Three Stages of Love: Attraction (13 page)

“Why do you have to manage anything? Can’t you just for once allow yourself to live in the moment that has created itself before you? You didn’t plan on being with me, or I with you. But that is our current reality, and I love that reality. I love that I am with you…I love you, Evangeline. You can’t manage
love
.” Alexander spoke from a place that I knew little about and feared immensely.

There was little to rebuke in his testament of love, and there was less to be said for my ability to make the same testament.

“Don’t you think I know that, Alexander?” I asked him painfully. “I know that I can’t manage or control the emotions that exist between us, and that right there is what I struggle with the most. Every minute of every day I am swarmed with emotions and thoughts of you. I have no desire to eat because you satiate me, and I have no desire to sleep because the sight of you is so much more delicious than even the wildest of dreams. And I have no desire to work because I have this deep yearning to be with you every moment of every day, and all I want to do is play house. But my fears of diving into a life that I am not prepared for supersedes all of those wonderful emotions.” I sighed deeply as I spoke, feeling my reservations about our relationship rise to the surface.

Alexander stared at me, motionless and speechless. It was obvious that there was little he could say to calm my uncertainties, but he tried nonetheless. “I can’t promise that you will immediately take to LA or that we will live happily ever after. I don’t know what it will be like; I too have never fallen this hard and this fast. But, unlike you, I am willing to try. That is all I ask—that you try.”

He didn’t require me to give up my soul, or to seal my name in blood; he was just asking for a leap of faith.

“I’d like to go home for a while, just to sort things out in my head.” I wasn’t asking to be released, but I was asking for time alone. One would think that after all those months pining and yearning for Alexander’s presence that I would have gotten over this by now and glued myself to him in every way humanly possible, but when the stubbornness that I was born with takes over, it’s tough to battle.

There is a complexity to women that men will never understand; Prince Charming is welcome to ride in on his white horse to rescue us—but only when we want to be rescued. Sometimes we need to rescue ourselves!

Alexander pushed his chair back and headed for the phone in the kitchen. “I’ll have Brant drop us off after we get dressed, and you can decide if we come back tonight or if you want—”

He was just not getting it. “Alexander,” I interrupted, “I am telling you that I want to be alone with my thoughts for a while. That doesn’t mean that you can come with me. I can’t be alone and be with you at the same time—it’s not physically possible.”

And with that, the look on Alexander’s face turned from determined to solemn. Stopping in the center of the room, his shoulders tensed as he addressed me. “So you aren’t coming back tonight, are you? That’s fine; I have lots of work to do anyhow.”

My thoughts screamed out the tune,
Passive aggressive!
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t coming back tonight. All I said was that I need some time alone. I can’t think straight. All my thoughts are of you, about you. I can’t make sense of me and what I’m doing if you are all I see and hear and think about. I’m not angry or upset or running away; I just need some time to sort everything out.”

And sometimes a little reassurance goes a long way—whether it was the truth or not had no significance at this point. Alexander proceeded to call down to Brant, instructing him to accompany me in a half hour. He then practically leapt toward me, reaching me with an embrace that screamed
don’t go!

But I had to go. If only for an hour or two or ten—however long it took me to come up with an answer.

Surprisingly, having won the battle to
be alone
, I was filled with an urge to be
with him
. Perhaps it was the argument the night before and the heavy conversation this morning, but I wanted to have hot, pounding
make up sex
—irrespective of the fact that we weren’t actually fighting.

Brant would be waiting for me in half an hour, and it would be cruel to throw sex into the mix with all the emotional confusion that already existed—
wouldn’t it be?

“What now? I know that look on your face. Something else is bothering you now?” Alexander huffed himself into a chair and raised his hand to hold his head up.

His reaction prompted a spontaneous burst of laughter from me. “No, I’m not bothered by anything else. Actually you are misinterpreting my expression.” I walked around him in the chair, tracing my finger over his shoulders and up to his chin, lifting his face to look at me. “I was actually trying to understand why all of this talking and bickering has made me suddenly very horny for you.”

Alexander’s response time could not have been any faster had he been sitting on a bed of coals. Allowing myself to be scooped into his lap, my arms fell into place around his neck, and my lips landed precisely and softly onto his lips.

“I don’t know if I am going to die of heartbreak or a heart attack, but you are doing a number on my heart, that’s for damn sure.”

And though he returned to kissing me, I reflected on what he had just said. A déjà vu moment that brought me back to Chrissy’s letter and her testament of not wanting to be remembered for breaking someone’s heart!

“OK, Alexander, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that. I am going to change and head out, and we will talk about this later,” I concluded, edging myself up and off of his lap. I headed for the stairs and his bedroom to change my clothes.

“Later, as in this evening?” he asked.

“Later, as in when I’m ready, we can talk about it.” And with that I turned and continued to the second floor.

Alexander remained in the kitchen while I washed up quickly and put on a sweat suit and sneakers. I knew that his insecurities lay not on my leaving but on my returning to him.

Brant had called up to us to say that he was ready when I was, so I tip toed toward Alexander and said, “See you later then.”

Alexander stood and held me for a moment of soft, sweet pleasure. I took him into me, holding onto to the goodness I felt in his arms.

“Wanting is how you leave me, and waiting is how you’ll find me,” he said and then barely pressed his lips to mine, purposely making me want to taste more.

As I let go, reluctant and unwilling, he did the same, and I made my way toward the door.

I arrived home, and not a moment too soon. I could hear the phone ringing through the thick wood door that I was trying hurriedly to unlock.

“Hello?” Out of breath I managed to speak into the phone before the line went dead.

“Evangeline, are you OK? What’s wrong?”

My mother! Of all people—and in my moment of need—God had sent me an angel.

“Mamma, no, I’m fine. I just ran in the door and heard the phone. How are you?” I asked, mostly worried but truly hoping she would turn and ask me the same. It is how I react often times when I’m overtaken by the need to receive advice from someone, whether it is to my mother or Samantha. But with that need I’ve also found myself unable to just come out and talk, but rather coerce them into asking me a question that would spur the discussion that I needed assistance with. My weakness has always rested on asking for help or admitting that there was
anything
that I couldn’t handle on my own.

The mind is a truly fascinating and conniving machine, one that I have not the courage to try to understand.

“I’m fine. I wanted to check in on you. I haven’t heard from you since our chat yesterday.” She paused. “How is Alexander? Do you kids want to come by for dinner?”

So how would I now go about telling my mother that Alexander was giving me little choice and possibly taking her little girl to the other side of the country? “Mom, how about you come to the house for a little bit. I could use some help cleaning up.” I wanted to explain and discuss this with my mother, so I figured having her at my house would help me make a decision. But telling an Italian mother over the phone that you are moving away would end in tears and loud, piercing screams.

“Oh, honey, I’m making some lunch for your father, and then we have to get the garden ready for winter. Is something wrong?”

My mother always ran to help me out very willingly, so I tried not to make her feel bad for not being able to this one time.

“No, it’s OK. I just wanted to…” And my words trailed off as I tried to figure out what it was that I wanted.

“What is it,
bella
? Tell me what it is. Are things not going well with Alexander? I hope that isn’t it. Your father and I adore him, almost as much as he obviously adores you.”

My parents had always been very protective and weary of anyone who wanted to steal me away, but they had no concerns with Alexander; it was unnerving, especially when I had so many reservations.

And with a short and sweet statement and my mother’s unknowing and inadvertent approval, I decided. I had nothing of worth keeping me alone in this home. The home that I ran to so that I could think only left me thinking of being back with Alexander.

Brant entered the foyer and walked toward the kitchen, where Alexander waited desolately.

“Brant, why are you back so soon? I specifically instructed you to stay with Evangeline until she was ready to return; explain yourself!” Alexander yelled across the room to Brant, having not seen me standing behind the front door.

Brant remained quiet and blushed red, more embarrassed for Alexander than for himself.

“Mr. Mason, I am going to ask that you apologize,” I said, stepping into the room and into Alexander’s sights. “I really don’t understand why you have these outbursts and tantrums at the drop of a hat. You seem so on edge.”

Alexander’s stance turned to Jell-O as his shoulders dropped and the tension on his faced softened, staring at me in amazement.

“No need for apologies. Please let me know if anything is needed of me before I retire,” Brant said, turning to Alexander and then to me before he left through the front door and locked us in.

“You’re back,” Alexander muttered.

“Yes, I am. When I got home and found myself in an empty and lonely house, all I wanted to do was come back to you”—I walked toward him as I continued—“and then my mother called me.”

“Oh, and what did she say?” he asked, intrigued.

“Simply that she and my father love you. And that she could see how much you love me.” I paraphrased my conversation with my mother, giving him the gist of the call, which in turn I received an appeased and satisfied smile from Alexander.

“I knew I had a special place in my heart for your parents. But did you really need your mother to tell you how much I love you? My words weren’t enough proof?” he asked.

“Alexander, I know in my heart that though I may disagree with the path that my mother chose for herself, at the end of the day, she knows me and what is best for me, better than I ever will,” I concluded, reaching him.

Alexander wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tightly to him. “I think I may know what is best for you. But I can only tell you if you can tell me whether you are saying or not.”

My smile turned tight and sexy. I pushed my hips into his groin and looked up into his eyes. “Not only am I staying, but I am also going with you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Marcus are you sure that you are OK with me taking some time off? I don’t want to put you in a bad situation, even though I know I already have.”

Marcus stared at me with only a smile gracing his well-shaven and handsome face. He leaned off of the edge of his desk and walked toward me. “Look, I am indescribably happy for you and Alexander both. If I were standing on the edge of a cliff right between life and death, I would leap before stopping you from doing this. The beauty I recall in your face the day I first met you has returned to you, and I honestly don’t think I have ever seen Alexander this happy. It’s a good time to go. We have things under control here, and no one needs to replace you. You have worked hard at making sure you are close to being irreplaceable. Though I may call you on occasion for a boring conference call or WebEx; I will handle things while you are gone.”

I smiled and strode toward him, reaching out my arms for a wide open embrace. “Thank you, Marcus. I haven’t known you long, but in the little time that has passed, you have become a true friend. I don’t know how to thank you for all you have done. I…” How could I bring up the situation with Michael? How could I thank him for saving me without bringing up what had happened or how I had treated Samantha?

“Eva, stop. That is old news. I know what you are thinking, and I don’t care, nor do you need to thank me. What I will ask is that you do me one little favor.” Marcus waited for a reply.

“Anything, Marcus. What is it?” I asked graciously, taking the opportunity to keep my dignity.

“Please call Samantha. You shouldn’t go to LA without at least saying good-bye. I have never seen two friends love each other the way you two do, and you shouldn’t allow anyone to come in the middle of that.” Marcus spoke with the hurt that he held, which had been shed through Samantha’s tears.

I simply nodded but had no plan on how to approach Samantha with an apology, considering how I had behaved and mistreated her.

I spent the next three weeks packing my things and preparing for our trip to LA. Alexander and I had not gone into detail about the length of time we would be staying, but I assumed it would be only a few weeks, as I had no intention of abandoning my job or my life here in New York.

“Eva, do you really think you need all of these things?” my mother asked as I kneeled on my fourth piece of luggage, trying to force it closed.

I shook my head, frustrated with the zipper and uncertain about the answer to her question. “I don’t know what I will need. If he has business dinners or events to attend to, then I assume there will be the need to dress for those things. Then there are my day clothes and comfy clothes and sleep—stuff. I don’t know, Mamma. I’m frustrated and nervous.”