Drawn to Life (19 page)

Chapter 47

Mia—Just a Game

Paris, July 2012

I fell in love with Paris immediately. I’d always wanted to visit the city, and I’d now spent two days in its splendor with a man I really liked. A man who, after only a short time, had reached me like nobody had before. A man who had turned my life upside down. He was right when he’d said
I live through you.
I was living through him, as well.

There were so many things I wanted to experience in Paris. The Louvre and Mona Lisa—not as a postcard or online but right in front of me! Climbing the Eiffel Tower. Taking in the stunning view of the starlike pattern of streets radiating from the Arc de Triomphe, with the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The Pantheon! Seeing the sun rise over the Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Montmartre. I wanted to stroll from one cafe to the next every evening, with Samuel by my side.

Unfortunately, this plan was too far-reaching. Or rather, my time was too short.

One evening, I dressed in the prettiest clothes I had in my backpack.

“Wow, sweetie, you look amazing.” Samuel leaned against the bathroom door while I tried to do something different with my hair. I still wasn’t used to having it this short.

“Leave it as it is,” he said. “It’s perfect. Trust me.”

I sighed and turned. He looked amazing in his gray T-shirt, with a dark blue vest, perfectly fitting jeans, and brown leather shoes. I hadn’t seen him wearing this particular outfit.

I hugged him. “Likewise. You look dressed up for a change. No faded shirts and hoodies.”

Samuel wrapped his arms around me. “Well, well, so you don’t like my shirts and my hoodies? Why do you always borrow them then?”

“Because they smell like you,” I whispered against his lips and kissed him. His response was intense and heated.

But I slipped out of his embrace. “If we continue like this, we’ll never make it to that nice cafe we saw.” I gave a mournful sigh and walked out of his reach.

Smiling, Sam leaned against the door frame and watched me put on my ballerina flats.

“Ready when you are.”

He took my hand and, shortly, we were stepping out onto the street.

The night had grown cool, and I snuggled against Samuel while we wandered through the streets along the river. The lights twinkled on the Seine. I had always known I would love it here; it was like being in a fairy tale. When rain began to fall, Samuel pulled me closer and sheltered me in his strong arms.

“Let’s hurry, or we’ll get wet.”

Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated in my bag. He could feel it, too, because we were pressed so close together. When I didn’t reach for it, he stopped.

“Come on, Mia. Are you going to answer this call, or what?” My family didn’t call as often anymore, but they hadn’t stopped altogether. Tilting my head up toward Samuel, I pleaded with my eyes to let the subject drop once and for all. I would explain everything when I was ready.

“Mia,” he sighed. “They obviously need to tell you something, and ignoring them isn’t going to make them stop.” He shook his head. I didn’t understand why my lack of responsiveness bothered him so much. Why did he act as if it was his business, anyway?

His gaze was cutting right through me. I had to look away before he swayed me like he had before. If he couldn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here now, with him in Paris. If he hadn’t convinced me otherwise, I would have never thought I’d have anything in common with a guy like Samuel Winter. A guy I would have never imagined would even want to find himself on a trip with me.

He sighed again. “Look at me.”

I swallowed hard. No, I didn’t want to. Too much could change. My heart began to race.

“Please, Mia.” Samuel seemed sad. Depressed, even. I bit my lip and finally raised my eyes again. “Mia, I need to go to London.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. That was not what I had expected to hear.

“Um, OK.” The rain was falling harder now. Our plan had been to continue from here to Amsterdam, but if he wanted, I’d go to London instead. Being with him was all that mattered.

“I . . . I need to visit someone in London, in Fulham,” he stammered. His fingers nervously toyed with mine. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead, and he impatiently pushed them back.

“Oh.” I retreated from his embrace. I should have known. “Who is she?” I said in an ice-cold voice.

Frowning, he stepped closer, but I kept out of his reach.

“What makes you think there’s a
she
?”

I shook my head. “Sam, I’m not stupid. The farther north we’ve gotten, the more nervous you’ve become. You’re stammering for a reason.” I turned, wanting only to walk away. I shook with anger. My clothes, my pretty clothes, were soaked and clung to my body, and I was about to break down in tears. I wanted out of here. Out of here and out of this dress and into a warm shower. I should have known better, I should have known this was all just a game for him. But no. I
had
to follow my feelings. My heartbeat became a roar in my ears; I couldn’t hear anything else. The headache descended with a vicious bang.

“Mia,” he sighed. “It’s not what you think it is.”

I froze when I heard those words.
It’s not what you think it is.
That same sentence had ended something good. Or rather, something I had assumed was good. Those words had destroyed what little had been left of my desire to live. I wouldn’t go there again. Samuel was just a flirt, I repeated. If he could play games, so could I. I was not going to suffer like I had before.

I inhaled deeply and pushed the emotions aside. “No worries.”

“Sweetie—”

“Don’t call me
sweetie
.” I gathered all the courage I had. “Really, Samuel, it’s no big deal. I’ll come with you if you want.”

“OK,” he said quietly.

“Let’s go back. I’m freezing.”

Chapter 48

Samuel—I Have to Let Her Go

Paris, July 2012

Mia wouldn’t listen. She was acting completely stubborn, not like the brave and free-spirited woman I’d learned to care so much about, a Mia without barricades. I didn’t want the situation to escalate and so damage her newfound courage. I needed to clear my head first before I dealt with it.

On our way back, she didn’t say a word. Her arms remained crossed defensively over her chest as she marched to the hotel. Her body shook, I assumed with anger and not just cold. I wanted to put my arm around her, but she’d have none of it and pushed me away.

It was still pouring. We were completely drenched by the time we arrived back at our room.

“Let me help you.”

“I can take off my dress myself, Sam.”

I flinched when I heard her call me Sam. On the way to Budapest, I had introduced myself by my nickname but had later asked her to call me Samuel. I loved to hear her say it.

She moved farther away from me. “I’m going to take a shower.” Her voice was flat.

My first impulse was to follow her, but I knew this wasn’t a great idea. I had to give her space for now.

She took forever in the bathroom. I asked several times whether everything was OK, but she gave me the same answer each time—that she’d be out when she was ready. I let it go. Although I was restless and upset. I wanted to explain my situation to her. Eventually I thought of something that might work better than trying to talk while she was in this kind of mood. I sat down at the desk and searched for a piece of paper and a pen. When I heard her come out of the bathroom, I tucked it all back out of sight.

“I’m going to bed,” she said quietly.

I nodded and approached her, wanting to give her a kiss, but I stopped myself and simply said, “Sounds good. Sleep well. My turn for a shower.” I backed toward the bathroom. I wanted to watch what she was doing. She didn’t look at me. She just got in bed, buried her face into her pillow, and pulled the sheet up to her chin.

I took my time, too. I wanted to avoid seeing her in that kind of temper again. Locked in her own world where nobody was granted access. Later, I tiptoed to the bed and crawled in beside her.

“Samuel?” she murmured in her sleep and turned to me.

“Everything is fine. I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

“Samuel . . .” She was dreaming. I took her hand, and she snuggled closer, wrapping her arm around me. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, not after whatever had just happened, but I couldn’t let her slip into a nightmare. It soothed her when she was against my warmth.

“Hush, sweetie, I’m here with you,” I whispered in her ear and kissed her forehead. I let my lips linger. I needed to feel her one more time. Taste her. Inhale her vanilla scent.

“I love you, Samuel,” she murmured in her sleep.

I sighed. She was only dreaming. I seriously doubted she meant it, even if I wanted her to.

Chapter 49

Mia—I Was Allowed to Love

Paris, July 2012

I woke up with a familiar headache. It wasn’t a good way to start the day. I blinked until my eyes adjusted to the sun shining on my face. Despite bad weather the day before, today promised to be beautiful. I needed to talk with Samuel. I hadn’t given him a chance to explain yesterday, but after getting some sleep, I was ready to listen. Next to me, the bed was empty, but the rumpled sheets told me that he’d slept here.

“Samuel?” I called out. No answer.

In a panic, I jumped out of bed.

“Samuel?” He wasn’t in the bathroom—and his backpack was nowhere to be seen. He was gone. He’d left without me.

Suddenly, my chest constricted. The lump in my throat rose. Breathe! I had to do it, not just think about it. Samuel had left. Because of me. Because of her. Whoever she was.

I pressed a hand to the wall to keep myself upright, but my knees gave in anyway, and I sank to the floor. Tears ran down my cheeks. What had I done? He’d wanted to talk, and now he was gone. I couldn’t even call him. What with spending twenty-four hours a day together, we hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers.

I wiped my cheeks, but tears kept coming. A ragged sob escaped my throat. I hurt. I hurt so much. As if someone had torn out my heart. I should have never have opened my soul to him. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be going through this again. No, this time was actually worse than with Christoph. Samuel had managed to do something that nobody else before him had done.

He had made me forget.

He had made me live.

He had brought me back.

Samuel had reignited my desire to live. I’d experienced joy once again. Laughed once again. Lived once again.

Loved.

I should have told him. I’d known all along.

One day, it all will change. You won’t prevent that.

No, I had not been able to prevent that. I’d tried. But my feelings for Samuel had been too intense.

He shouldn’t have left me first. I should have left him long ago. I should have left him before he’d known my innermost thoughts.

Samuel had been faster.

I huddled on the hard wooden floor, wishing the world around me would just disappear, and I’d never have to stand up again. I continued to sob, knees drawn tight against my chest. Then, through swollen eyes, I noticed a small gray mound on the desk. Slowly, I hauled myself up and leaned against the wall until I felt steady enough to walk over and look down.

My hat lay there. Underneath it was a piece of folded paper. With trembling fingers, I reached for it.

Mia, my sweetie,

This is where I have to end my voyage with you. I need to continue alone. I have waited far too long already. You may not know it, but you have opened my eyes and helped me do what I need to do.

Please don’t be sad . . .

Yes, I am visiting a woman, as you so rightly guessed. Yet it is not “another woman.” I am visiting my mother. Or, rather, all I have left of her.

I don’t like to talk much about her.

Why?

I always held her responsible for my parents’ divorce. She moved back to London and remarried. What was I supposed to think, at fourteen? Especially because she didn’t want me to come with her.

I never talked with her again. Now it is too late.

My father gave me a letter in which she explained everything. Had I known the truth earlier, my life would be different now. I really believe I need to do this alone. This is why it drives me crazy every time your cell phone rings.

Mia, don’t make the same mistake I made. Just listen to what your family wants to tell you. Don’t exclude everyone from your life.

Breathe, Mia! Live, Mia!

With love,

Samuel

The tears that had only just stopped streamed down my cheeks again as I cried even harder than before. I pressed the letter to my heart. Now it made sense why he’d always insisted I speak with my parents.

Chapter 49 ½

Samuel—A Farewell Letter

Vienna, May 2012

I had been sitting in front of the TV for days. It distracted me from thinking about my father. From thinking about his company. That was all over, dead and buried. He could spare himself all the telephone calls. I would never answer. I would never again set foot in his offices. He should have thought about how I’d react before he’d done what he’d done. I was so goddamn angry at him.

The doorbell rang. Slowly, I got up, crossed the room, and opened it, not thinking to first check who was there. It was him . . .

I folded my arms over my chest and blocked the door when he made a move as if to enter. “What do you want, Matthias?” I spat.

“You won’t let me in?” He sounded defeated.

“We’ve nothing left to talk about.”

He scratched his forehead. “OK, whatever you want.” I waited for something more. Without the slightest emotion, he blurted, “Your mother died two days ago.”

Her death meant nothing to me. I answered coldly, “Good for her.” At least now she wouldn’t be able to get on my nerves anymore.

My father shook his head. “You could at least forgive her now.” He pressed a letter into my hand. “I haven’t opened it. It was in the mail this morning.”

I shoved the yellow envelope into the back pocket of my jeans.

“You can’t hold a grudge forever,” my father muttered.

“Thank you for delivering my mail. Now, good-bye, Father.” I slammed the door.

I pulled out the envelope, sat back down on the couch, and inspected the front of the envelope. No return address. Just an English stamp. I hastily opened the letter.

Dear Samuel,

It hurts so badly when your own son has banished you from his life. I am not going to reproach you or make you feel guilty. That’s not my intention. But it is true that you never gave me a chance to explain myself.

I’m afraid now it is too late.

James left me, your father left me. I am alone. You refuse to see me or even speak with me. Your father did a good job in turning you away from me. I never intended to abandon you. He forced me to.

Samuel, I am ill. Terminally ill. Cancer . . . The doctors gave me six months. I was hoping you’d relent toward me, but you haven’t answered my calls. Nothing from you. Not one sign.

I don’t want to go on like this.

When you read this, it will be over. I don’t want to wait six months for my last day.

I love you, my son.

Mom

Air . . . I needed air! And I needed to run, needed to run far, far from here.