Danielle Steel - Honor Thyself

“Are you too mad to talk to me?” Carole asked in a soft voice.

“I'm not mad at you, Carole,” he said sadly. “I hope you called to tell me you had a change of heart. The offer still stands.” He smiled. It would stand forever, for as long as he was alive.

“I didn't. I know I'm right. For me. I'm too scared to get married again. For now anyway. And I just don't want to. I talked to Stevie about it this morning, and she tells me in ten or fifteen years I'll change my mind.”

“By then I'll be dead,” he said matter-of-factly as Carole shuddered.

“You'd better not be. What was that? A short-term offer, or a long-term one?”

“ Long-term. Are you playing with me?” He knew he deserved it. He deserved everything she dished out to him now, after what he'd done to her in the past.

“I'm not playing with you, Matthieu. I'm trying to find myself, and honor what I believe in and who I am. I love you, but I have to honor myself, if not, who am I? That's all I have.”

“You always did honor yourself, Carole. That's why you left me. You had too much respect for yourself to stay. That's why I love you.” It was a catch-22 for both of them, for him then, and her now. They were always trapped between impossible choices that had to do with respecting both others and themselves, sometimes both at the same time.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” she asked him.

“I'd love to.” He sounded relieved. He'd been afraid she wouldn't see him again before she left.

“The Voltaire?” she asked him. They had been there a hundred times. “Nine o'clock?” It was the standard Paris dinner hour, even a little early.

“Perfect. Do you want me to pick you up at the hotel?”

“I'll meet you there.” She was far more independent than she had been in the old days, but he loved that about her too. There was nothing about her he didn't love. “One condition,” she added suddenly.

“What's that?” He wondered what she had come up with.

“You won't propose to me again.”

“Not tonight. But I won't agree to that long-term.”

“All right. That's fair.” Her answer led him to hope that he might convince her someday. Maybe after she'd recovered fully from her accident, or after she finished her book. He was going to propose to her again one day, and hoped that eventually she'd accept. He was willing to wait, they already had for fifteen years, a little longer couldn't hurt. Or even a lot longer. He refused to give up, no matter what she said.

She arrived at Le Voltaire promptly at nine o'clock, on the Quai Voltaire. The guards were in the car with her, and Matthieu was standing in the doorway of the restaurant when she arrived. It was a crystal clear night with a chill December wind blowing around them. He kissed her on the cheek when she walked up to him, and she looked up at him and smiled. All he wanted to do was tell her he loved her. He felt as though he had waited for her all his life.

They sat in a corner booth, and the restaurant was busy. A waiter brought crudités to the table and hot toasted bread and butter.

They made it all the way to dessert without touching on sensitive subjects for either of them. And after dessert, as they nibbled chocolate mocha candies that she said would keep her up all night, he finally broke down. He had had an idea after he spoke to her that afternoon. If she wasn't willing to agree to marriage, he had another plan.

“Long ago, when I met you, you told me you didn't believe in people living together. You believed in the full commitment of marriage. And I agreed with you. Apparently, you don't feel that way anymore. How would you feel about some sort of loose living arrangement, where you are free to come and go? An open-door policy of sorts.” He smiled at her, as she continued to eat the mocha beans. She had already had enough to keep her awake into the following week, and he had too. But who needed sleep when love was up for grabs? And maybe a lifetime.

“What exactly does that mean?” She looked at him with interest. He was creative, if nothing else, stubborn, and determined, and so was she. It was what had kept them together years ago. That and the fact that they loved each other.

“I don't know. I thought maybe we could come up with something that works for both of us. I'd rather be married to you, to be honest. It fits my notions of propriety, and besides I've always wanted to be married to you. I love the idea of your being my wife, and I know you did too. Maybe we don't need the paperwork or titles now, if that's too restricting for you. What if you live with me in Paris for six months, and I live with you in California for the other six months a year? You could come and go as you please, travel, do your projects, make movies, write, see your children. I'll be waiting for you whenever you want. Would that suit you better?”

“It doesn't sound fair to you,” she said honestly. “What would you get out of it? You'd be alone a lot of the time.” She looked worried as she asked the question, and he patted her hand.

“I get you, my love. That's all I want. And whatever time together you can spare.”

“I'm not sure living together sounds right to me, even now, although we were happy when we did. But it felt too awkward not being married to you, and it still might now.” Besides which, the arrangement he was suggesting wouldn't protect her heart from getting hurt again, or either of them from leaving each other. But there was no way to guarantee that. There were no guarantees. If she was going to risk her heart, she would have to risk it, however they chose to live. But the things Stevie had said to her that morning hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

“What is it you want?” he said simply.

“I'm scared to get hurt.”

“So am I,” he confessed. “There's no way to be sure we won't. Maybe if we love each other, we have to take that chance. What if we just come and go for a while, and see how that works? I could come to visit you in Los Angeles after the holidays.” She knew he was going away with his children, and she wanted to be with hers. And with luck, she'd be going to Stevie's wedding in Las Vegas on New Year's Eve. “I could come out on January first, if that works for you,” he suggested politely. “I could stay for however long you like. And then you could come to Paris to visit me in the spring. Why don't we try to go back and forth for a while, depending on our schedules, and see how that works?” Knowing he had been prepared to marry her, she didn't feel he was “trying her out.” He was doing his best to try to accommodate her, and give her the room she wanted to be herself. “How does that sound?”

“Interesting.” She smiled at him. She wasn't ready to commit to anything. But just looking at him told her she loved him. More than she ever had, just more sanely. She was protecting herself this time. Not doing that created the mess she was in with him last time.

“Would you like to do that?” he pressed, and she laughed.

“Maybe.” She smiled again and ate another handful of mocha beans. He watched her do it and chuckled. She had always been unable to resist their mocha beans. It reminded him of old times. Afterward she had kept him up all night.

“You're going to be awake for weeks,” he warned. He was only sorry she wouldn't be keeping him up that night.

“I know.” She smiled happily. She liked his idea. She didn't feel as though she was selling her soul, or taking too great a risk. She could still get hurt because she loved him, but she wanted to ease into it, and see how it worked for both of them.

“May I come to see you in January?” he asked again, as they smiled at each other. Things were going much better than they had the night before. He realized now that he had moved too fast. After all the pain he'd caused her before, he knew now that he had to move slowly, and win her confidence in him again. He also knew how important it was to her to respect herself. It had always been that way. She wasn't willing to sell herself out this time, for his convenience, or to accommodate his life. She was taking care of herself. And she loved him.