Why, Laura? Why did you have to speak?
I turn and look Antoine in the eye. He holds my gaze. The air feels heavier, the space between us smaller.
“Sometimes people love you and want what’s best for you,” he says, picking up our conversation like nothing happened. “But it doesn’t mean they understand what you need.”
“Do your parents understand what you need?”
His mouth presses into a hard line.
I don’t expect an answer, but he surprises me. “Until recently, I was the only worthy son, the one who never disappoints.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.” He stares into his glass like it holds answers. “My younger brother, Henri, was the opposite.”
“The black sheep?”
“You can say that. He could do anything he wanted—fail, succeed, fuck up, get in trouble—and it didn’t matter. The expectations were that low.”
His voice is calm, but there’s a raw edge so close to the surface you can’t miss it.
“I got all the love,” he continues. “And with it, the full weight of their pride. I couldn’t fail. I had to be perfect, because anything less was unacceptable.”
“But…” I squint at him, recalling a detail. “You’re some sort of bohemian, right? What with the tattoos and the outfits… Is that what your parents expected of you?”
Something flickers in his eyes.Hesitation?We aren’t allowed to reveal our professions before the end of the honeymoon. Is that why he paused?
“Bohemian isn’t synonymous with drifter,” he finally says. “I graduated top of my class, and I have a thriving small business.”
My mind connects all the dots. “You own a tattoo parlor, right?”
“That’s right, Sherlock.” He smiles. “But now you have to pretend you don’t know it until we leave the hotel.”
“I can do that.”
“You better.” His grin widens.
“As for not disappointing Mom and Pop,” I say, “it’s never too late to start!”
That makes him laugh. I giggle, too. I like that I cheered him up. And there’s something else. For the first time since we met, we’ve discovered we have something in common. But it sounds like he’s worse off than I am. Sure, I’ve been pressured by my parents. Hell, I chose my career under their pressure. But I was always allowed to fail. And when I did, they gave me comfort and support. I’ve disappointed them, too. Many times. Every guy I ever dated was the opposite of who they wanted for me.
The idea ofalwaysliving up to their standards is inconceivable to my mind.
“Will you believe that I envied Henri,” Antoine says. “The poor kid muddled along, practically rejected by our parents by age twenty, yet I begrudged him his freedom.”
The words hang in the air, unexpected, heavy.
I don’t know what to say, and so I latch onto another detail, “You said you were the only worthy son until recently. What happened recently?”
“Henri surpassed expectations,” he replies.
“That’s great news! Less pressure on you.”
He looks at me like I said something outrageous. You’d think the thought had never occurred to him.
Wait, can it be?
I search his face. “You’ve thought of it, right?”
