I turn the laptop toward him. "Read this."
He reads the email, his expression darkening with each line.
"Who is this?" he asks.
"A curator in LA. She says she found my work online."
"How?"
"I don't know. Maybe something I posted before we disappeared. Before we became the Brennans."
"Fuck."
He's quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he closes the laptop with more force than necessary.
"We need to ignore it," he says.
"But…"
"No. We don't know who this person is, what they want, how they found the work. It's too risky."
"But she's offering representation…"
"I don't care. What if it’s the cops pretending because they found a lead? We said we would do this when we were ready."
"You're panicking," I say.
"I'm being protective. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
He pulls me up from the chair, gripping both of my arms. "This could ruin us, ruin our lives if we’re not smart. And even if it is legit, she could just take control of everything."
"She's not going to control me."
"She’s already holding all of the cards by reaching out. Inserting herself into something that belongs to us."
I watch him, the crazy eyes trying to focus on me, but his mind is racing. He has controlled our situation, trying to protect us for so long that he can’t let go and let some things happen naturally. But I love him for it.
"You're right. We're not ready, and besides, like you say we don’t know for sure who she is. And I don’t want anything linked to our old life."
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and I pull away from his hold and touch his bare arms with my hands, gently running my fingertips up and down his forearms, in a comforting way.
"But Dom?"
"Yeah?"
"We have to let the outside in at some point, otherwise this will never work. I understand what you are saying and your concerns, but you will have to give in for this to work."
"It’s hard to let anyone in our bubble."
“But we’re not letting anyone in between us. This is work and money. Us telling our story. This is as much your work as it is mine, as we created this together. It’s just us.”
Suddenly, he kisses me passionately, pulling my whole body up against his. We make out like teenagers, only touches andkisses before I bury my head into his neck, inhaling his scent, loving that feeling of home when we are together.
“You’re right. It’s just us, baby.”
I nod against him, and he hugs me tighter like he is afraid to let go. But there is no need for him to worry, because I will never let go either.
