I’ve spent my life serving my family in one way or another. And I know Razzle Dazzle’s entire mission is to entertain people, and thus to also spread their own kind of joy. But I don’t get it. I don’t understand how so much giving can be anything but a drain. “Who makes your world better?”
She peers at me, squints one eyelid, then takes my wine and drains the last of my glass.
I lift a brow.
She tries to scowl. “I really don’t like when you throw my weaknesses in my face.”
I’m so startled that it takes me a moment to find a retort. “Heaven forbid you have a taste of your own medicine.”
No one makes her world better.
Jesus.
I need to make her world better. Someone needs to make her world better.
She points at me with the wine glass. “I can take my medicine just fine. But I’m still working on the right dosage, and I might need to try a different kind of medicine.”
“Are you tipsy?”
“No. I’m just a little sleepy, and I can’t remember what my medicine is supposed to be, besides leaving Chad, which I did, and I’m happier now, but I’m still…missing something.”
If this is Begonia missing something in life, I’ve been missing many, many somethings since I was born. “At least you’re looking for yourself.”
“It’s hard to balance getting enough for yourself when your default is to give to everyone else. Which you have so brutally reminded me.”
“That was brutal?”
“It seared my soul, Hayes. Seared. My. Soul.”
I can’t decide if she’s being serious or joking, but I want to smile, and it’s difficult to keep my expression straight.
She sighs. “I hate disappointing people, and I disappointed my therapist every time I told her that I’d put someone else’s needs above my own since they needed whatever more than I did. That’s the real reason why I’m not in therapy anymore. I failed. I mean, I didn’t. I was projecting. My therapist wasn’t really disappointed in me. She was pretty good. But I felt like I failed. And I hate failing at making myself happy when I’m an expert at making people happy except when it comes to me. I’m a person. I should be able to make me happy too so that my friends don’t have to do it for me. Is there more wine?”
I reach behind the tray to the wine bucket and top her off. “You should be more discerning in picking your friends. Only associate with the ones who appreciate what you do.”
“Is that how you pick friends?”
“Yes.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Unexpectedly well at the moment. I’ve finally found one who doesn’t seem to want me for anything more than my charming company, even if she should have higher standards for herself.”
Those big eyes blink at me, surprise flashing across her face as she starts to point to herself, as if she’s asking if I mean her.
And the fact that I’ve left her with any doubt makes me want to punch myself in the face. “Dog. Down,” I order.
Marshmallow leaps off Begonia’s lap, sits at attention, and pants happily at me.
“What—” she starts, but she cuts herself off when I drop to my knees in front of her chair, grip her chin, and hold her face close to mine.
“I appreciate you.”
“Um, thank you, Hayes. I appreciate you too.”
“No, Begonia. I appreciate you.” Fuck. I’m doing this wrong. “You don’t make me feel like the rich, powerful catch of the century.”
Her eyebrows do a weird little jig over her eyes, and fuck again.
I growl. “I’m not saying this right. I’m trying to say thank you, but thank you isn’t sufficient, because—fuck.”
Fuck the words. Fuck talking.
I need to kiss her.
I need to kiss her, and touch her, and taste her, and show her.
Our relationship?
Outside these doors, it’s pretend. It’s fake.
But when I’m with her?
When I’m with her, it feels so very, very real. And I want it to be real.
I want to trust this.
I want to trust her. I want to believe people like Begonia truly exist in the world, and that this isn’t a cruel hoax, that she won’t move on to shagging my neighbor or the next executive or artist or snake oil salesman who makes her feel wanted more than I do whenever she’s gotten what she wants out of this.
But even if my trust is misplaced, she’s still done enough for me that I want to give her something in return.