I loved how attentive he was, even if I didn't understand it sometimes. Like why after he shot down one of my choices for a penthouse or suite he always deposited more money in my bank account. Or why he made sure Jenson watched over me when I went back to Brooklyn to see Jordan. I'd asked him about these things once or twice, but he always just smiled and said something about how much he enjoyed taking care of me.
It was a comfortable existence, even if it wasn't the type of life many women would like. I understood not to ask questions about certain things, and I didn't. It was a trade off I was willing to make.
The summer night air grew chillier, signaling autumn's coming in upstate New York. It had been a long, hot summer and I welcomed the change fall would bring. As the leaves began to slowly turn the vibrant golds and reds so typical of the trees in the Northeast, Tristan announced at dinner one evening that we would be leaving to see another suite. It had been over a month since he and I had traveled to San Francisco on what had ended up feeling like the trip of a lifetime, so I couldn't imagine what could top that.
"We'll be gone for at least a week, so be sure to tell Jordan," he said casually as he poured himself a drink.
I couldn't help but smile. "I think it's really great that you don't want me to forget about her."
"Why would I? She's your friend. Plus, I owe her. If it wasn't for her information, I wouldn't have been able to surprise you that night."
How long ago that night seemed now. Then we'd been basically strangers, learning those first things about one another. Now, just months later, we were like an old married couple eating dinner each night at five, laying in bed late on Sunday mornings, and bickering about which movie to watch on Saturday nights.
I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back. "Where are we going?"
Covering my hands with his, he turned his head to face me. "Venice."
I moved around him and stood looking up in amazement. "Venice? As in canals, gondola rides, and the Doge's Palace?"
"Yes, yes, and I have no idea."
"I can't believe it. And how can you have no idea what the Doge's Palace is?"
"Just wait until you see it, Nina. The hotel is on the Grand Canal, and although I can't say most of my hotels do much for me, the one in Venice is an exception."
"What am I going to be able to add to one of your suites in Venice?" I asked, feeling immediately incapable to do anything to improve anything in that great city.
He lifted my chin to make me face him. "Don't doubt yourself. I believe in you."
That was easy for him to say. He didn't have to pick art to improve on one of the most artistically beautiful cities in the world. "Is this some sort of final exam or something? My six months are almost up, so is this the big test to see if I can keep my job?"
Tristan winced ever so slightly at the mention of my contract. "No. Think of this as merely a vacation."
"A working vacation," I corrected him. "Will we be able to visit some of the museums?"
"Of course."
Just as I began to chatter on about all the great museums in Venice, his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket, and as he seemed to do more and more, he apologized for having to take the call and left the dining room. Of all the changes that had occurred over the past months, this one I disliked. Ever since that night in Dallas, it seemed like his phone was always interrupting our time together. It rang almost constantly, and at least once a day, he left to speak to someone, even though with me he claimed that after five was a time he wanted nothing to do with work. I didn't know if he answered only one person's call or if he allowed himself one call each night, but whether it was during dinner, as we relaxed, or just as we fell asleep, he took that one call, always leaving before he answered it.
At first I'd been suspicious and worried that it was another woman, but each night he returned to the house and me and rarely left. Even when he went out to attend some work function, he told me where the event was to be held and which actress he was escorting that night, even joking about his stiffness and being a bad fake boyfriend. And every morning after, I saw him and the girl du jour on Page Six, with Tristan as uncomfortable and rigid as always at just the place he'd said he'd be.
I'd considered asking him about the calls, but something told me I shouldn't. Maybe it was the stressed look on his face every time the phone vibrated, but I didn't want to know what made him unhappy. And I didn't believe he wanted me to know.
When he didn't return for nearly thirty minutes, I began to get worried. Had he left on some emergency he couldn't tell me about? After roaming around the house for ten minutes more, I finally found him down near the indoor pool just sitting on one of the chaise lounges. Leaning back with his eyes closed and a slight frown, he looked very much like he always did after his daily phone call.
"I think people generally take off their shirt and pants in this room," I joked, hoping to cheer him up.
He said nothing, but the tiny beginnings of a smile formed on his lips. They never really got to a full grin, but for a moment he seemed happier.
"Is everything okay, Tristan?"
Opening his eyes, he sighed and sat up. "I need a drink." Before I could say anything in reply, he was up and gone from the pool leaving me standing there alone. When I caught up to him, he'd poured himself another double scotch and was doing his best to get the alcohol into his system as quickly as possible.
I stood in the doorway of the living room and saw the sadness in him. It hit me in the middle of my chest and made me want to take him in my arms and never let him go. His posture screamed that he was dealing with something that weighed on his mind. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room, his shoulders drooped and his head tilted back. He watched me approach him, but I had the sense he was far away and looking right through me.
"You can talk to me, Tristan. I'm more than just your in-house art expert," I said sweetly as I ran my fingertip over his closely cut hair. "I hate to see you so unhappy."
Those deep brown eyes looked up at me and he said, "It's nothing I can't handle, Nina. Don't worry about me."
I was worried, though. The drinking, the frown, the phone calls that seemed to affect him more and more. Bending down, I kissed the top of his head, loving the feel of his soft hair against my lips. "I don't like seeing you like this, Tristan," I whispered.
He caressed my arm and gave me a forced smile. "It'll be fine. Once we're in Venice, everything will be better."