I can’t risk it.
I have to guard my heart.
“Jetting to Tokyo. Eating at five Michelin-starred restaurants in three days. Front row seats at Milan Fashion Week. Owner’s box at the Thrusters game. They were my mother’s favorite soccer team, you know.”
“I know.” His golden gaze is fixed on me, unblinking. “Is that all?”
I shake my head, refusing to give him an answer. “Will you miss me?”
“Yes.” He answers instantly. I’m shocked he’s sharing so openly. He usually keeps his cards close to his chest. “But will you miss me? I want to know.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m getting overheated in my Houdzou, but I’m not taking it off. I need all the armor I can get. I want to answer, but I need to protect myself. He’s not hiding anymore, but I am.
He grips my ankle. It’s an innocuous touch that has me swallowing hard and pressing my legs together because I don’t think my panties will keep me from leaking on the sheets.
“What can I say to get you to tell me the truth?”
I raise my chin. “Tell me who Sandra is.”
He sighs. I can see the walls coming back up, and my heart sinks. But then he says, “She’s my therapist.”
“What?” I drop the fork.
Piers retrieves it. It’s already spotless, but he cleans it off in his mouth. My inner muscles clench at the sight.
“Therapy? You’ve been in therapy?”
“Since Marty…” His Adam’s apple bobs. My normally stoic boss looks away, his expression suddenly lost. It’s the most human I’ve seen him. And it’s the same expression he wore as a child, in the photo of him I found. The one he told me to throw away.
“Sandra’s your therapist,” I repeat. I can’t believe it.
“She is. Once a week for two hours.” He huffs. “She gets me to feel my feelings.”
I gasp.
“I know, I have feelings outside of greed and avarice. It was a shock to me, too.”
I fumble for his hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t put yourself down before anyone else can.”The way your parents did.“Of course you have feelings, you’re human. Men often get socialized not to show anything but rage, but they still feel all those emotions.”
“You sound like Sandra,” he mutters.
Something unclenches in my chest. “Therapy. Who knew.” I want to laugh, I feel so light. Piers in therapy is a goddamn Christmas miracle.
Maybe there is something in him worth redeeming. Maybe deep down, there’s a lost little boy who just needs love. But haven’t I always known that?
I still have the photograph. I didn’t throw it away; I hid it in my wallet. Whenever Piers was being particularly insufferable, I’d pull the photo out and imagine him as that boy. It made me a little kinder. I vowed to be a ray of sunshine in his gloomy life. I choose to see the best in him, at every turn.
Until this morning, when I gave up on him. I thought I’d have to give up on him for good, but maybe…
“It’s helping. And I needed it. No man is an island,no matter how much I want to be. And after Marty passed…” His expression is pained. Here’s more proof that Piers is human: he’s still grieving his business partner. “He was alone, you know. At the end.”
“I know,” I say softly. “But he wasn’t alone. He had you.”
“He did. I spent the last few holidays with him, you know. His own children couldn’t stand him. Probably because he was divorcing wife number six, and she was younger than all of them.”
“He had terrible taste in women.” I have to grin, because Marty always joked about it.
“I would agree, except he always thought the world of you. Told me I was the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say more, then hesitates.
