I have no choice. I follow him in silence, the entire time my heart pounding so hard it feels like the wall of my chest will split open.
He stops when we near the piano bench. "Sit."
I do. I lower myself onto the bench, carefully tucking the long robe around my legs. He pulls the chair next to the piano along the floor until it's right in front of me. When he sits down, his knees touch mine.
"I want to understand the hesitation." He cradles both of my hands in his. "Trust me enough to tell me what's going on."
Cadence is the only person in New York City who knows. I thought I could leave my past back in Florida but that's proven impossible. "Do you remember that call I took when we were at the hotel?"
He nods his head briskly. "The day we went up to Mrs. Foster's suite and ate a fantastic burger on her dime?"
"Yes." I lower my eyes to our hands.
"Who called?"
"A lawyer." My hands start to shake but he quiets them. His thumbs trace small circles on my palms.
"Your lawyer?" His voice is as gentle as his touch. He's guiding me toward a confession. He deserves it. I kept justifying in my mind that I was right to not share this part of my life with him after what happened between us at Hibiscus. I was using his mistake to shelter my secret. It was wrong. I see that now.He wants to care for me and he can't fully do that if he doesn’t understand my hesitation to take him to my place.
"No." I skip past the explanation of who the woman was who called me that night. "Something happened when I was living in Florida. I need to tell you about that."
Our eyes catch. I see understanding in his. I'm sure he sees reluctance in mine. "Take it as slowly as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."
I want to go. I want to bolt and pretend that what happened was all a bad dream. I don't want him to look at me any differently than he has up to this point. I don't want his touch to become tentative and guarded out of fear that I'll buckle from the pain of my past. "It was a long time ago. It happened back in Florida."
He doesn't flinch. The statement is so general that I expected a deluge of questions to follow.
"It was during my first year of college. I wanted the full experience so I rented an apartment off campus."
"I can understand that."
Our eyes catch. "I was dating a man. A boy, I guess. We were the same age."
His jaw tightens. "Did he hurt you?"
That's a hard question to answer. Franco never raised a hand to me. He was as kind as anyone I'd ever met, but that doesn’t mean he wasn't dangerous. "I broke up with him after we slept together a few times. It wasn't good. I didn't feel anything for him and the experience left me with so much regret."
"He didn't take it well?"
I shake my head. "He was angry, sad, the whole gamut of emotions that come with a bad break-up. He tried to get me back for months after that."
"You held strong though?" He runs a hand down his bare chest. It's a thoughtless gesture on his part but it stirs somethingwithin me. He's muscular and firm. He could probably pummel Franco to near death with his bare hands.
I shake off the thought. "I didn't want to be with him. I told him that over and over but he wouldn't stop bothering me. He'd follow me everywhere, send me flowers and gifts. He even showed up at my parent's house in a tuxedo asking for their permission to marry me."
"He sounds unstable." He lets out a deep breath. "Did you speak to the police about him?"
"Dozens of times." I rub my temple. "I took out so many restraining orders that I lost count. He was arrested just as many times."
"He was stalking you." It's a clear statement. "What an asshole."
"Eventually he went to jail. It had nothing to do with me. He was convicted of tax evasion." I sigh wishing that was the end of the story. "He got out early a few months ago."
"Has he contacted you since?"
I nod. "I saw him once on the sidewalk outside Foster Enterprises. I ran to the security guard who is always in the lobby and Franco disappeared around the corner. I called the police then."
"So there's a restraining order now? It's valid in New York?"
