The Kiss (45 page)

“And human. Do you ever leave yourself room for that? Can't you just let yourself be happy once in a while and not beat yourself to death?” He smiled at what she said, knowing that some of it, if not all, was true. “Why do you have to make this difficult, when it isn't, and doesn't need to be? We love each other. Can't you just let that be enough?” She was making a lot more sense than he.

“Sometimes love isn't enough. You don't know what you'd be getting into, Isabelle.”

“Yes, I do,” she argued with him. It was nearly six o'clock in the morning, and she knew he had to leave soon. “I spent fifteen years taking care of Teddy. I know what caring for and loving someone truly sick means. You're not sick. You're strong and healthy and whole. You can't walk. That makes no difference to me. I wouldn't have cared if you couldn't make love again. That's a lovely bonus, but I would have been willing to live without that too. What we have together means more than that to me.”

“I wouldn't have let you,” he said firmly, beginning to look grim. “But I can't let you take this on either. I'm not willing to. I came here to say good-bye to you, and that's what we have to do.”

“That's so stupid, and such a waste. I won't let you do that.”

“You have no choice. I won't see you again.” And they both knew he was capable of it.

“And then what? You condemn us both to be lonely for the rest of our lives, to think of what we had and lost, and could have had if you weren't so stubborn? To what end? Where is the victory here? Do they give us rewards in Heaven for punishing ourselves and each other, for depriving ourselves? All right, maybe it won't always be easy. It will not be ‘perfect.’ But nothing in life is. And as far as I can see, this is as perfect as it gets, what we have between us. Why can't you just let us have what we deserve and want? You've been punished enough, how much more misery do you have to inflict on yourself, and on me? I've lost enough in my life, so have you. For God's sake, be sensible….” Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she looked at him, but he was unmoved.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, kissed the top of her head, and then wheeled himself to the door and turned around to look at her.

“Why did you do this?” She was crying as she asked him. “What was the point? Just to torture both of us? To remind us both of how much we love each other and take it all away again, so we can live in darkness and sorrow forever? Why, when we are so happy together and love each other so much? Why can't you let us have that? Is that so hard for you?”

“Maybe I don't love you enough,” he said sadly, “or myself, and maybe you wouldn't be able to love me as much as you think.”

“Don't make it so complicated. It isn't. I love you. That's all that matters. And however much you love me, that's enough for me.”

“I am not enough for you, that's the whole point,” he said, looking agonized from the doorway, wanting to come back and hold her in his arms again, but he wouldn't allow himself to.

“Let me decide that. Let me be the judge of who I love, and who I don't. You don't have the right to make that decision for me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, looking at her one last time, and wheeled out of her room. The door slammed behind him a second later, and Isabelle sat crying on the couch, and didn't move.

Chapter 19

Isabelle stayed in Washington for
four days. The senator won the election, and she was pleased for Bill. She saw him on the news sitting in his wheelchair off to the side, the power behind the scenes. He never called her, and she didn't call him again. She believed him now. And she knew that, no matter how wrong she thought he was, she had to respect how he felt. It was hard to believe he was willing to be so stubborn and sacrifice everything they had. But he seemed willing to give up all that he could have had with her. It broke her heart to accept it, but she couldn't force him to come back to her. She had to accept the choice he'd made, no matter how much she disagreed with him. It was his right, just as it was hers to believe that they could have had a wonderful life. She would have been proud to be with him, wheelchair or not. It made no difference to her, but it did to him. It was his right to live as he chose.

She called Sophie on Tuesday night after the election, and told her she was coming home. Isabelle sounded sad, and Sophie didn't ask why. They had more than enough reason to these days. Sophie had
struggled with her brother's loss, nearly as much as her mother had.

“Did you see your friend?” she asked, trying to cheer her up.

“Yes, I did,” Isabelle said quietly. “He looks great.”

“Is he walking again?”

“No.”

“I didn't think he would. He was in pretty bad shape when I saw him at the hospital, but so were you.”

“He seems fine in every other way. I'll be home tomorrow night, sweetheart. If you need me.” She liked Sophie knowing where she was at all times. It was a hangover of her years of being constantly responsible for Teddy, and the truth was, Sophie didn't really need to know where her mother was every minute, but it made them both feel secure. “I'll see you in a few weeks.”

“I'll call you this weekend, Mom. Did you have fun?” Sophie hoped she had, but her mother sounded very subdued.

“Not really,” Isabelle said honestly, “but I'm glad I came.” It had forced her to accept what she hadn't been able to in all this time. And she had gone to some museums and galleries. She was planning to go back to work restoring paintings at the Louvre after the first of the year, and she was steeping herself in art again. It had reminded her of her days in London with him more than a year before. Everything reminded her of Bill. Paintings, museums, Harry's Bar, dancing, music, laughter, air. Maybe it would finally stop one day. She hoped it would. If he wasn't going to be in her life
again, she had to forget him as soon as she could. Maybe she'd even stop loving him one day. It would be a mercy for her when she did.

On Wednesday morning she packed the few things she'd brought, and called the bellman to collect her bag. Her flight was at one o'clock, and she left the hotel at ten. And as she closed the door to her room, the telephone rang. It took her a minute to unlock the door again, and when she got there, it had stopped. And when she checked out, the desk clerk told her he had just called to ask what time she was leaving the room. They already had someone waiting for it.

The ride to the airport was quiet and long. It had snowed again the night before, and Washington looked beautiful under a blanket of snow. She checked in for her flight, and after a while, went to buy some magazines and a book, so she'd have something to read on the plane. She felt quiet and sad, and free in a way. She had let him go at last, and she was glad she had come. She hadn't expected to feel as peaceful about it as she did. And she forced herself not to think about him as she paid for her magazines and books. She was thanking the woman for her change, when she heard a voice directly behind her.

“You know you're crazy, don't you? I always knew you were.” She closed her eyes, this couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible. But it was, and when she turned, she was looking at Bill. “You're not only crazy, but you're wrong,” he said quietly. He looked so familiar and powerful just sitting there, she smiled in spite of herself.

“Are you following me, or leaving on a trip?” Her
heart pounded just seeing him again. She didn't know if it was coincidence or a miracle, and she didn't dare ask him which.

“I called you at the hotel, but you'd left.”

“That's funny, I must have missed your call,” she said, trying to look nonchalant. Her hands were shaking as she clutched the magazines and books she'd just bought. “The desk clerk said he'd called about the room.”

“I must have called right after he did.” She assumed he had called to say good-bye, but why was he here? “I know I did the right thing,” he said, moving his chair out of the way, as she stood facing him. People were eddying around them, but neither of them seemed to care. Their eyes were riveted to each other, and Isabelle looked pale. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. “You deserve better than this.”

“I know that's what you think,” she said, feeling her heart ache again. How many times was he going to tell her the same thing? “But there isn't better than this. This is as good as it gets … or at least it is for me. I lost Teddy. I lost you. I've got nothing to lose anymore, except Sophie. I don't think you walk away from love. Or one shouldn't anyway. It's too precious and too rare. But apparently you do.” She knew there was nothing she could do to convince him or change his mind. He was going to think what he wanted to. And so was she.

“I want better than this for you. I want you to have a real life with a guy who can chase you around the room, and dance with you on New Year's Eve.”

“I want a lot more than that. I want someone I love
and who loves me, someone I can respect and take care of and laugh with for the rest of my life. I can love just as easily sitting down as standing up. Maybe you can't,” she said, accepting the fate he had chosen for both of them.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Would you love me if I were sitting there instead of you?” There were tears in her eyes, and her voice was soft, as he nodded and didn't say anything. And then he answered her, and finally understood.

“Yes, I would.”

“You must not think much of me if you think I can't too.”

He didn't say a word to her, he just pulled her down on his lap and looked at her, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the mouth, and she was breathless when he stopped.

“Why did you do that?” she had to ask. “Was that hello or good-bye?”

“You choose. You know what I think. I love you. You have a right to make up your own mind.” Helena had told him that so long ago, and she had been right, he had finally figured out. He had tried to protect Isabelle, but he couldn't anymore. She had a right to choose her own fate, and this time maybe even his.

Isabelle smiled at him, and whispered “hello” as she kissed him and he held her tight.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors, with over 490 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include:
Sunset in St. Tropez, The Cottage, Leap of Faith, Lone Eagle, Journey, The House on Hope Street, The Wedding, Irresistible Forces, Granny Dan, Bittersweet, Mirror Image, The Klone and I
, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of
His Bright Light
, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death.

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc. 1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036

Copyright © 2001 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, N.Y

Dell® is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-066009
eISBN: 978-0-307-56693-5

v3.0

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PRAISE FOR
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LATEST BESTSELLERS

THE KISS

“Steel pulls through with SKILLFUL PLOTTING, steeping a gentle brew that will once again gratify her legions of fans.”

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Publishers Weekly

LONE EAGLE

“THE NOVEL IS BRIGHTLY PACED, and the World War II setting provides plenty of contextual drama.”

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LEAP OF FAITH