Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (29 page)

“Stop the presses, it’s about too.” He winked at me as we walked to my VW.

We left Rodeo Drive and drove east, away from the setting sun. We ended up driving down Melrose Avenue.

I saw all the boutiquey shops and restaurants. Tons of people were walking from store to store wearing chic outfits and the trendiest shoes. I wanted to do a stop and shop so badly, but I knew once I got started, we’d never leave. I couldn’t subject poor Christos to clothes and shoe whoring. We were doing the mentoring thing, right?

I reluctantly waved goodbye to Melrose Avenue. Next time.

We ended up back on Sunset Boulevard, and Christos directed me where to park.

I turned off the car. “Where are we?”

“Silver Lake.”

“What’s here?”

“Dinner.”

We walked up to a gate in a cement wall abutting a hillside.

“This is it.” He opened the gate for me.

“Where’s the restaurant?”

“Upstairs.”

I climbed the steps and he followed. There were so many steps, I was out of breath by the time we reached the top.
 

A hostess stood at her podium. “Table for two?”

“Yup,” Christos answered.

“Right this way.”

We walked into a dining room. A gigantic tree came up through the floor in the middle of the room. I looked up, and realized there was no ceiling. Just artfully arranged canvas tarps. I saw the twilight sky above.
 

The hostess seated us by a railing that overlooked an incredible view.

“This place is like a giant tree house! It’s awesome!”

Christos held my chair for me. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“When you said dinner, I was thinking fish tacos or something.”

“We can get those if you want. There’s a place a couple miles from here in Los Feliz that has the tastiest fish tacos you will ever eat.”

“Oh, no, this is fine.” I smiled and picked up my menu. I wasn’t giving this place up for fish tacos.

“Get whatever you want. Dinner is on me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Most of the items on the menu were affordable. I could spare the cash. But I wanted to maintain the “just friends” boundary Christos had drawn.

“Don’t sweat it, Samantha. After my gallery sales last night, I can afford to buy you dinner.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know. Do friends buy friends dinner?” I asked reluctantly.

“When friends make buckets of cash, yes they do.” He toasted me with his water glass. “To selling art.”

I raised mine and clinked. “To selling art.”

“Your art.” He took a swallow.

I choked on my water. “I’m not selling any art!” I sputtered.

“You heard Franco, he’s ready and waiting to sell your paintings.”

“I thought you guys were joking! I don’t have any paintings!”

“So? That just means you’ll have to paint some.”

“I don’t know how!”

“Your mentor does.” He smiled smugly. “It’s a simple matter of proper instruction, which I will be happy to provide.”

Christos was doing that thing again where it was like a foregone conclusion that I was a successful artist, and the money and accolades were ready and waiting to roll right in.

I considered myself extremely fortunate to have him in my life, even if he was no more than a mentor.
 

The waiter came by and Christos ordered bourbon, neat. He was promptly carded, but he was twenty-two, so it wasn’t a problem.

“Would you like anything to drink, Miss?” the waiter asked.

I wanted to get a drink too, but I was S.O.L. on that front. “Iced tea?”

“Excellent.” The waiter walked off.

“You can share mine,” Christos said.

“Oh, they won’t let me, will they?”

“What’re they gonna do, send the cops in and get me for contributing to the delinquency of a minor?"

I didn’t like the idea of Christos tempting fate anymore than he already did. I didn’t want to inject more drama into his life. He had enough on his own, that much he’d made clear. I just didn’t know what his drama specifically was.

When the bourbon arrived, Christos encouraged me to taste it.
 

I glanced around. No one was going to notice in the busy restaurant if I took a sip. “My throat is burning! It tastes like gasoline!” I reached for my water. “How can you drink that stuff? Is it some man thing?”

Christos chuckled and took a swallow of his bourbon. “What can I say? I like how it tastes.”

I would stick to wine in the future.

We ordered appetizers and entrees, and everything was wonderful. The sun had set and the city lights twinkled beneath the twilight sky.
 

The temperature had dropped, and I didn’t have a sweater. When I shivered and hugged my arms, Christos found the waiter to light one of those gas heaters with the metal umbrella things on top.
 

“You warm enough?” He was so thoughtful.

“Now I am. Thanks for dinner, Christos. And everything else. I’ve had a wonderful day.” I wanted to tell him how romantic everything was, but I didn’t want the mentor-student lecture again.

“Me too.”

He paid the bill without letting me see it.
 

We drove home and chatted about the art at the museum, Spada gallery, the tree-house restaurant, and all the shops I wanted to visit on Melrose next time.

It was so easy talking to Christos. He was genuine friend material, without a doubt. And the perfect mentor. So why did he have to be so damn hot?
And
make himself off limits?

I’m pretty sure Christos could’ve been a torturer during the Spanish Inquisition from the way he was treating me, pulling my emotions in every direction, stretching them to the limit.

Not that I wasn’t enjoying it some of the time.

Did that make me a masochist?

Ahhh, who cared. You couldn’t live life without getting a few bumps and bruises, right?

Taylor.

Chapter 18

It was late when we got back to my apartment. Christos walked me upstairs.

“You want a drink or anything?” I asked.

“I should probably go. Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

“Yeah. And homework to catch up on. My mentor made me blow it off,” I smiled. “I’m going to be super busy for the next couple days.”

“No problem. I’m sure I’ll see you around campus. And we’ll meet next Saturday for more mentoring?”

“Yeah!” I loved that we had a regular schedule now.

“Maybe we’ll try some painting next time?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m ready.”

“It’s never too early to start. My dad put a paintbrush in my hand when I was four.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “All I remember is I managed to get paint on our dog. Beans was white, and the paint was red, and I thought I’d cut him open or something.”

“Your dog’s name was Beans?”

“Yeah. It was easy for me to say. Anyway, my dad was totally cool about the whole thing. I was freaking out, thinking Beans was bleeding to death. My dad cleaned him off, but I remember bawling the whole time. My dad kept reassuring me Beans would live.”

“Wow, if I’d gotten paint on the family dog, I can only imagine my mom would’ve had a heart attack and my dad would’ve told me I was killing my mom with worry.”

Christos looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s how I grew up, I guess. You really love your dad, don’t you?”

Christos face contorted with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. “Yeah,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes.

I couldn’t leave him like this. “Let me get you a drink. Come inside.” I opened the door and pulled him into my apartment by his arm.

I made tea for both of us, and joined Christos on the couch. I made sure to leave a respectable twelve inch mentor-student gap between us. Not that I wanted to.

“When was the last time you saw your dad?” I felt like I was prying, but I also sensed he needed to talk to someone about it.

He sipped his tea. “Months ago. He doesn’t leave his house much.”

“Do you visit?”

“He doesn’t like visitors much anymore.”

“Anymore? What happened.”

“My mom happened.”

I remembered she wasn’t in any of the photos on the mantle at Spiridon’s house. I wasn’t going to pry. What if she was dead? I was afraid to ask. I sipped my tea.

“When she left my dad, he was crushed. My grandfather freaked out. He did his best to talk her out of it, but she wasn’t having any of it. I freaked out too. I was ten at the time. My whole world fell apart.”

I set my tea down and put my hand on his shoulder.

He stared at his hands, which knotted into fists. “You know how they say when the parents divorce, kids often blame themselves? I can tell you that’s true. I begged my mom not to leave. I did everything I could to help cover up my dad’s drinking, thinking that would change her mind.” His knuckles were completely white and his hands quivered.

Drinking? His dad was an alcoholic?
 

“I tried throwing away his stashes, but he always bought more. I’m sure my parents fought about it plenty before my mom gave up. I heard them yelling all the time behind closed doors.”

“Was your dad violent?” I asked timidly.

“Mostly no. He was the sweetest drunk you can imagine. Still is. But every once in awhile, he’d go off. Tear his paintings apart, make a mess of his studio. He was scary as hell when he was like that. But he never turned his anger on me or my mom, or anybody else. He just beat himself up.”

I stroked Christos shoulder. He was obviously in agony. “I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” His face was bright red and his eyes dripped silent tears, like he was trying as hard as he could to hold them in, but he had so much pain, he was overflowing.

I slid over until my hip rested against his and hugged him fiercely. I had no idea what to say. How can you fix pain that big, that old? It was bigger than any person should ever have to endure. But it was there. Inside Christos. Eating him alive. I felt helpless.

I started crying too.

Taylor.

I knew about infinite pain as well.

Christos was taken aback by my tears. He reacted by wrapping his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest in an intimate hug. It took me completely by surprise, but I didn’t resist. I blended my body into his, chest to chest. He pulled me until I sat on his lap.

He sobbed convulsively while cradling me in his lap.

I was aware of his warmth, his scent, and his openness. Unlike last time, it didn’t shut down after a quick taste. It flowed powerfully between our hearts. A connection beyond words, something eternal, something sacred.

Something entirely human and loving.

Something entirely new to me.

I cried harder, my own pain mixing with his. Our emotions amplified each other’s. We were communicating without words, sharing the hurt and emotional trauma we’d both held inside for far too long.

Tears poured out of me. For the first time, I found a release valve for my sadness. The volume of it was larger than I had ever imagined. I realized in that moment that my repressed sadness was the source of the constant tension I felt brimming under the surface of my skin for over two years.

The shame.

Bitch. Slut. Whore.
 

The guilt.

Tease.

The sorrow.

Taylor.

For over two years, I’d avoided facing what had happened back
then
. I’d tried distracting myself with ice cream and alcohol, too much jogging, and countless bad decisions, but none of it helped release my pain. It had merely distracted me temporarily. Like clockwork, the pain of my hidden sadness, shame, and guilt always reared its head with a vengeance.

I really had believed I could shed my painful past by simply moving to San Diego and turning myself into a California beach girl. I thought by changing my outside, I would change my inside too. But it hadn’t worked.

The internal scars hadn’t healed. New clothes and a tan only covered them up.

But now, something
was
changing. I felt it deep inside me as I clung to Christos and his emotions poured through me. His release was cleansing my infected heart, washing away my old pain.

Our sharing of emotion was activating a natural healing mechanism. I began to sob more deeply and more profoundly than I ever had in my entire life. I shook with spasms of tortured release. My heartache was beyond anything I’d ever imagined possible. It was titanic.

I was afraid the pain would tear me apart.

Let it.
 

I wailed.
 

Christos gripped me tightly, positioning me so that my cheek nestled in his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head repeatedly, soothingly, affectionately.

“Samantha,” he whispered in a voice so tender, I couldn’t believe it had come from this intensely masculine man. “Samantha.”

I shook with fresh sobs. He stroked my hair and kissed my forehead, showering me with affection, acceptance, and understanding.

Without the aid of any words, I felt my pain draining on its own. I had never been able to figure this out on my own. I had thought holding it in was the answer. But it wasn’t.

The process wasn’t about talking it out, either. It was about feeling it out. Feeling Christos’ pain had triggered mine. I think I felt so safe with him, that I was finally capable of letting down my defenses. The simple sharing of Christos’s pain had summoned my own, in a good way.

In release.

I couldn’t have done it with any other person on the planet. Not my friends, not even my parents.

No one made me feel this safe.

This loved.

Terror swept through me. Warning sirens screamed in my heart. I was too open, too vulnerable. I was in danger. I needed to shut down or I was going to get hurt worse than I ever had been by my pain from my past.

The closest I had been to such thoughts for another person before Christos had led me toward heartbreaking disaster.

Tease.

No, I couldn’t allow myself to feel love
from
Christos. It was dangerously close to allowing myself to love
him
. I was deathly afraid of where that would lead me.