The Boyfriend Sessions (31 page)

I wasn’t quite sure how it happened.

Despite all my attempts to ensure I avoided this very situation, I currently sat opposite Benjamin. Alone.

The dim lighting and the accompanying melody of cutlery clinking on dinner plates, together with the low hum of conversation from the other diners, made for an intimate atmosphere. It was too intimate in my opinion. I was already wishing our dinner cruise aboard The John Cadman II currently floating along Sydney Harbour wasn’t three hours long.

I’d promised Max I wouldn’t do this, I reminded myself. I stared at my dinner of Atlantic salmon and braised greens the waiter placed in front of me. It looked delicious, but my stomach clenched nervously and I had little appetite. Damn Maddy for making me face reality and admit out loud that I still had feelings for Ben.

And damn Cate. She’d promised to meet us at Circular Quay after work, but called at the last minute while Ben and I were already standing in line for the dinner cruise. She’d claimed an unavoidable client emergency had come up. It was accounting for God’s sake. What sort of emergency could it be? An extra zero on the profit and loss statement? Then bloody well open the spreadsheet and hit delete.

I reached for my wine and took a fortifying sip, Ben’s violet eyes watching me with interest. I was in a foul mood and hoping the alcohol might take the edge off.

“You’re not doing anything wrong by being here with me tonight,” Ben said quietly.

Then why did I feel so guilty? I hadn’t told Max—not that there had been any time to. I still wasn’t sure if I was going to, but the last thing I wanted to do was lie to him.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, stiffly. “I don’t know why I’m so stressed.” Lies. All lies.

Perceptively, Ben didn’t say anything. Instead, he picked up his knife and fork and began eating his kangaroo steak. He chewed thoughtfully. “I’m the one who should be feeling guilty,” Ben said finally. “Skippy tastes delicious.”

This prompted a small laugh from me. Ben had a playful way about him and he’d always been able to make me see the funny side of things. “Don’t be. There are plenty of kangaroos in Australia.”

“I’m glad you’re doing something with your sketches.”

The change of topic was swift and had me arching an eyebrow at him. I couldn’t figure out if he was avoiding the subject of us to keep me happy or if he had some sort of bigger plan. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“I don’t remember telling you about that,” I replied. I’d gone into great detail about Grounded Marketing, but I hadn’t told him about the latest developments with my sketches.

“Cate told me,” he admitted.

“When?”

“The other night.”

I’d forgotten. Cate had generously offered to attend a show with Ben at the Opera House earlier in the week. After spending most of the weekend with Ben, and then the Monday night with him too, I’d thought perhaps it might be pushing things to spend Tuesday night with him as well.

Ben studied me. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It’s still early days, but it looks like I might be able to make a sideline out of my more artistic stuff.”

“And so you should. You’re very talented. I still feel bad about you missing out on Norway.”

The apology mixed with a compliment had me setting my knife and fork down. I sighed. “Not your fault, Ben. I chose to catch a plane home to Australia. I could just as easily have caught a plane to Norway.”

“But you didn’t. I can’t help but feel my unexpected proposal had something to do with it.”

“Ben, really.” Before I could think about what I was doing, I reached a hand across the table. After a beat, his fingers weaved through mine and I tried to ignore the wave of heat flowing between us. “Things happen for a reason,” I managed finally.

His violet eyes seemed liquid like the sea. “Have you figured out the reason yet, Christa?”

I extracted my hand slowly, my palm still burning. “Not yet.”

God, what was this? How could I be making passionate love to Max one day and then sitting across from Ben the next, the wave of electricity undeniable? Norway suddenly seemed like a really good place to be.

Ben had the good sense to drop the topic again. We ate our dinner in silence for a while and I cast my eyes out the window. I watched as the lights of Sydney cruised past slowly, harbor-side homes glittering on one side and the imposing city skyline on the other.

“What have you got planned when you arrive home in Paris?” I asked. It was my not so subtle attempt to remind us both that Ben’s presence in my life was temporary.

“Back to the newspaper. There’s no big assignments coming up that I’m aware of, so it will just be general political stories.”

“Do you ever get sick of it? Or the deadlines?”

Ben shook his head mildly. “No.” I loved the way that word sounded coming from his mouth. “I enjoy the deadlines and politicians always provide a steady stream of work.”

“You couldn’t do it outside Paris though.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question, or a reminder.

Ben tilted his head, a dark curl falling across his forehead. “Not in English. My written English isn’t good enough, but I could report remotely. You could work anywhere though.”

Suddenly we were having the conversation we’d never had before Ben proposed to me. Where we would work and what we would do, if we planned to stay together. “I suppose,” I relented, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

“You could freelance your regular graphic design work or move to London and get something there.”

“Mmm.”

“I have friends in London.”

What was he getting at? “Ben,” I began, awkwardly. Max was right. He wasn’t giving up, was he?

Ben leaned in, his expression eager. “You shut things down, Christa. You need to give them a chance.”

“Ben,” I warned.

“I’m not just talking about us. It’s like you’re scared to give things—the things that matter—a chance.”

Now that wasn’t fair. And where was he getting all of this from? The realization settled like a stone in my stomach. “You’ve been talking to Cate.”

“So? She knows you well,
chérie
, she’s a good friend. She can see you’re not going anywhere, that you’re missing out on things because you won’t take chances. She wants what’s best for you.”

On some level, I knew his words made sense, but the honesty of them cut deep. What right did Cate have to talk about me to him like that? And had her absence tonight been planned all along? “Ben, it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. And you should know, Cate is a hopeless romantic and she sees the world through rose-colored glasses.”

“And you don’t see the world, because you refuse to look.”

The sound of our plates clattering as I stood up from the table drew looks from those around us. Somehow I managed to keep my voice low. “I think you’ll find, Benjamin, I see the world just fine. Just because I don’t entertain romantic happy ever endings doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me. It makes me a realist.”

I turned from the table and rushed to the door that led to the deck, the hot sting of tears piercing my eyes. Outside, I breathed in heady gulps of the cool night air, which seemed to steady me. I was grateful for the wind buffeting my face and drying the tears before they could leave an obvious trail down my cheeks. Damn him. Damn all of them. They all seemed to think they had me figured out and, worst of all, they seemed to think they knew what was right for me. Ben. Cate. Maddy. Max. All of them. Alright, maybe not Scarlett, not that she was saying so anyway. She had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.

I was sick of it. Sick of it all. I dabbed a finger under my eyes delicately and hoped my eye make-up wasn’t ruined. What they didn’t understand, was that I wasn’t that deep. I wasn’t a thinker. I didn’t want to ponder my thoughts, feelings and emotions every second of the day. I was happy to just take things at face value and live my life. They were the ones who were always trying to put a deeper meaning on everything.

And I also hated to admit that if I looked too much deeper, I didn’t like what I found. Was it any wonder I didn’t believe in happy endings after my long string of failed exes?

And your father.

Suddenly at a complete loss, a fresh stream of tears flowed freely down my cheeks, all concerns for my make-up gone.

I still missed him. Every single day. My relationship with my mother was distant at best. I no longer blamed her, but by the time I’d developed the maturity to deal with the loss, the damage had been done. The following years were punctuated by bitterness and anger at my father, which of course had been futile.

In its place had settled a quiet loneliness.

It was strange. I was surrounded by family, close friends like Maddy, Cate and Scarlett, and of course a steady stream of boyfriends. But after my dad had gone, life had never been the same. We’d always been close and his gradual—and seemingly deliberate—departure from life was almost as difficult to comprehend as his death.

I swiped at the tears and my lips curled wryly. When it came to my love life, I hadn’t made much of an effort to comprehend anything, especially after Nick.

Until Max.

Was it any wonder I was scared to try again and put my heart on the line?

I was scared. No, make that terrified.

There I’d admitted it—to myself anyway. I was goddamn, white-knuckled scared about entertaining the thought of happily ever after. That wasn’t real life. Real life was difficult and messy and complicated.

So I loved Max, so what? As Scarlett would say,
big deal
. Get over it and move on.

I stiffened suddenly, clenching the wooden railing I leaned on.

Hang on. Where had that come from?

I was in love with Max.

Was I? Really?

Of course you are, stupid,
my brain shot back.
If you paid attention to your feelings now and then, you might have figured it out a lot sooner than this.

But it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. I stared hard into the black water, the wind whipping my face, like it was attempting to wake me up.

If it was true, then why was I still so attracted to Ben? There was no way I could deny the heat between us, it was stifling.

But heat didn’t mean I was in love with him, I reasoned. I’d be stupid to think I could go through my life without ever encountering another man besides Max that I wasn’t attracted to. And I shared a history with Ben.

Maddy’s words rang in my ears.
Imagine your life without him, Christa.

And suddenly, there it was. Crystal clear, like the lights reflecting on the water.

With Ben, I could imagine my life without him. Maybe it was because despite the initial heartbreak upon returning home to Australia, I’d managed to do just that—live without him. But Max. With Max it was different.

With Max I didn’t feel alone anymore.

I stifled a strangled sob. The thought of living without him had my chest constricting. He was maddening, stubborn, sweet, imposing, like a little boy with all his stupid computer games, not to mention sexy. Inspiring—he’d pushed me to do something with my artwork, despite my precious creative doubts. He believed in my dreams and he believed in me.

And here I was cruising the harbor with my drop-dead gorgeous Parisian ex-boyfriend.

I was such an idiot.

I swung around to head back inside, my mission clear and almost collided with said Parisian male. He caught me gently. “I’m sorry, Christa. Blame the journalist in me. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

I sighed and relaxed in his grip, the electricity between us for once not feeling quite so intense. “Ben, it’s alright.”

Ben regarded me carefully.

“I’m in love with my boyfriend, Ben.”

He released me and took a step back.

“I know it’s not the answer you were hoping for,” I began, then stopped when he held up a hand.

“It’s an answer.” His looked relieved and I didn’t understand why. “When I first arrived, you told me you were seeing someone else and it wasn’t appropriate to spend time with me. That wasn’t an answer. This is.”

I stared at him open-mouthed. “So you weren’t giving up?”

His violet eyes seemed brighter with the city lights reflecting in their depths. “I didn’t fly to the other side of the world on a whim. The same way I didn’t propose to you on a whim, even if that’s what you thought.”

Yet again, it was another case of Christa failing to scratch the surface. I’d held tight to my stereotype of French men being romantic, which in my mind had equated to spontaneous. The truth was, Ben
was
a romantic, but he was also intelligent, astute, and didn’t say anything he didn’t mean.

“I didn’t think. I’m so sorry.” And I really was. I was sorry that I’d closed myself off for so many years that I’d been unable to give him the chance he’d deserved. Except of course for Max. The only good thing about being the Queen of Denial was I’d wound up with Max.

Ben looked up at the Sydney night sky and contemplated the scattering of stars above us as we glided across the harbor. “Don’t be. I’m glad you’re starting to be honest with yourself.”

“Me too.” Ordinarily I would have been offended. Instead, I smiled and offered him my hand.

We went back inside to have our dessert and spent the remainder of the cruise talking easily. An hour later, when the cruise concluded and we stood across the road from Circular Quay staring at each other silently, it was with acceptance and the familiarity of two friends.

“Ah,
chérie
. I am happy for you. I really am. This Max, he is a lucky man.”

I grinned foolishly up at him. “I don’t think he has a clue what he’s getting himself into.”

Ben laughed loudly, his lilting French crescendo echoing with pleasure in the relatively deserted city streets. “That is true. Come here.”

He pulled me into a warm embrace and I allowed myself to relax into his arms and into his delicious European smell. This man wasn’t mine, but he was a treasure.

After a long moment, we released each other and surveyed the other with unrestrained love. “My Australian Bubbles, I am so glad I met you,” he whispered.