands around Bea’s wrists. “When I walked into that courtyard yesterday and saw you in that dress, I wanted you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted to kiss you so hard you’d forget those other men existed. To make you remember you wanted me first.”

He slid his hands up to her elbows, their forearms clasping, the movement bringing him closer.

“It was never a question of wanting you,” she whispered.

“Then what is it?” He was inches away now, and she remembered the taste of him, and he smelled of musk and spicy clove, just like she knew he would, the same as always.

“The way you hurt me … I don’t know. I don’t know if I can trust you. If I even should.”

“Let me make it up to you. I’m here, Bea. I’m in love with you. Let me show you. Let me show you for the rest of our lives.”

Then he was kissing her, and it was all so strange and so familiar, to be cloaked in comfort and panic and the immutable weight of him, and something deep inside her clicked into place, the question finally answered of whether she would ever feel his lips on hers again.