Part 34 (1/2)

I reach across the counter to squeeze her arm. ”I'll be here.”

”I know you will.”

Happy at the knowledge that we've mended fences, I return home. Nicholas and Dean are out in the back garden, tossing a ball back and forth. I watch them from the big picture window for a few minutes. A bunch of thoughts tumble through my mind like a kaleidoscope constantly s.h.i.+fting and changing, but always bright and beautiful.

Dean and Nicholas stomp into the house with dirty shoes and gra.s.s-stained jeans. I make them take off their shoes and shoo them upstairs to change before we sit down for dinner. Afterward we settle Nicholas down with picture books and a cookie while Dean and I clean the kitchen.

”Any word from Hans yet?” I ask casually.

”No.” Dean's expression is pensive as he takes the last dish from me and puts it in the cupboard. ”Frances stopped by my office yesterday. She's been telling me for a while how good this offer is for both my career and King's.”

As I dry my hands on a towel, I dig for courage and say the words I've felt since Dean first told me he was a frontrunner.

”You want the job, don't you?” I ask. ”Your comments about office politics and the WHC not wanting an answer right away are wearing a bit thin.”

A faintly sheepish expression crosses his face. ”I did want to read the whole salary and benefits package. I had to find out exactly what I was saying no to.”

I understand that. I'd have expected no less from Professor Dean West, in fact. He never takes action without examining all the angles first, leaving no stone unturned. Of course this would be no different.

Dean takes hold of my shoulders and turns me toward him again. He takes my face in his hands, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on mine.

”But, Liv, I would never...” His throat works with a swallow. ”I would never ask you to give up everything for my sake. Never.”

”I know you wouldn't.” I curl my hands around his wrists. ”But that doesn't mean you can't want what you want.”

”I have everything I want right here.”

”Wants aren't that rigid, Dean,” I say, realizing only now the truth of that statement. ”They're like water-constantly moving and changing. When I was five, I wanted a pony. When I was ten, I wanted a normal life and home. When I was fifteen, I wanted good grades. When I was twenty-five, I wanted to be with you more than anything. And while that will never change, I now have a whole other set of wants that center around our son and our marriage. When life changes, so do the things we want.”

I loosen my grip from his wrist and put my hand on his cheek. ”So it's okay to want an incredible opportunity. Heaven knows you've worked hard enough for it.”

”Liv, I'm not going to-”

”You didn't answer my question.”

Dean is quiet for a moment, his gaze on mine. I can almost see all the wheels and gears clicking through his beautiful mind-a.s.sessing, evaluating, thinking.

”I don't know if I want the job,” he finally admits. ”Yeah, it's a big deal. Probably the biggest opportunity a medievalist could ever have-helping protect sites around the world, working on a bunch of different projects.

”But at that level, there's more politics and red tape than I'd want to contend with... and in dozens of different countries. I'd have to give up teaching and writing. h.e.l.l, I'd have to give up my research. I don't even know if I'd have the time to finish the book I'm writing about illuminated ma.n.u.scripts.

”I'd have to give up working at Altopascio. I'd spend a lot of my time in meetings and navigating bureaucratic mazes. And while I'd love to research the sites, I'd probably have to delegate a lot of that work to other people because I'd be dealing with the bureaucracy and paperwork.”

He reaches out to lightly tweak my nose. ”Then there's you, Mrs. West. You and Nicholas. Taking you away from Mirror Lake, from the cafe, from the life we've built. Living in Paris might be an incredible experience, but I don't know how much time we'd have together.

”And I'd have to travel more than I already do. I don't like leaving you and Nicholas at all, but at least here I know you have Kelsey, Archer, Allie, everyone else. I couldn't leave you both alone in a foreign city. I won't.”

Silence falls between us again, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with the tension between the safety of what we have and the possibilities of risk and chance.

”But?” I ask gently.

He coils a few strands of my hair around his finger and brushes his thumb against my cheek.

”But,” he says, ”I remember our wedding and honeymoon. I remember staying in that little apartment with you and never wanting to leave Paris. I remember endless hours walking through the Louvre. I remember busy cafes, quiet restaurants, the look on your face when you tasted your first pistachio macaroon. I remember walking through Notre Dame and telling you everything I knew about its history. Not once did you yawn with boredom. Just the opposite, in fact-you wanted to know everything.

”I remember you sitting on the wrought-iron balcony of the apartment with potted plants around you and the rooftops of Paris behind you, like you were in an Impressionist painting. I looked at you and thought, G.o.d in heaven. That's my wife. Right there. My wife.

”I thought we could never leave Paris because surely it was too good to be true. If we left the city of lights, the spell would break. And even though it didn't, even though I'm spellbound by you for eternity, I still think about how it was just you and me there.

”And the idea of going back, but this time with both you and Nicholas, to work for an international organization dedicated to preserving history-and to live there... It would be another chapter in our great adventure.”

Something loosens inside me, like a tangled string slackening, and then a deeply rooted knowledge of my husband surfaces into the light.

”When I first went to your apartment in Madison almost ten years ago,” I tell him, ”there was a box on the kitchen table filled with loops of string, some of them knotted and twisted together.”

His eyes crinkle. ”I remember.”

”I thought it was so wonderfully dorky that you made string figures,” I continue. ”And somewhere way down deep, I've also always known how perfect it is.”

”Perfect how?”

”That you, of all men in the world, are an expert at fastening string together,” I explain. ”Unraveling it, working out all the knots, and then making intricate, beautiful patterns. You do that in every other area of life-fixing, connecting, creating-it makes perfect sense you'd do it as a hobby.”

A smile tugs at his mouth as he pulls me against him.

”You do it with me all the time.” I slide my arms around his waist. ”You know exactly how to unknot me.”

”Hmm.” His deep voice rumbles in his chest. ”I think we've discovered I also know how to tie you up.”

”Oh, yes, you do.” I smile, a s.h.i.+ver of remembrance sliding down my spine. ”Maybe you can do that again sometime soon.”

”There's no maybe in kinky s.e.x, Mrs. West,” Dean murmurs, moving his hands down to my bottom. ”There's only, 'Yes, sir.'”

”Yes, sir.” I stand on tiptoe to press my lips against his.

Warmth floods me, but just as Dean lifts his hands to tilt my head to the right angle, Nicholas shouts, ”Milk!”

With a resigned laugh, I give Dean a quick, hard kiss and go to attend to our son. Dean pats me on the rear and mutters something about, ”Not done with you yet.”

With that promise humming in my blood, I take Nicholas upstairs for a bath and bed, while Dean picks up the scattered toys in the sunroom and heads up to his tower office.

After getting Nicholas into his train-patterned pajamas, I squeeze into the toddler bed beside him as he starts to fall asleep. I wrap my arms around him. His little body moves with the rhythm of his breath. I lie back against the pillows and look at the ceiling, where a projection of smiling sea creatures from Nicholas's nightlight floats in a slow circle.

I remember a paper Dean once wrote about medieval monsters-apes with spiked wings, leathery dragons, lion-clawed griffins, dog-headed men, giants, serpents with sharp teeth, and cloven-hoofed demons.