Page 63 of Vicious Temptation
“That’s the thing.” I take another gulp of my wine, my salad ignored. Clara hasn’t taken so much of a bite of her soup, either. “Gabriel, he?—”
“What?” Clara’s eyes are alight with way interest. “What did he do?”
I blurt out everything. The nightmares that started the night we argued because I didn’t have my pills, my father showing up, the bank accounts, the driving lesson. “He basically made me sleep in his bed because he thought having him close would help with the nightmares. And—it has. A little bit.”
Clara’s eyes go round. “Bella, did you?—”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “No. We haven’t—he knows I don’t like to be touched. He put his arms around me that first time, trying to comfort me, but once he figured out that was the wrong thing, he hasn’t touched me since.” I don’t tell her about the moment that I thought he was going to kiss me in the living room, or any of the charged, tense moments that we’ve had since then.
All the same, I can see her picking up on what I don’t want to admit. “Bella, it seems like there’s something there,” Clara says gently, finally picking up her spoon to take a bite of her soup. I try, tentatively, to manage a little of the salad. I can’t imagine even half a glass of wine on an empty stomach is a good thing, especially since I rarely drink.
I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Bel. Come on.” Clara shakes her head at me. “He went over your dad’s head to open bank accounts for you? Asked you to sleep in his bed to keep an eye on you? He’s teaching you how to drive? What does that sound like to you?”
I shake my head again, more firmly this time. I didn’t even tell her about the dinner after the driving lesson. I know how far she’d run with that, and I can’t let myself think there’s a possibility. I can’t open myself up to this, to him, or I’ll be asking to allow myself to be hurt in ways I don’t know if I can tolerate, ways that I’m not ready to risk. “He has a daughter,” I say thickly. “He’s just thinking of what he’d want someone to do for her, if?—”
Clara snorts, dropping her spoon. “Bella. How old is he? Five, six years older than you?”
Slowly, I nod, and she gives me a pointed look. “He’s not thinking of you like his daughter. I’d bet he’s not even thinking of you as just an employee. Or a friend. You’re telling me there’s been no spark? No feeling? No tension? You’re sleeping in his bed?—”
“Not anymore,” I mumble. “My pills are getting filled now, so there’s no need.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You sound disappointed. Bella, don’t lie to me.”
I let out a slow breath. I don’t want to lie to her, especially, of all people. But I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to keep going down this path. I don’t want to keep thinking about things I can’t have. “Even if there was a spark,” I say finally, “even if either of us did feel something, it doesn’t matter. There’s no way he wants someone who is such an emotional mess. Who has nightmares and panic attacks and is terrified of intimacy, terrified of being touched. Clara—” I shake my head. “I’ve never been kissed. I don’t know if I ever will be, now. If I can even tolerate that, let alone everything that comes after it. What man wants to get close—like that—to someone who might stop it at a kiss, or worse, halfway through, because she’s about to melt down? Who might have a panic attack in the middle of sex? No man wants to deal with that. Not even Gabriel.”
I expect her to leave it at that, or even to agree with me, but Clara gives me a long, considering look. “I know you’ve grown up with a lot of shitty men,” she says finally. “And I’ll be the first to agree that most of them are trash. But there are some good ones out there, Bella. Gabriel sounds like he might be one. And you might be doing him a disservice by deciding for him that that’s too much for him to handle.”
The simple, obvious way she says it sets my heart racing, and I know I have to shut down that flicker of hope, hard.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say again, firmly. “Because even if that’s true, he’s a widower. And he’s been very clear that he doesn’t want to get into another relationship. So that’s all there is to it.”
“Hm.” Clara takes another small bite of her soup, reaching for her wine glass. “Well, even if that’s true, Bel, that doesn’t mean there might not be some other man out there who thinks you’re worth whatever trouble you think you are. So I wouldn’t write yourself off as someone who will never be kissed, just yet.” She smiles at me. “I think you have a much better future ahead of you now than you ever have before.”
I hold on to that statement, as we finish up lunch, and I tell Clara goodbye, going back to the car to get my prescription and go back to the house. I’m back later than I expected to be, and I’m exhausted. I know Gabriel will be home soon, and a part of me wants to see him, but I can’t stop myself from falling onto my bed as soon as I walk into my room and falling asleep almost immediately.
It’s dark out when I wake up. I feel sticky and strange from having slept in my clothes atop the bed, and I strip out of my jeans and sweatshirt, throwing my hair up before going to get in the shower to rinse off. I remember Gabriel’s offer to workout after dinner, and gauging by the time, it’ll be after dinner soon. So I put on a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, throw up my hair in a ponytail, and go downstairs.
Agnes and the kids are cleaning up in the kitchen, and I find Gabriel in the dining room, stacking plates. I clear my throat to avoid startling him, and he turns quickly to see me standing there in the doorway.
It would be impossible to miss the brief second that his face lights up, seeing me there, before it smooths again. And I remember what Clara said.
No, I tell myself, smothering that little bit of hope before it could even begin to get out of control. He’s a friend. Nothing more. He’s happy to see you, but it doesn’t mean more than that.
“I’m sorry I missed dinner. I was exhausted, and I ended up taking a very unplanned nap.”
“No worries.” Gabriel smiles. “Are you too tired for a workout?”
I shake my head. “I’m very awake now. And already dressed for it, if you didn’t notice.”
It comes out more like a flirtation than I meant for it to, the words plainly more than what an employee should say to her boss. I see the way Gabriel hesitates, as if carefully choosing his words, making sure that he doesn’t make the same mistake. And yet, the fact that he has to choose them at all says something, in and of itself.
“You are,” he says finally. “Come on. We’ll run through the same stuff we did yesterday.”
He’s careful not to touch me, I notice, when we get down to the basement and begin. Careful not to get too close, even, the way he did yesterday morning. I can’t help but wonder if he came to the same conclusion that I did last night—that now that I won’t need to sleep in his bed any longer, it’s best for us to put some space between ourselves. To re-establish the professional, working relationship that this is supposed to be.
Gabriel stays a good distance away from me while I stretch, while he runs through demonstrating the moves on the boxing bag for me again, while he watches me attempt them. I’m a little smoother at it this time, and I try to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of my stomach when he praises me.