"Wait here," he tells me.
I don't want to let go of his hand, but Brad moves quickly away from me. I use the back of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks. This emotional crap isn't me, and I don't know how to make it stop. All I know is I want Brad.
He returns with two beers dangling from one hand. His free hand takes mine, and we walk outside to the warm and still dark morning. Brad sits in a patio chair and hands me a beer. I don't drink it or sit down.
Watching him, I wish I could make the tears stop. Brad takes my beer and sets it on the patio table before cupping my face.
"You look so tired."
"I am," I whisper.
Brad leans down to kiss my forehead. His touch both soothes and stings. I don't know where I lost my way, but I can't seem to exist without his approval.
"This isn't me," I say.
"Maybe you've just never had a chance to let this Saskia out."
Wiping my cheeks, I exhale a shaky breath. "How do I make this stop?"
"I don't know," he says, taking my hand and guiding me to the chair. Once I sit, he pulls his chair closer and joins me. "Maybe if you stop trying to stop, the tears will stop on their own. If your tears are as stubborn as you, fighting them is likely a lost cause."
I smile faintly at his words, but the crying scares me. "If I can't stop, I won't be able to do my job."
"Then have Minka take over while you go on vacation here at the house."
"How long could that last?"
"Do you mean the Minka thing or us?"
I only watch him, too tired to say the words. Brad takes a swig of beer and stares at where the dogs run around in the dark.
"I'm planning to keep you, Saskia. I don't know how you feel about that, but I suspect you want to stay. If you're not ready to stay yet, I'm sure I can convince you."
"I don't know what to say to that."
Brad holds my gaze, daring me to deny him. "Say you want to stay."
"I do."
"Say what you feel isn't lust. Say it's more so we won't pretend otherwise."
"It's not lust," I say in a shaky voice. "I don't know if I'm capable of love, though."
"Why wouldn't you be?"
"I don't think I've ever loved anyone before."
"What about Sela?"
My mind barely remembers Sela's face, but my heart refuses to forget. "She could never love me."
"I'm sure you're wrong. She raised you."
"You can't understand because you grew up in a warm house. Everything in my life was cold. Sela's heart was too. She lost her family, and it killed her inside."
"Maybe you're right," he says, taking my hand. "Or maybe you want to believe she didn't love you because losing her was less painful with the lies."
"Sela was the closest thing I had to a mother. She might have loved me, but she never said the words."
"Some people can't, but why wouldn't she love you if she raised you?"
"My mother killed her family," I say after downing half of my beer. "Sela couldn't prove it, but she always suspected. This suspicion kept her from truly loving me. I was the reason her husband and children died."
Still crying, I hate feeling so helpless. Vulnerability leads to misery, my mother often said.
"Sela had two boys and a baby girl," I nearly whisper. "Her husband worked odd jobs, and they were very poor. Before Sela, Elena went through many wet nurses. My mother was always harsh with women. She said they were inherently weak and disposable. Not her, of course, but all other women."
Focusing on Brad, I struggle to find the strength to force out the words. "When the time came for Elena to travel with me, she wanted Sela to come with us. Of course, she couldn't because she had small children. I don't know what Elena offered her, but Sela said no. Years later, Elena still remarked on how stubborn Sela could be. I often wondered if she only wanted Sela to work for her because she dared tell her no."
Looking at my hands, I notice that my fingers are long and thin like my mother's. I see too much of her in me. Most days, I write off those similarities as simple genetics. Now they bother me.
"Sela's family died of carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty heater. Elena's murders weren't normally subtle, but their deaths felt like her anyway. Even when I was a child and heard how they died, I always suspected. My mother told me the secret to success was a willingness to do anything necessary. Elena wanted Sela to work for us, and her family conveniently died during one of her overnight stays at our house."
I don't dare look at Brad, as if he might hate me for Elena's sins. "Sela used to cry in her room a lot. For years, I heard her crying, and I told myself how love made her weak. I didn't want to feel such pain, so I wouldn't love anyone. Not even her. When she died, I realized maybe I'd loved her anyway."