And we had proven as much.  Time and again.     

I waited until he finished the second plate and rose to take it to the sink. 

I got up and followed him.  "Your mother's been blackmailing you."  It wasn't a question. 

I watched his back as I said the words, witnessed how he braced himself and shuddered like his whole world was crashing down around him. 

Because it was.

He turned to look at me, and I read too much in the agony of his eyes.  Knew too much from what they held.  So many of my questions were answered from just that look, if I was honest with myself. 

But denial is a powerful thing, and I wouldn't have minded clinging to it for just a little bit longer.   

"Yes.  Yes."  He said it with a sort of reverent lightness, as though some great weight had been lifted from him. 

Because years of burdensome secrets had just been taken off his shoulders.

Jesus, I was a fool.   

"Of course she has," he continued succinctly.  "Of course she has." 

CHAPTER TWENTY

"I know of only one duty, and that is to love." 

~Albert Camus

PRESENT

DANTE

I was shocked at myself, at my reaction to her words. 

I'd been avoiding this for so long, had gone through so much pain, suffered so much just to keep this from happening.

I'd never imagined in my wildest dreams that my knee-jerk reaction to having it all come crashing down on me would be a torrential downpour of relief.  I was weak with it.    

But also, of course, it was my worst nightmare.  The very thing I had always dreaded.

Because what she would do now that she knew terrified me.   

"This place doesn't feel like a temporary rental to me, Dante," she said, her voice somehow normal. 

Oh, now she was changing the subject?  It was infuriating, but I answered her anyway. 

"I am considering making it a more permanent residence . . . My mother can't know about it, you understand."  As I spoke, I turned fully to look at her. 

She grinned, tilting her head to study me.  An expression fell across her face, one I knew she didn't intend, of almost curious affection.

That look on her face was like a punch to the gut.  So many feelings rushed at me when she studied me like that, like years had disappeared and we were back to some petty arguing that meant nothing in the long-term to us, some form of the old bickering that we used to enjoy when we still had complete faith that our bond to each other was unassailable.   

This wasn't that, of course I knew that, but it was painfully pleasurable to pretend that it could be like that, even for only an evening.

"You plan to stay in L.A. . . . close to me . . . as long as your mother doesn't know about it."  She tapped her chin as she spoke, looking thoughtful. 

I made my face stay bland and neutral and just kept meeting her eyes, but it was no use. 

She was onto me, and I couldn't have said if I was more acutely relieved, or utterly horrified by that.

"You don't know how much I know," she accused correctly.  "You have no idea how to handle me because, for once, you're more in the dark than I am.  How does it feel, lover?" 

"Wretched."  I gave her that one bitterly honest piece, because God, she deserved it.  "As wretched as you could hope.  Care to clue me in?" 

"Of course not.  You can guess, and worry, and stress your deceitful black heart out.  And while you're doing that, you can make me a drink.  I assume you have a bottle of superior scotch around here somewhere."

I decided to take the order seriously, leading her from the kitchen to an adjoining sitting room.  As she'd correctly guessed, I did have a fully stocked bar.

I fixed us both a drink.  I didn't have to ask her what she wanted or how she wanted it.  It was all too familiar to me. 

"What are you planning to do?" I asked her, handing her a glass of scotch, straight up.  "Are you going to confront anyone?" 

She laughed, a sound of pure delight that reverberated through me, making my heart pound, reminding me that it was still a slave to her whims, damn her.  "Who would I confront?  And about what?  What do I know, do you suppose?  If I say I know everything, will you slip and tell me even more?" 

I took strong exception to how much she was enjoying this.  "This isn't a game."  

Her smile died a short death, leaving behind the quiet rage that had never really left.  "You think I don't know that?"  Her voice was so full of icy bitterness that I could taste it in my own mouth.  She could flay me alive with that tone, strip the skin from my bones.  "You think this was ever fun for me?  Being lied to?  Being manipulated?  But I won't be answering your questions anymore.  You'll be answering mine."   

I didn't argue with her.  Instead, I toasted the air and finished my drink. 

I think I'd have agreed to anything just then if it kept her from leaving. 

If it meant she would keep coming back. 

I'd reached my threshold on living without her.  As dangerous as it was, as much as it made my chest cold with fear, I was done staying away from her. 

And, God help me, I didn't have the will to live with the lies anymore.

"So if I agree to answer your questions," I began, sometime later, charging bravely through the pregnant silence, determined to negotiate with her.