“It was—” I put one hand against my neck. “Y-yes,” I falter.
He stands, sinking both hands into his trouser pockets and glaring down at me. “Merely a useful toy for the fantasy?”
“Klaus.” I hold out a hand for him to take, which he does after enough of a pause to make me feel it. “Don’t be like that. We needed last night. And I’m not actually saying that it can’t… happen again. Casually. But I won’tdateyou.”
His hand drops away. Our silence stretches, punctuated by the ocean’s susurration and the intermittent questioning tweeps of birds.
“Last summer,” he says, “you seemed willing to take a chance on us.”
“I wanted very much to try. I won’t deny it.”
I’m dying to blurt it out:Part of me still wants to try, more than anything…but I force the words down. They move through me with a crawling, painful heaviness, like a bite of bread swallowed too quickly. I wait until the feeling is bearable.
He scowls at the ground. One dark lock falls from his widow’s peak hairline in a mussed arc. “I damaged your trust. I offer this not as anexcusefor my clumsy words and coldness that night in Montréal, but as an explanation: It was the day after Edward Morgan told me his illness was terminal.”
I place a shaky hand over my mouth, then pull it away. “Oh God.”
“The helplessness, knowing I would go through it once more, after”—his eyes flick to the statue—“after Sofia… I was feeling all but cursed. The thought of being that vulnerable ever again, of life being just a series of painful goodbyes…” With a sigh, he sits back down. “It was bad timing when you asked what I wanted from you. There was no way I could express it, with a war raging inside me. When you walked out, I told myself it was for the best.” His eyes lock with mine. “I was wrong. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”
My erratic heart drums in my ears, and I look away first. I’m relieved, elated… but also terrified.Aren’t these the words you’ve been waiting for?I ask myself.You’re both scarred by loss, afraid of people leaving. But Klaus is willing to try. Why are you hesitating?
I take a steadying breath, staring into my lap. “You weren’t ready last year. To be honest, I probably wasn’t either. And… I’m not confident anything is different now, aside from what happened last night. Which was wonderful, but…” I clear my throat. “Casual.”
There’s a hard glint in his eye when I look up. “Interesting. You once told me you wouldn’t do ‘friends with benefits.’”
“The irony, right?” I say, trying for a lighthearted tone.
The joke falls flat. I always forget about men’s need to have their pain taken terribly seriously.
I rush in with more words. “Please try to understand. After the day in Shanghai last season, when you mentioned myARJ Buzzcontent ‘making Emerald look foolish,’ I put on kid gloves. I can’t make that mistake again. I have to remain impartial. It’s not just about—”
Somehow it feels rude to refer to his mourning here in front of “her.” Sofia’s shadow falls over us, figurativelyandliterally. But part of me wonders if I’m being fair. Is itmewho has the problem? People believe they understand grief if they’ve had losses of their own. But I think maybe we understand only ourowngrief.
“Last night,” Klaus asserts, moving the coffee cup and shifting nearer, taking my hand, “something crystallized for me. I don’t want to becasual, Talia. I’m not an adolescent, finding thrill in the clandestine. I want all of you.”
A vibration resonates through me: desire, hope, a familiarity almost like nostalgia. I think of the “secret chord” in Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”What is this music inside me?For a moment as Klaus and I watch each other, I think I’ll never feel anything else.
Call it what it is:love.
Would it break the spell to speak its name aloud, like in a fairy tale?
He pulls me into his arms. “I was shortsighted and cowardly last year, keeping you at arm’s length. I should have trusted you. I will never again complain about what you report. Free rein—say what you will, ask what you wish. On my honor.”
“Are you sure? What about problems with the location for the new race that’s in the works? You were prickly yesterday when I asked about the rumors I’m hearing. Like… the political stuff.”
He tenses slightly; then his arms soften. “There’s nothing to discuss on that subject. If I was terse when you asked, it’s only because we were at odds.” He drops a light kiss on my hair. “I’ve nothing to hide.”
I relax against his chest. “If we… y’know, let ourselvesbe close… I’d have to be sure it won’t impact my writing. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I have big goals.” I smile at a memory of myself in grade school. “I was the kid who said I wanted a Pulitzer Prize when other girls in my little town wanted to be champion horseback riders or beauty pageant winners or Nashville singers. Don’t get me wrong—those are big goals too. I hope weallachieve our dreams. I’m very hesitant to risk mine.”
He pulls back, tucking my hair behind my ear. His expression is slightly worried, then smooths into a gentle reverence. “I’ve every confidence you’ll get your Pulitzer. And everything else you deserve.” He brushes my bangs aside. “Though I confess to being terribly jealous of your lumberjack, Ethan. That’s one dream I hope I can replace with something else.”
My eyes go wide. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“A wedding at the old sawmill. Sparky the dog. Three or four children.” He lifts my hand and brushes the knuckles in a whisper-light kiss. “I remember your dreams as if they were my own, kleine Hexe. Please give me a chance to make them all come true.”
14
SAUDI ARABIA
