“Not particularly.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “I knew I was in love when I’d do anything for her. I’d dress up like Santa. I’d admit I was wrong. I’d move mountains. I’d make sacrifices. I’d do anything to seewhere that feeling for her might take me, even if I was scared. Even if it meant she didn’t love me back.”
“You, scared?” I sink into the seat because the notion hits close to my chest. “I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah. We dudes don’t like to admit that love can be scary. Not like seeing four of the biggest players in the league coming at you when you’re running down the field with the ball scary, and not like getting an eyeful of the backsides of four grown men scary.” He laughs.
I crack a smile, opening the floodgates as I give him a little more background on the last four weeks. But I skip the part about how the kiss with Cateline, the first one especially, blew my world apart. Her lips took every lie I told myself about the meaning of love, blasted them to bits, and revealed the truth. I’m not who I thought I was, the guy who’s the first to walk away, a perpetual bachelor, and afraid of commitment. I want to be with Cateline and if I can’t, I’ll do anything for her, which is why I start driving back the way I came.
“I think you’re in love, man. I guess the best way to understand it is that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything to win her heart, even if it means losing something you thought was important. Even when it means that you might not get what you want,” Rylen says.
The connection crackles. My heart bounces over a beat. At last, I know the answer to Cateline’s question.
“Yeah, I’ve been an idiot.”
“That’s music to my ears,” Rylen says, then we drop the call as I speed through the woods and back to my woman.
I’m the defense. The tackler. No one gets by me. Except Cat slid past, along with love. I love Cateline Berghier and will make sure she gets the future she wants, even if I’m not part of it.
Well, much.
I speed along the unfamiliar streets as the Loire Valley breaks with a lavender dawn that gives way to a soft peach sunrise.
It’s too early to go back to her family’s house. I may be an idiot, but I won’t be rude, so I check into a hotel, shower, and lounge on the bed, setting my alarm. I should probably get a few hours of shut-eye. But as I drift, I no longer feel adrift. Even though there’s no shore in sight, Cateline is my beacon, my lighthouse.
I’ve burned the boats. There is no going back. However, I’m not my father or my brother. I’m not the lone wolf in the woods either. Not anymore.
36
CATELINE
My eyes are damp as I sit on the edge of the river. The rock under me has the same familiar contours, and the tinkling water trickles past with the rhythm I remember all too well. During my rare breaks, this is where I’d come when I felt overwhelmed or upset. I’d sit here and pray, seeking God. Seeking guidance.
Nothing has changed here except me.
Just as I’d found myself at a crossroads when I stopped dancing, once again, I need time to figure out my life.
Why would Connor want to marry me after seeing where I came from? The mess I’d left behind? Much like the one in my bedroom at Blancbourg, I’d closed the door on the past and hoped no one would ever witness it.
Fog drifts in as the hour draws later. I ponder my future at Blancbourg. Even if I can somehow return to Concordia, no doubt the Board of Regents will ask me to resign or fire me.
Just like Connor has his rules from the coach and the playbook among the guys, as the headmistress, I’m not supposed to be involved with any of our clients. In my defense, it was almost like the moment Connor and I left the manor, ourrelationship shifted, and then morphed again when we did the challenge and he saved my life.
I pull out my phone and dial Giselle, my cousin, wishing we were together. When she doesn’t answer, I try my old friend Gemma. She recommended her former roommate, Pippa, for the job. I recall afternoons when the sun painted squares on the wood floor in her flat on Golden Strasse before she got married, and she and her husband bought a house just outside the village, leaving Pippa the apartment.
Gemma and I met when I first moved to Concordia and we’d gab for hours about work, life, and dating—her escapades, not mine. She always had tea and a plate of ginger cookies ready for our long chats.
We catch up and I hear her twins in the background, who just started preschool a few days a week, freeing up some of her time. She asks about our idea for an online etiquette program.
I bypass the question and ask her about the kids and family life.
“They’re a handful, but the best kind. And don’t worry, I’m already teaching them proper manners.”
“I’d mind mine if it meant I could have one of your ginger cookies.”
“Oh, and I’ve perfected the shortbread recipe, too. Remember, they were too crumbly?”
“I was glad to have suffered through all your testing. You never told me that I was your guinea pig.” My heart lurches at the inside joke Connor and I have.
