The Proviso

35: Arbitrage

It had been three days since Giselle left Bryce in the park, and she hadn't seen him or talked to him. Two unbelievable days, two incredible nights—a completely unexpected turn of events—and then nothing. He would not pursue her any longer. He would wait for her to make a decision and inform him of it, which she couldn't do until she actually made one.

Giselle missed him desperately. They'd been together for less than forty-eight hours and she felt the loss of his presence beside her as keenly as if she'd spent years picking his brain and wandering through his soul; she felt the loss of his body in bed with her as sharply as if she'd slept with him for years. She needed to see him, to touch him, to hear his voice, to smell him, to taste his skin, no matter how terrified of the future she was.

Thursday morning she went back to the gallery, to her bodhisattva, and sat in front of him cross-legged most of the day, meditating, turning over and over every second of the time she'd spent with Bryce, every word of every conversation, every touch, every kiss, every orgasm, from that first glance in Hale's office to the moment she'd walked away from him.

Turning over and over the dreams she'd had before she met Bryce, that he'd fulfilled the most important one, the odds of ever finding that again with someone who wanted children and how long that would take.

Once three o'clock came, Giselle's head had cleared enough that by the time she got to work, she could immerse herself in her job, but then it was 12:15. She had stopped thinking about her relationship with Bryce, cleared out her work for the very last time, and let her instincts take over. Her heart in her throat, she drove directly to his house.

He lived in Brookside, just off Loose Park, in a three-story pale yellow Italian renaissance revival all renovated and dressed up as a showcase home. The stoop light was on, as well as a small lamp in a great paned window to the right of the front door. She hesitated; after all, most people didn't go visiting unexpectedly after midnight.

Gathering her courage, she walked up to the door and rang the bell. It took a while and another ring of the bell before she heard, "Hold on!" shouted from the depths of the house. Suddenly, the door was yanked open and he barked, "It's twelve-thirty in the morning. What the hell—" And he stopped cold as soon as he realized who she was. "Giselle," he breathed, and opened the door to let her in.

She stepped in gingerly and looked everywhere but at him, nude except for a towel hastily tied around his hips, hoping once again she hadn't ruined her chance by not keeping hold of him when she had him in her hand.

"I— I've thought about it, and— I'm sorry. I— I want to ... try."

"Don't talk," he muttered and kissed her the way he had their first night together, and she lost herself in him for good.

He led her up the stairs and pressed her gently into his bed without bothering to undress her. He covered her and rolled her over until she lay on top of him. He only kissed her, drinking her in in silence.

How could she have ever doubted that she could live without him, no matter what the future brought? She would go out in the woods and let her life begin.

She kicked off her shoes and laid there against him in the dark, silent, kissing him until she fell asleep.

• • •

"Hi."

"Hi."

Giselle studied Bryce's face in the early morning sunlight that streamed through the bedroom window. He studied her in return. She shifted away from him a bit so she could look at his beautifully scarred body, touch it, caress it.

Kiss it.

"I missed you," he whispered and gently furrowed his fingers through her tangled curls.