Page 34 of It’s Me, but Different

“Depends on what you tell me,” she responds a bit sharply.

“I think you're torturing yourself for nothing,” I assure her, pinching her chin between my fingers so she looks into my eyes. “What really matters is whether that opportunity is good for you, if it interests you professionally, and if it would allow you to have the life you want. How it came about is the least important thing.”

“I don't want them to give me something out of pity,” she protests. “Or for convenience. Or because I'm your…”

She stops, as if she doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

“My what?” I ask.

“I don't know, Sloane. What am I to you? Because last night we slept together, and these days we've talked quite a bit, but I still don't know.”

“You are...” I start, but I also stop. Because I don't know how to finish that sentence without sounding like a teenager in love or like a woman who promises things she might not be able to fulfill.

“Exactly,” Esme says. “You don't know. And while you don't know, I can't make a decision that changes my entire life based on the hope that this, us, will work. Because right now, there's nothing at all, just an attraction that hasn't disappeared and one night of sex.”

“But…”

“But nothing. I'm not going to entirely change my children's lives and abandon my job for something that right now looks more like a teenage fling than a serious relationship. I'm not old enough for that kind of thing anymore. At least, not with two small children.”

Her words hurt me more than I want to admit. Because, deep down, I understand her fears well. After what I did to her eleven years ago, how can I ask her to trust that this time will be different?

“You know what? You're right,” I murmur, releasing her hand and getting up from the couch.

“I am?”

“Yes, as much as it hurts me, you can't base such an important decision on something we still don't know if it will continue. But you also can't reject a professional opportunity just because you don't trust me,” I add.

“I didn't say I don't trust you,” she protests, frowning.

“You don't need to say it. It's clear. And you have good reasons not to.”

Esme gets up too, opens her mouth a couple of times, as if she wants to say something, and the words can't come out of her mouth.

“Please, study the proposal from a purely professional point of view,” I suggest, stroking her left arm. “Forget about me, forget about us. Is it good for your career? Would it allow you to do the work you really want to do? Would it be good for your children?”

“And what if I say yes? What if I accept and then things between us don't work? Will I have to leave Silver Peaks? Will I have to take my children out of here when they've already adapted? You realize the conflict I'm facing, right?”

“I only know one thing. Harper doesn't play with money. I don't even know what that job is about, because half the time I don't attend board meetings or, if I go, I fall half asleep. But if Harper offered you the job, it's because she's investigated you. She's asked for references; she's studied cases you've participated in. She wouldn'thire anyone just for me. River would definitely do it, Ivy, possibly. But Harper, no. I can assure you of that.”

“I need time to think about it,” she admits with a sigh while running a hand through her hair. “Sloane.”

“Yes?”

“Last night… what happened last night, was it…? I'd like to know what it meant to you,” she asks, stopping me before I leave.

“The truth?”

“Yes, even if you tell me it was just sex, I want to know the truth,” she insists.

“It was the most real thing I've felt in eleven years,” I confess, nodding slowly.

Chapter 15

Esme

On our last full day at Silver Peaks, Ana Sofia's scream freezes my blood.

My daughter slides out of control down the blue slope, her skis separating in opposite directions, and then she falls, her body spinning like a rag doll toward some trees. Time seems to slow down until it becomes a slow-motion nightmare. Despite the distance, I can see every detail with brutal clarity: the panic in her eyes, the snow flying around her, the way her arms flail seeking balance that no longer exists.