Chapter 11 - THE WOMAN WHO WALKED AWAY FROM HIS PENTHOUSE
Tristan asked me to move in.
It happened on a quiet Sunday morning.
We were eating pancakes in his kitchen.
He looked at me.
“Bianca.”
“Yes?”
“Stay.”
I smiled.
“I am staying. Until noon.”
He shook his head.
“I mean permanently.”
My fork stopped.
“Tristan.”
He reached for my hand.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Then why not?”
I looked around the enormous kitchen.
The marble counters.
The floor-to-ceiling windows.
The view of Manhattan.
Then I looked at him.
“Because I need to know I can still be myself.”
He frowned.
“You would be.”
“Would I?”
He looked hurt.
I sighed.
“Tristan, I love you. But your world is enormous. Everything happens on your schedule. People rearrange their lives around you.”
He went silent.
I continued.
“I don't want to become another person who disappears inside your life.”
He looked down.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then he nodded.
“You're right.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“I've been asking you to fit into my life without asking how I can fit into yours.”
My eyes filled.
He squeezed my hand.
“Take your time.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
We didn't break up.
We learned.
He started visiting my apartment more often.
He learned to navigate the unreliable elevator.
He met my neighbors.
He helped Daniel study for engineering interviews.
And once, disastrously, he attempted to cook spaghetti.
The smoke alarm went off.
I laughed until I cried.
Tristan stood in the kitchen holding a burned saucepan.
“I'm beginning to think this stove is defective.”
I kissed his cheek.
“Of course you are.”
It was the happiest I'd been in years.
May you like
Not because I was dating a billionaire.
Because I was dating a man who was learning how to love me without trying to redesign my life.
