I'm Not in Love

CHAPTER24

Remi

Wednesday afternoon’s sculpture class is here before I know it. The time flew—from when I confronted Professor Santini in the courtyard after Monday night’s class until now—because I spent it developing a plan. A plan to get my life back. Or in other words, to get Tristan back.

Being without Tristan is like dying a slow, agonizing death. The suffering is more gradual than what I experienced when I lost my parents after the accident, but it’s suffering all the same. Days of anguish have helped me to accept that I’d be better off with Tristan—praying incessantly that he lives to see another day—than lost without him.

In the studio, Tristan conducts himself in the same professional demeanor I’ve come to expect when he poses for artists. Cold, distant, perfect. A stunning ice sculpture that I’m struggling to recreate in clay.

I work in silence at my sculpture stand, observing the object of my art with as much cool impartiality as is possible. Who am I fooling? I can’t be objective when it comes to Tristan, but I can feign impartiality, which is what I do.

When class is over, I approach him after he says good night to Jillian.

“Hi, Remi.” His eyes widen when I draw near. “I’m… uh…”

It’s obvious he has more to say, so I wait.

“I’m not scared to walk across campus without a bodyguard, you know.” He snickers adorably. “I can run a lot faster than Professor Santini.”

“I’m not here to guard you.” This isn’t entirely true; I fully intend to protect him from Santini’s threats. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Talk?” Tristan’s eyebrows lift, taken aback by the suggestion. “About what?”

“Can I walk with you?” We can’t discuss our relationship here in the studio, with students milling about.

“Uh, sure… I guess.” He glances at Dacia and shrugs. She waves and leaves the studio, allowing us time to be alone.

I don’t get to the point of our discussion until we’re strolling in the dark along the path that divides the college courtyard. I pull in a deep breath for needed strength, and the truth pops out. “I lied.”

He stops walking to gape at me. “Come again?”

I stop too, close enough beside him for our shoulders to brush. “I said that I lied.” There’s no need to beat around the bush. This is too important. “When you told me you loved me, I said I didn’t feel the same way. And it wasn’t true.”

Tristan stumbles backward a few steps toward a bench set in the lifeless remnants of last summer’s grass, and he drops to perch on its edge. He has nothing to say but shakes his head vigorously. Utterly bewildered.

I stand before him and press on. “I want you in my life.” My next declaration is the highlight of my rather simple plan to coax him back into my arms. “I love you.”

It’s met with more head shaking. When he speaks, his tone is gravelly. “You… Remi, you broke my heart.”

“I know… and I’m sorry. I broke my heart, as well.”

It’s cold enough outside for his heavy exhalations to be visible in the frosty air. “Why?”

“Why did I lie? It would take forever to explain, but the short version is… I was scared.”

“Scared…” Tristan echoes, still confused. “And you… you said you want me in your life.”

“More than anything,” I admit.

“I’ll be ready soon.” In the darkness, it’s difficult to make sense of Tristan’s expression, though I’m not certain that the bright light of day would do much to make it clear. “It’s still too hard… for me to be with you and just be…” His next noisy breath seems to require great effort. “We can be friends soon.”

“Friends?” He’s completely missed my point. “I don’t want to be your fucking friend. I love you, Tristan. And I want to show you, by making love to you every morning when you wake up and every night before you fall asleep. I want you to move into the loft so we can share our lives.”

I may as well have expressed a desire for us to relocate to Mars. Tristan stares at me in stunned disbelief. And sadly, with not a fraction of the joy I’d expected. “You just miss the companionship… and the sex.”

“You think this is about getting my rocks off?” I feel every bit as shocked as he looks.

“No, no, of course not—it’s about loneliness.” He grasps my hand. His skin is cold, like my heart must have seemed when I told him I merely liked and wanted him. “I love you, Remi—more than I ever thought I could love someone who isn’t part of my family. It’s why I need to give you up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You deserve everything in a partner.” Tristan allows a stuttered sigh, and a tear slides from the corner of his eye. “Look at it like this… Maybe your grandmother was right on Thanksgiving Day when she said we have nothing in common. Our upbringings and life experiences are too different for us to flourish together.”

That was very close to how Grandmother had phrased it; Tristan had taken mental notes.

“She also said that social class is a critical factor in finding a path forward as a couple—and I believe her. I think you do too.” Several more tears fall.

“I don’t believe that bullshit for a second. My mother came from a family of poor dairy farmers in Vermont, and my father was heir to a hotel fortune—it didn’t stop them from building their lives on one another,” I say, hoping he’ll listen as closely to me as he did to my grandmother. “My parents were fantastic together, just like we are.”

I think I’m getting somewhere until Tristan’s back stiffens. He’s visibly shifting into selfless mode—into the man who is willing to sacrifice everything he wants to benefit those he loves. “One day, you’ll see that I did this because I love you so much.”