***Adriane***
Alec walked in, and I stood from the desk where I was doodling. Not drawing, doodling. I couldn’t focus well enough to make a serious picture.
I took a step closer, and he pulled me into a hug, a silent, clinging hug.
Then he released me and took my hand to lead me over to the sofa. I sat with my feet tucked under me, facing him.
He took a breath. “I hear you had an interesting conversation today.”
I hadn’t been sure if Vincent would tell him. “Are you angry?”
“No.”
So what was wrong? I took his hand to hold it in my lap, and we read each other. He wasn’t caressing my hand like usual. He was simply holding it, tightly. He kept looking at me, as if trying to decipher what I was thinking, waiting for me to talk.
I furrowed my forehead in confusion, and still he waited.
“It’s true?” I asked.
He answered simply, “Yes.”
I made the wheels in my head creak back into motion and ran through the questions I’d pondered earlier. The wheels kept getting stuck. “But you didn’t know me.”
“I know you better than you realize.”
“Why’d you stay away when I first came here?”
“It was for the best.”
“How had you even seen me in the first place? I’m no one. Why’d you take this on yourself from the beginning? It’s about more than just hating Councilman Dean. You brought me here, with Hanna.”
“Are you again determined not to believe the truth?” His attempt at teasing fell flat.
“But I don’t understand.”
“I love you.” He touched my face with the backs of his fingers. “Do you need to understand anything else?” His fingers continued into my hair.
“No,” I whispered.
His mouth feebly pulled at the corners. He touched my face, as if memorizing, as if afraid he might forget some detail.
Then he let his hand drop, and he sighed.
“I know you’ve been keeping things from me,” I said.
“I know.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” I rested a hand on his chest. “I’m just glad you feel strongly.”
His laugh was short and ironic. “You have no idea, Adriane, no concept of the truth.”
I lifted his chin and ordered in a soft voice, “Explain it to me.”
“You’ll be upset.”
“I love you. Does anything else matter?”
“No,” he said. “But…” He sighed. “You deserve honesty.”
I trailed my hand down the side of his face, trying to soothe. He held it to him.
“Vincent told you the truth,” he said, “just not all of it. Things have been going on for much longer than you realize.”
“But you didn’t even know I existed until a couple weeks ago.”
“It’s been longer, Adriane.”
I tilted my head. “But that’s when I found the problem in Councilman Dean’s books.”
He took a breath, and pressed my hand tightly to his chest. “My father had grown ill by the time I returned home from school. He knew I would have to take over soon and wanted me to know the business. He required I understand every aspect. He insisted on keeping an eye on all of his employees…even his accountant. My first assignment was your father’s surveillance.”
“But my father died five years ago.” What was he talking about? Didn’t he already know this?
He met my gaze. “Yes.”
My eyebrows lowered, and I slowly shook my head. I couldn’t put it all together. He had pieces from Vincent’s puzzle. They didn’t fit with reality.
He watched me. He tensed more and more. “Are you angry—?” He cut himself short.
“No,” I said blankly.
He moved his hand to touch my face but stopped and looked away.
“Alec.”
He turned back to me.
“I’m not upset.” Confused, perplexed, hopelessly lost, but not upset. “I promise.”
He read me carefully and lifted his hand to my hair, petting lightly with his fingers. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but I see you very differently. I always have. The first time I saw you—I remember every detail. You were eighteen and almost done with high school. It was a rainy morning in June, and we—Vincent and I—were just down the street from your house. He was telling me some story, and I was barely paying attention as it was. You left before your father that day, and we paused to see you walking down the front steps, hood up and head bowed from the rain. I was just about to turn away, seeing that it wasn’t your father, and then you paused upon reaching the sidewalk. You looked up into the clouds and…” His expression changed, opened, like he was someplace else. “My God,” he murmured, “you were so beautiful. Your face was peaceful. You let the rain wash down your skin. The gold in your hair shone, and the white of your skin was luminous in the pale sunlight. An angel amidst the downpour. It was like the sun was fighting through the clouds just to be able to touch you.”
He was looking at me like he was half there and half here, like he was seeing what he was describing right here in front of him. I sat perfectly motionless, and he continued.
“My heart stopped. I swore I couldn’t feel it in my chest, as if it were gone, as if you had taken it. I knew I wanted you, but I also knew I could never have you.”
I squeezed his hand, trying to get an explanation.
“Vincent asked what was wrong,” he said, “and I realized I was showing too much, showing what I felt. You controlled me even then; I didn’t know how to handle that. I tried to convince myself that I was wrong, that it was absurd to have such a powerful reaction to someone I didn’t know.
“I struggled to gain full control of my thoughts all day. They kept returning to you, to what you made me feel. No one had ever done that before. I had decided I just wasn’t someone who could be affected like that, that I was too cold, distant. You did so much to me that day, made me feel so much. I was curious, intrigued, aroused. I was hopeful and yet scared shitless. I wanted to know you. A part of me wanted to prove that you weren’t like you appeared, that you were arrogant or dull or a bitch. That would have made it easier. I could admire your beauty and leave you be. But I knew, even then, that you owned me, that you always would. I knew who you were. I could see it in your eyes.
“Luckily, the subject in which Vincent was instructing me was simple—the audio equipment. I didn’t have to pay much attention to him. I couldn’t. I knew he saw something was wrong. I pushed him away the best I could. I’m good at that.
“I grew tense when your father returned home to you. I didn’t know what to think, couldn’t make rationality stick. Logic was inaccessible and useless. We listened to your conversation with your father, and I had no ability to feel shame for intruding upon a family’s private evening. I was in awe of you, again. You proved that I had been correct in what I saw in your face.
“You enjoyed taking care of your father. You handled all the trivial things for him, as well as all those subtleties, the things that mean so much more than they seem. You made sure he ate well. You asked about his day, showed an interest in anything he said. You supported him.”
He paused and tilted his head. “I wanted that,” he said. “I wanted you to take care of me, to want to, to see something in me.”
“I do,” I murmured. “I…”
“I found myself smiling at you, at the way you controlled your father with nothing but honest sweetness, at how stubborn you were, at how he had to force you to accept compliments, to take credit for your successes. You were clever and modest, genuinely kind. You were everything I had ever wanted, the most beautiful person I had ever known.”
His expression dulled. “But I didn’t know you, not really, or rather, you didn’t know me. I knew you never would. It was a tangible, hard fact, like Father’s orders.”
I touched his face, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He continued, sounding resolved to finish. “The devastation was overwhelming. I can handle pain. Pain is easy. It’s like a separate room in my head. I can close the door, pull away from it. I couldn’t pull away from you, couldn’t control you or push you around. You’re stronger than me. Sometimes,” he muttered, “it pissed me off.”
He took a breath, and his voice returned to calm explanation. “My father was irate. I don’t know that he ever fully understood, but he knew enough. Hanna was upset. She knew something was wrong but didn’t dare ask. She knew her place in my father’s house. The others were nervous. The tension was escalating. They knew I would be taking over soon and had no idea what to expect. I’m sure they’re still wondering.
“When my father died, I was numb to it, to everything. It was at the funeral that something occurred to me. I accepted that I could never be worthy of you, but I still wanted to try—to be good like you. I found a purpose. I could be animated, not happy but determined. I could move forward.”
He stopped. I knew he was done. He just sat there, holding my hand to him and looking past me, and then his gaze slowly fell. He focused on our hands like he was fascinated—like the simplest things…like they meant so much to him.
“I—” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes closed. “I did everything possible not to invade your privacy, but I had to watch over you. I had to make sure nothing ever hurt you again. I’m sorry.”
My hands slid up his chest and around his neck. I sat up on my knees and hugged myself to him, held on as if he was a ship in the middle of the ocean, the only thing keeping me from drowning. My vision blurred, and my arms tensed to shaking.
He sounded concerned. “Adriane.”
The fabric on his shoulder muffled my voice. “Alec.”
Arms around me, he pulled me closer to sit on his lap. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said in my ear. “You don’t have to worry or be afraid. You don’t have to feel the need to help, or even to take care of me.” He paused. “You don’t have to love me back.”