two days, right? So after the party I’ll move back to the brownstone.”
He knew he shouldn’t be mad at Sheri. But he was. If she wasn’t so stuck in her bourgeois American idea of what a relationship should be, then he’d have everything he wanted. “Running back to your favorite hiding place?”
“I’m not running,” she said, crossing her arms around her waist and staring up at him with those big wounded doe eyes.
But this time he didn’t let the eyes affect him. He knew better. She was as manipulative as the other women he’d dated. The ones that had always wanted to be Mrs. Tristan Sabina and had schemed to get there. Sheri was the same, she just went about it differently. “It sure seems that way from where I’m standing. You said you loved me, and now that I won’t marry you…you’re going back to the same place you’ve always run to.”
She dropped her arms and stalked over to him. “Well, you’d know all about running. Of course, you hide out in the public eye. Dating a bunch of different shallow women. Acting like nothing in life affects you.”
Tristan couldn’t argue with that. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t hedge, Sheri. Tell me what you want. How can I make this right for you?”
She turned away and then glanced back at him. “You could love me.”
He didn’t know how to answer that. “I’m…I can’t do that.”
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