“You didn’t love Sara enough,” Simon said bluntly. “That is the crime for which you feel punishment is necessary. If you had loved her enough, you wouldn’t have left her behind. Or gone away yourself. Therefore, your lack of love is the reason she died.”
Alistair stared into his glass. “I preferred you before you could articulate what you were thinking.”
“That doesn’t change the truth.”
“I suppose not.”
Simon leaned toward him. “You don’t have as much power as you think. She still would have died. As there is no way to undo the past, what it comes down to is what will you do with the information now that you have it? Learn from it or continue to punish yourself?”
“Probably the latter.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“I think we can both agree on that,” Alistair told him.
Knowing and accepting were not the same thing. He wanted to move on, but didn’t believe he had the right.
“How did you know about Montana?” he asked quietly.
Simon smiled. The scarred half of his face barely moved, but the rest of it curved into a happy, knowing grin.
“She allowed me to feel again,” he said simply. “She gave herself so fully, I couldn’t resist responding in kind. I wanted her from the first second I saw her, but what I didn’t realize was that I also loved her from that first moment. It took me a while to figure it all out. I nearly left her. What a mistake that would have been. Without her, there is nothing.”
A raw truth, Alistair thought, almost uncomfortable with his friend’s honesty. What would it be like to have someone like that? A woman he loved so much he couldn’t leave her?
The face that came into sharp relief wasn’t Sara’s. It was the face of the beautiful angel who had saved him.
On the surface, Paige was perfect. She wanted to travel, she was open and giving. He knew immediately what she had to offer any man lucky enough to steal her heart. But what about what she deserved? Could he forgive himself enough to give her all she needed? Or was the kindest act to simply walk away?
Chapter Seven
Paige listened to the soft-spoken woman on the CD, then turned and stared. “Seriously? What?”
The recording repeated the statement, which sounded more like a blur of sound than anything that made sense.
“Dove, what?”
“Dove é il ristorante,” the recording obliged.
“Is that a statement or a question?” she asked. “Isn’t it supposed to be a question? Where is the restaurant? Shouldn’t your voice go up at the end? Is that regional?”
She flipped over the steaks she’d been marinating, then stuck the dish back into the refrigerator. A quick glance at the clock told her that Alistair would be arriving shortly. They were having dinner together. Their last dinner. He was leaving in the morning.
She told herself not to be sad. That knowing him had allowed her to remember her dreams and follow them. She would always be grateful. The fact that she might have fallen a little in love with him was an issue she would deal with later.
She replaced her “ Italian1” CD with something more appropriate for dinner, then raced upstairs to change her clothes. Thirty minutes later she was in a sundress, with her hair curled. She’d put on a bit of makeup and slipped into cute flats. As they were going to eat outside, heels would be silly, but she still wanted to look nice.
While she’d settled on their dinner menu, she hadn’t chosen dessert. There were a couple of cupcakes in a pink box on the counter, but she was considering something else entirely. Inviting Alistair into her bed.
She didn’t usually take relationships to that level. With him leaving and the real possibility that she would never see him again, sharing cupcakes made a lot more sense than giving him her body. But while her head could make the argument, her heart knew that showing how much she cared was important, too. Not for him, but for herself. What she hadn’t decided was if she was willing to risk it all, knowing there wasn’t the promise of a happy ending.
She still hadn’t decided when he knocked on her door.
She raced to the front of the house and let him in. When they were standing in her living room, she faced him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’ve been busy. Everything is coming together, as it’s meant to be. I’m learning Italian, which isn’t going very well. But that’s okay. Montana’s sister, Nevada, works at the big construction site on the edge of town. They’ve hired a new manager and he has a wife and a little boy and they’re looking to rent a house for six months. They’ve been by and they love the place and they want to start the lease on the first. Which is exactly the amount of time I need to get ready.”
She paused for breath. Part of her was aware of him watching her, of how his dark blue eyes seemed to see all the way to the very heart of her, but not in a scary way. Instead, she felt cared for and, well, adored.