I'm Not in Love

Tristan

An hour later,the boys and Wendy are asleep on the sectional, and Remi and I are sitting in the wingback chairs near the window, gazing out over the city.

“The city lights are fantastic,” I say. This weekend has been fantastic is what I mean.

“I love the view. It makes me feel small,” he replies. “Almost invisible.”

“And you want to be invisible?”

“Tristan, when I was a boy, I was at the center of a very dysfunctional universe.” He drags his gaze from the splendor before us to look at me. “I couldn’t get out of the spotlight.”

“Why were you in the spotlight?”

He tilts his head, as if hoping to better read me. “You really didn’t google me, did you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Then I will.” He stands, grabs his computer from the coffee table, and says, “Come with me. We don’t want to wake up the kids.” I follow him into his bedroom.

“You don’t have to do this—I don’t care who you are, or who you were.”

“I know that. It’s why I feel comfortable with you learning the truth.” I sit beside him on the edge of the bed, and he opens his laptop. He types “Julian Remington III” and “death of parents.”

“You really want me to check out this stuff?” I ask.

“I do. So, sit back on the bed and take your time. There’s a lot to see.”

I move to the middle of the bed and lean against the sturdy headboard. He hands me his laptop and leaves the room. For the next hour, I read articles, watch news clips, and listen to interviews about the tragedy that destroyed the charmed life of Julian Remington III.

By the time Remi returns, my eyes are burning with tears I somehow manage to hold inside. He needs my understanding, not my pity. “I’m sorry you went through that, Remi.”

He hovers by the bed but gazes out the window, making him seem close to me but at the same time, very far away. “It was a difficult time.” He doesn’t grimace or grit his teeth to help him bear the memory of his pain. He just stares, his deep bronze eyes vacant.

“From your family’s home videos clips, it seems that you were very close to your parents.”

“Yes, they were my entire existence.” His tone is as dull as his expression. “And then, one day, they were gone.”

“When they… were gone… so suddenly, your life changed. Drastically, I’d say.”

He sits on the bed, presenting me with his broad back. “I went from having everything to having nothing, although in the world’s eyes, I was still the wealthy golden boy, heir to a lucrative hotel chain.”

“Well, in the interview you and your grandparents did the day after the accident, I saw a distraught child, not a wealthy golden boy.”

Remi nods. “Grandmother insisted that I be stoic in the face of my pain. It’s how I was brought up to behave.”

I shake my head. “Children who endure trauma need to be sheltered.”

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t my grandmother’s philosophy, and she oversaw my life when Mom and Dad passed away. The press chased me throughout my teenage years. I was a big story—photographed constantly—and no part of my life was off limits.”

“That must have made the pain unbearable—always trying to put on a show for the camera.”

“The good news is that the press has given up on me since I distanced myself from the family business. For the past eight years, I’ve focused on my education, which isn’t thrilling to report on. I’m now working on my second undergraduate degree. You see, I struck a deal with Grandmother in high school. If I earned a bachelor’s degree in business, I could then seek a BFA in visual arts. Next year, I’ll continue my education by pursuing either a law degree or an MBA.”

“Why?”

“To prepare me to manage the Remington Plaza Corporation. I chose law school.”

“And after law school, what will you do?”

“I’ll work for the family business.” His apathetic tone remains unchanged. “It is expected that I’ll join the top ranks of its management team.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Probably the same way you feel about modeling nude for photoshoots—I don’t want to do it.”

“But you will, won’t you?”

He shrugs. “I will.”

“I’m doing work I don’t enjoy right now, but I know that when the kids are older, I can pursue my dream of being a teacher. Remi, you shouldn’t have to give up your entire future to please other people.”

“We do what we must to satisfy our families.”

When he turns toward me, there’s hunger in his gaze. Not the kind of hunger I saw on the day I met him in life drawing class. That day, he wanted to consume my body—it was all about lust. Right now, Remi is starving for the comfort of a human bond. I’m going to give it to him.

I place my hand on his shoulder and draw him back, so he’s pressed to my side. “Close your eyes, Remi.”

He blinks a few times, struggling to do as I say. Finally, he shuts his eyes.

I close his laptop and place it on the night table for safekeeping. Then, I climb onto him, straddling his lap. Surprised, his eyes pop open, but I shake my head once, and he closes them again.

I’m surprised at myself too, as I’m the opposite of a brazen person. But Remi is a paradox that has me captivated. In some ways, he’s the lost boy I saw on the videos online, playing a role he never chose. In another sense, he’s a strong man with a giving heart, refusing to let others struggle.

“What about friendship?” he asks, his voice husky.

“We’re still friends… I just want to kiss you.”

Remi’s mouth pulls into a line, thin and tight. He seems nervous, which is out of character—at least it is for the bold man I first met. As I’ve come to know him, though, I’ve seen a softer side of him. I brush his lips with my thumb, and they loosen.

“Okay, then, my friend,” he murmurs, eyes still closed, “maybe you should kiss me.”

I tilt my head, lean forward, and tentatively cover his mouth with mine. The softness of his lips—surrounded by the prickly growth of a four-day beard—speaks to my desire to connect with a man so sweet and caring, yet undeniably masculine.

Intimate contact with a person I’ve come to care for—even trust with my family—sends shudders through my body. Remi wraps his arms around me and rests his hands hesitantly on my back. As our kiss grows deeper, he finds confidence. He pulls me closer; his sureness eases my trembling. When his hands find the sides of my face, he adjusts my head’s angle so he can best explore my mouth with his tongue. I sigh, giving myself over to passion… until Remi’s body grows rigid—and everything stops.

He pushes my face away from his so abruptly, a squeaking sound knocks loose from my throat. “Tell me, Tristan—is this your way of thanking me?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Thanking me—for the costumes and the dinners and the coaching.”

“For that, Remi, I can use words. Like, thank you for helping us.” Maybe I never said it so directly… and maybe I should have. I climb from his lap and slide off the edge of the bed, still insulted by the suggestion that my affection is for sale. “The kissing is not a show of appreciation. Far from it, in fact.”

Remi studies his hands, now clasped tightly on his lap. His face is downcast; making sense of his expression is impossible.

“You don’t trust easily, do you?” I pose this as a question, but it’s truly more of an accusation.

He shakes his head. “I guess in that way, we’re similar.”

Remi is right. All most men see in me is literally that, what they can see with their eyes—my surface beauty. And it’s powerful enough for them to want me without knowing me, which shuts down my ability to trust.

“Sure, I could get almost anybody I want in bed, but sex is momentary fulfillment. If I let somebody into my life, it’s gonna be for more than an orgasm. Because I have people depending on me, and I don’t have the luxury of falling apart from a broken heart. What’s your excuse?”

“You just spent an hour online learning why I have no reason for blind faith in anyone.” He lifts his cold gaze to meet mine. “I don’t know how you can even ask me that.”

And again, he’s right. “I’m sorry.” I take a step toward the bed and pull Remi’s clenched hand from his lap. Then I press it to my heart, so he knows I’m being honest. “I didn’t mean to be cruel.”

Remi sighs. “You couldn’t be cruel if you tried.” Then his gaze softens. “Come to bed.” He pulls his arm back and pats the place beside him.

I’m confused about what just happened between us—whether we’re enemies or friends or something more. I don’t like feeling hazy about a person’s motivation to be close to me. But even if I’m unsure of what he wants from me, I’m starting to grasp what I want from him.

I pull off my jeans and T-shirt and climb beneath the covers. After watching me closely, Remi follows suit. He rips off his clothes and slides into the bed. When I turn on my side, he curls around my back and kisses my neck softly. Skin touching skin… and tiny, delicate pecks that make me tingle right down to my toes.

Maybe I’m dazed—and a bit perplexed—but I fall asleep with a smile on my face.