Valentine's Day Virgin

“And you like him? You’re good to him?”

What? “I like to think so. We haven’t known each other that long, but I do like him and I want to keep seeing him.”

Eleanor leans forward, pinning me with a steely gaze. “My son likes you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. But it’s very important that he has someone who is loyal and trustworthy in his life. Someone he can always count on. Are you prepared to do that?”

I take a sip of the champagne to calm my nerves. “We’re still figuring out how we fit into each other's lives, ma’am, but I’m not the kind of person who would turn her back on someone.”

The way she’s looking me up and down makes me wonder what she’s thinking. She’s nearly impossible to read. When she opens her mouth, it’s not what I expect. “My children deserve people who are going to respect and love them unconditionally. I won’t tolerate anything less. You need to understand that, because I will be checking. And if I discover you are anything less than loyal, there will be consequences. There’s nothing I won’t do for my children, and I don’t think you want to experience what that’s like.”

“Mom.” Bianca says, stepping forward with the glasses in her hands. She gives them to Eleanor. “Jesus. Are you trying to terrify her?”

Eleanor says nothing as Bianca pulls me up and away, and I’m still too stunned to say anything. “God, I’m so sorry,” Bianca says. “I tried to go as quickly as I could but I didn’t know that she was going to hit you with that. You probably weren’t ready for it to be that intense, but you do have to understand at least part of it, given what she’s been through. I’m going to have a serious conversation with her about tact though.”

“Wait, what?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

Bianca stops. We’re at the edge of the dance floor near the doors to the gardens, and now we’re looking at each other trying to figure out where the misunderstanding is happening. “I think I’m seriously missing something.”

“Oh my God,” Bianca says. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Why?” My frustration suddenly cracks. “Look, Bianca, I really like Eric, and I don’t really have a right to push him about stuff after a few days, but what the hell did you just pull me out of?”

“He needs to be the one to tell you,” she says. “Otherwise he’ll never forgive me. But it’s all tangled up with what happened with our dad.”

“Eric hasn’t even mentioned him.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve should have known. Look, just tell him what happened with Mom, and ask him. I wish I could tell you.”

“There you are,” Eric’s voice reaches me and I feel his hand on my arm. He pulls me in to his side. “I saw Mom alone and wasn’t sure where you went.”

“Bianca was rescuing me.”

He looks between us. “Rescuing you from what?”

“Good luck,” Bianca says, escaping around us to where James is waiting.

“What happened?” he asks, hands gripping my upper arms. The intensity feels like fear or desperation.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that your mother doesn’t like me.”

“Why?”

“Because she just threatened me. She threatened to split us up if I wasn’t completely loyal to you and didn’t love you unconditionally. And I really like you, but I want to know what’s going on. I’m feeling a little blindsided, and like I walked into something way bigger than I realized. Especially now that Bianca tells me that this all has to do with your dad?” His face darkens, and I know that Bianca was right. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” I whisper fiercely. “If I’m going to take threats from your mom—who I’m assuming is equally as rich and powerful as you are—then I deserve to know what happened to make those threats happen, don’t you think?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I don’t.”

“That’s bullshit.” I pull away from him. “Tell me what happened. Help me to understand what I’m dealing with here. Because we’re not going to be able to figure out what’s between us if I only know half the story.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t pull that card. We don’t know everything about each other, and I’m sure there’s things that you’re not going to tell me until we know that we’re for real. I’m not going to tell you because it’s none of your business. You’re not entitled to my pain any more than I’m entitled to yours.”

The words strike home. Until we know that we’re for real. I had thought that we were for real. Sure, it’s new, but that doesn’t mean that it’s fake. “It sure as hell felt real to me,” I say, pushing past him and out of one of the French doors and out into the air.

There are a few people scattered out here, and they look at me as I burst outside. I can feel him following me. The look on his face must be really something because the people milling around quickly make themselves disappear.

“It was real,” he says, practically growling. “It’s still real.”

Eric’s hand is on my shoulder, and I spin to face him. “How? How is this real if you weren’t even honest about the reason you brought me here? I just got drilled about whether or not I was trustworthy enough to date you. And then she told me that I didn’t want to see the consequences for being disloyal. What the hell, Eric?

“I understand wanting someone good for your kids, but if I’m going to get measured against a standard than you have to meet it too. Trustworthiness goes both ways, and so far, I have trusted you with everything. I let you touch me in a way that no other person has touched me, and now…” I don’t even know what to say anymore. I feel all mixed up and possibly betrayed, but I’m not even sure that that’s the right emotion because I don’t know what the hell is going on. Tears that I don’t want well up into my eyes and I turn away from him.

This is just like every other Valentine’s Day, ending up in tears. Only this might be worse because it started out so brilliantly.

“Jesus, Sally,” Eric says, and he sounds dejected. “This isn’t easy for me. This is the one thing, that one thing that causes me so much pain it makes me angry to talk about it. Hell, she’s still clearing out boxes. She had me come over and pick up the last of them this morning. This whole thing has been a process so long and drawn out and I’m tired and today of all days I’m just reminded of it.”

Boxes. Boxes usually mean people’s things. Shit. His father died. That has to be it. His father died and he has yet to get over it. “He’s gone?” I ask.

He blows out a breath. “Yes.”