These Tangled Vines(72)
Lillian raised her glass as well. “The next one?”
“Yes.” He took a generous sip of his wine and set down his glass. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Lil. I already have an idea. It’s not quite a sequel, but it’ll be about one of the secondary characters. I don’t have anything written down yet, but it’s all up here.” He tapped his forefinger on his temple. “And I promise this one won’t take me as long to write, now that I know what I’m doing.”
She stared at him with a niggling sense of dread, a troubling feeling of time slipping away, of waiting endlessly for the things she wanted out of life. Her lips parted slightly.
Freddie reached for her hand and squeezed it. “And I want to ask you about what you said today—about taking that sommelier course. I’m sorry if I didn’t sound supportive. You just caught me off guard, that’s all. But if you want to do that, you should. I want you to do what makes you happy, and we don’t even have to have kids if you don’t want to. I know how hard it was for you last time when it didn’t work out, so if you just want us to pursue our passions and not be parents, that would be totally fine with me. Maybe it’s how we’re meant to live our life together. Either way, I’ve always wanted to support us financially with my writing, so I’m going to need to write another book and another one after that. It’s what I want to do with my life. I know that for sure now. Coming here was the best thing we ever did.”
Lillian swallowed uneasily. On some level, she had always known that Freddie wouldn’t write just one book. He wanted to be a career novelist, which meant he would continue to write every day, forever and ever. He would disappear emotionally into the all-consuming cave where creation occurred, leaving her behind in the real world to live like a person who lived alone.
Maybe that’s why she longed so desperately for a baby. She had wanted to fill up her world.
“Of course, you’ll need a follow-up novel,” she replied in the way she always did, supporting his dreams, hiding her own true desires.
But why? Was it because she knew, deep down, that he didn’t care about her desires to begin with? That he only cared about his own dreams?
Did he even love her? Or was he just afraid of being alone? Of being abandoned, like his mother abandoned him years ago?
The first course arrived. It looked enticing, but Lillian had no appetite. She’d been on the verge of tears all afternoon and had to force herself to pick up her fork.
They ate in silence until Freddie sat back and inclined his head at her. “So . . . do you want to hear it?”
“Hear what?” she asked, feeling devastated in more ways than she could possibly comprehend.
“My story idea.”
Lillian was often Freddie’s sounding board. She had never minded in the past, and it was probably the most solid pillar of their relationship—the hours they spent brainstorming about his book.
“Fire away,” she said, feeling numb and detached.
He launched into a description of the plot, but she found it difficult to follow. Not because it was convoluted. It was probably plotted more skillfully than his first book. But her emotions were in a tither. She couldn’t get her mind off the heartbreak she felt over losing Anton, nor could she overlook the fact that Freddie had not the slightest understanding of what she truly wanted out of life.
She wanted to be a mother. It was what she’d always wanted, ever since she was a little girl. She wanted to build a happy home that was different from the one she had grown up in. To do that, she needed to love, respect, and understand her husband deeply, and she needed him to love, respect, and understand her equally in return.
It was clear to her now that Freddie was not that man. He didn’t want to be a father. He only wanted Lillian to take care of him—and to never leave him.
That night, Lillian couldn’t sleep. Freddie, on the other hand—due to the extra glass of Madeira port he’d ordered with dessert—had fallen into a deep, snoring slumber as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Before that, he had hinted at making love, but Lillian told him she didn’t feel well. It wasn’t a total fabrication. The day had been emotionally taxing, and she hadn’t been able to finish her meal in the restaurant. They’d switched plates. Freddie had finished hers.
Rolling to her side, she rested her cheek on a hand and gazed out the open window. The night was dark, the moon a small sliver of light in the inky-black sky. A thin cover of wispy clouds blocked out the stars.
Lillian’s mind teemed with stressful thoughts. After her dinner with Freddie, she couldn’t imagine leaving Tuscany and returning to America, never to see Anton again—only to continue working at a job she didn’t truly care about while waiting indefinitely for Freddie to want to have a child with her.
As she lay gazing up at the midnight sky, listening to him snore on the pillow beside her, her thoughts drifted to Anton. Her imagination came alive with excitement as she recalled all the moments they had shared, the conversations they’d had. There was no question that Anton aroused her passions more than Freddie ever had or ever could, in every sense of the word. She loved Freddie, but their relationship had never been passionate, not even in the beginning.
Her heart thudded and her emotions spun as she realized that she could not continue to lie in bed with anyone who wasn’t Anton, so she slipped out, quietly pulled a dress from the wardrobe, and carried it to the bathroom. She changed out of her nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror.