Page 109 of The Muse
“What is her band?”
“A World Away.”
“Sounds familiar. I’d have to ask Callie, but we might have seen her perform. Come to think of it, Callie thought she looked familiar. And what life don’t you want?”
“This life.” I roll my head, gesturing around the room.
“Flynn”—he laughs—“we’ve joked about my life, but I didn’t marry Callie for her money. When we met, I didn’t know her family was wealthy. She said her dad would hate me, but I just assumed it was because of my rough past. You don’t cast someone aside because of their net worth. Is that how you want people to treat you?”
“How do you think she’ll treat me if I tell her about my years in prison?”
Rupert rocks in his chair. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Well, I don’t actually want to know. Not anymore. I was going to tell her last night after the concert. I told her we needed to talk.”
“And why don’t you want to know how she’ll react to your past?” He reaches for his green drink.
“Because, as unlikely as it is, I like to imagine her not caring about it. And what’s the point now?”
He takes several gulps, then licks his lips. “Why imagine it? Why not just find out?”
“You’re not listening. I said it’s unlikely. And there’s no point.”
“So what?”
“So, I don’t want to see that look of anguish on her face.” I stare out the window at the rain clouds forming in the distance. “I’ve been looked down upon my whole life. I don’t know if the fragmented images I have of a woman with long black hair are of my mother, but I think they are. And the look on her face is anguish. Like I’m a burden. A regret. A mistake. I like June. What we had was short, but it felt real, even if it wasn’t.” I return my gaze to Rupert. “Last night she looked heartbroken.”
“And you want that to be the lasting image you have of her?”
“She was brokenhearted because she thought she loved me.”
“Maybe she did.”
I shake my head. “You can’t truly love someone unless you know everything about them.”
He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on a black coaster. “I’m sorry, Flynn.”
“For what?”
“For suggesting you wait to tell her about your past. From now on, you should have a twenty-four-hour rule.”
“A twenty-four-hour rule?”
He nods. “As soon as you think you like someone, friend, romantic interest, whatever, tell them about your past within twenty-four hours. The ones who stay are the ones who matter. But be prepared because most won’t stay. That’s okay. Life isn’t a popularity contest. You’ll feel safer and more content if you keep your circle small.”
“I bet you have a lot of friends. All rich people do.”
“No.” He laughs. “They don’t. In fact, the wealthier you get, the smaller your circle becomes. Having more means you havemore to lose, more for people to steal. Show me a really rich person, and I’ll show you someone who has norealfriends.”
“You know, you’re proving my point.”
“Oh?” He lifts one eyebrow. “What’s your point?”
“A wealthy life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
He barks a laugh. “I’ll grant you that. But love is. Finding someone who is your home, your partner in this life, is pretty amazing.”
I deflate. What else is there to say? He’s not me, even if we’ve had similar experiences.
