Tristan pressed a button on his keychain to open the passenger door for her and help her in, then got behind the wheel. He started his Bentley and peeled out of the lot.
He drove to the Observatory without speaking, occasionally glancing at Juliette staring out the window, and parked on the south side overlooking the city. Tristan got out of the car and sat on the hood, his head in his hands. Wearily, he sighed and wished he could whisk her away to safety and angry at the curse of his life that prevented him.
Tristan’s concerns distracted him from noticing she had gotten out. Juliette walked to him and leaned on the warm metal by his side. One of Tristan's hands gently cupped her chin and turned her face toward his, while the other removed her sunglasses.
"It happened last week after the study group when I went outside too late," she told him. "I couldn’t go to class because I couldn’t conceal it well enough."
"I noticed immediately tonight. Juliette, I know we just met, but please stay with me. Leave him so you can be safe." Tristan breathed hard.
Quickly she stood up and walked over to the guard rail and looked down on the city. Tiny white dots twinkled on porches as hundreds of cars traced the roads. A light wind rustled the trees’ tops, little more than dark outlines against the lights of Los Angeles.
Tristan followed her and held his hands out toward her. "Why, Juliette? Why do you stay with him? If he cared at all about you, he wouldn't hit you. You are worth so much more than this. A man who loves a woman doesn't make her live in fear, hurt her, control her, or stalk her. It's not romantic and kind or sweet and desirable. People like him should be in jail. Please, Juliette...."
“Why does it matter to you? I know what makes him mad and just need to work harder to not...”
“Why does it...?” Tristan shook his head. “Someone I love deeply, who has become a sister to me, was hurt like this years before I knew her. So I couldn’t do anything for her. But I’m your friend now, right? I can help you where I couldn’t help her. You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells with anyone.”
"Nothing is going to change. I’m sorry. There's just no way I can accept your offer. Nathaniel would hurt me, or maybe even himself. If he does, I’d be the one to blame. I couldn't handle being responsible for something like that."
"He's manipulating you. Can't you see it? He's trying to control you through fear."
Juliette tilted her head. “You don’t know that. Anyway, I can get out when I want and go to the museum. He doesn’t have complete control.”
“The LA County Museum?”
“Yes. It’s my escape. Nathaniel scares me sometimes...and he does things. He hits me when I make him mad as...as you now know. He does it partly because we haven't ever... and I've never done it. So he gets frustrated. It doesn’t make any sense why he won’t do anything with me when he tells me that’s why he gets mad a lot. Nathaniel also says he wants to save me for something special, but he refuses to tell me what. The way he says it frightens me more than anything else he does. Then he goes sleeping around with a lot of other girls. So the museum is where I go when his temper flares up during the day and I need a place to get away.” She sighed and turned her face toward the ground, her next words a quivering whisper. “I wish it was open at night too."
Juliette’s confession and its frankness stunned Tristan. He realized she had few people in her life she trusted if she easily told him, still a virtual stranger, something so personal. Understanding dawned on him. The young woman next to him had been neglected thoroughly enough to not learn safe boundaries. She hadn’t learned to say no.
Juliette sniffled and fought back tears. "Hold me, Tristan," she asked, and hugged him as if she'd known him for years instead of mere days, pressing her forehead into his firm chest.
Tristan's heart beat fast at the closeness. He pulled her tighter to him and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her warm head. "You smell like vanilla," he whispered.
In his arms, Juliette’s body relaxed. Without thinking, he ran his fingers through her hair and smoothed the strands over her back. At that moment, they had all the time the night would allow. Until he was assured of her safety, he couldn’t leave for Canada.
Juliette raised her face and gazed into his eyes. The softness in them brought up a yearning Tristan battled to suppress. “Juliette, I need to keep my emotions from clouding my head. I have to be honest with you. Right now I’m feeling a lot of conflicting things I don’t really understand. I’m not used to caring very much about anyone who isn’t part of my family. This is a first for me, and I don’t know how to proceed. It doesn’t matter that we only spoke for the first time last week. I want to protect you.”
"Kiss me," she whispered.
As her eyes closed, Tristan’s mind shut off and his eager lips met hers. One of his hands held her head as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, down her neck, and again to her lips. She wound an arm around his shoulder, her other on his lower back, her body pressed firmly up and into his, holding him as tightly as he held her. Juliette moved against him, awakening a new desire he didn't want to feel.
"No!" His gruff voice broke the moment. Tristan took her by the shoulders and stepped a few inches back to separate their bodies. "I can’t do this, not now, not with you. Juliette, you need a friend, not the complication I’d probably be. Not that I don’t want-- No. Things can’t happen this way."
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "I shouldn't have made an advance. I'm so sorry. Please take me to Nathaniel’s house, Tristan. I'm so, so sorry!" Her cheeks flushed as she cast her eyes down.
Tristan's face fell. "You have nothing to apologize for. I kissed you too. Juliette, I don’t want to take you back there and deliver you to harm."
"He’s gone right now and won't return for another week."
"Are you sure you have to go? You're welcome in my home."
Long moments passed. "If Nathaniel has someone stop by to check if I'm there, but I wasn't, then he might, um...” Juliette balled her fists and raised them. “He keeps close tabs on me and has his friends trail me. Why do you think he spends the money sending me to the university? Aside from being too proud to be the rich guy with a community college girlfriend. Yeah, I'm sure. Thank you though. I appreciate you asking."
He nodded once with a frown and sighed. "All right, but the offer stands. If you ever need me, no matter the time of day or night, call me. You have my number from the study group. What’s Nate’s address?"
Tristan drove her to Nathaniel’s home in silence, and waited until she unlocked the door and turned on a solitary light. Late into the night he sat out front, hoping for a call that wouldn’t come.
4. Wishes
Juliette concealed the fading bruise beneath her eye and snapped her compact closed. Tristan’s words wouldn’t leave her mind. No one other than him had dared say anything against the popular football player.
She sighed and asked her reflection aloud, "What does he understand about this?" The face speaking back to her failed to display traces of anger, only sadness. “It isn’t that big of a deal. Nathaniel gets mad easily. If I don't like it, I just have to try harder. Everything is all my fault….”
The cheeks of the girl in the mirror flushed as Juliette remembered her indiscretion. What was I thinking kissing him? Will he want to talk to me anymore now that I’ve been so stupid?
Tristan had been unfailingly kind to her. When she first met him at the beginning of the study group, she hadn’t expected him to be sweet. Aren't the rich, handsome men usually jerks? Her few experiences said yes. Lightly tanned and chiseled, dark curls brushed back, sensitive sapphire eyes, soft lips… It’s possible he could be a jerk and other girls would still throw themselves at his feet. But he was different than she had expected.
Maybe he wasn't just saying I don't deserve this. He offered to let me stay with him, and he’s not asking me for anything physical. After all, he had a chance, and he's the one who cut things short. But Tristan can't be
right. Nathaniel gives me more than enough to get by. I think.
She struggled with this. The belief no longer came easily. Juliette walked away from the mirror, laid her hand on the oak bannister, and peered around and down. The lovely house, a very large dwelling bought with his family’s wealth, took a small cleaning team to maintain. The tall beveled windows set in bright white walls let in a steady stream of sunlight. Upholstered couches and ottomans surrounded the focal point: Nathaniel's new 72" high-def television.
Still Tristan's words resonated in her head.
"If he loves you, he wouldn't hit you. You are worth more than this."
She could not afford to allow herself to believe him.
A rapping on glass startled her. Through the textured window, she made out Tristan’s shape and coloring. Juliette bounded down the stairs as quickly as she could without falling and yanked the door open, willing her heart to be quiet.
"Tristan!" she exclaimed with a smile, but remembering her shame of their previous night together, she wiped it away, blushing. "Um, what are you doing here?"
He gave her a lopsided grin and held out his hand. "Would you like to join me for breakfast? Maybe a trip to the museum?"
"Oh, I'd love to, but I have a class this morning,"
"So do I," he chuckled with a gleam in his eye. "I think I can afford to miss one every now and them, and you need some relaxation."
His mischievousness was contagious. Ditching for the day did sound fun.
"Let me grab my purse, and I'll be right back!"
Juliette rushed upstairs. By the time she returned to the porch, Tristan stood next to his impressive car, the passenger door held open for her.
* * *
Syrupy sweet scents of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air to mingle with the smoked bacon. Somewhere behind a counter, a dish crashed to the floor.
"Are you sure you won't eat another bite?" Tristan pressed her, finishing his Belgian waffles while pointing to her barely-touched fruit platter.
Juliette laughed and shook her head, more animated than he’d seen her. "I usually skip breakfast as it is; I’m already trying for you."
Not wanting to pressure her, Tristan nodded and changed the subject. "You know, I saw a painting yesterday of a woman who looks just like you, though it was the last day of the exhibit. She wasn’t smiling as much as you are right now. I can’t tell you what it’s doing to me to see you enjoying yourself. Would you like to head to the museum and find out what’s new?”
Juliette smiled and dutifully finished her meal before leaving.
Few people milled about the European wing as they stood before "The Reunion of Cupid and Psyche." Juliette stared at the painting with a thoughtful gleam in her eyes, one elbow propped in her other hand. Her head tilted to the side, and she couldn't conceal a small smile. This place brought her peace.
"What are you thinking?" Tristan whispered, leaning close to her ear.
Juliette didn't answer right away. Then she pointed. "Look at Cupid's face. He adores her, Tristan! And his hands.... He's holding her like he's afraid of hurting her if he's too rough." Her hand dropped along with her smile. Her next words were so soft that Tristan almost missed them. "Psyche is happy and safe and has no doubt that she’s loved."
Tristan pulled her toward his side and rubbed her shoulder. She winced. "Ce salaud. Listen, Juliette, you'll be like Psyche one day too. This thing with Nate isn't going to last forever."
Juliette leaned her head against him. "No, Tristan, I can't leave him."
"Juliette," he pleaded, leading her to a nearby bench to sit down. "Why do you stay?"
Her face fell and her nostrils flared. "I shouldn’t tell you about this, but my parents and the system robbed me of a childhood, Tristan," she rasped. "I went from one bad foster home to another because my druggie mom and dad didn't want to take care of me. I graduated at 16, but begged to be allowed to stay in school, and so Susan and Paul, the foster people, put me in a community college to shut me up. Then I turned 18 and aged out. Since they wanted me out when the state checks stopped, I had nowhere to go. Nathaniel, their nephew, decided to take me, and he got me transferred to the university. If it wasn't for him, I'd have ended up on the streets. I need to earn my keep, but I have somewhere to stay. I owe him!"
Tristan hugged her hunched form and rocked her. "Do you think his place is a home? Or is it just a roof to sleep under? How do you ‘earn your keep,’ by being his punching bag? Why did he take you? What was going on before that?"
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Juliette,” he whispered, “you can tell me. You’re safe with me.”
“I’m not afraid you’ll hit me, but I’m unsafe in another way.” She pulled herself from his embrace and stood. "Will you please take me back to the house? I’m tired."
Tristan closed his eyes, her words a jolt to his emotions. "If that's what you want. But I'm here for you no matter what. I’m a phone call away."
* * *
Guilt over delivering Juliette back to the place she couldn't call a home consumed Tristan but, powerless to convince her otherwise, he'd obeyed her command.
At his early dinner table, Tristan uncorked a bottle of wine. Two of his brothers, the bronze-haired, newest member of the household, Jareth Augustine, and playful, dark-eyed William Marshall, staged a duel using their forks for a prize of the last raw steak. Their sisters stared at Tristan instead.
"What wrong? What’s on your mind?" Emma took a bite of red steak and chewed slowly.
He had to pick his words carefully. "I'm making a mistake. I'm starting to develop strong feelings for a new friend who’s been hurt too much already. I can't cross any lines. Worse though, her boyfriend’s not good to her and she won't leave."
"Who is she?"
"Someone named Juliette St. Claire."
The fork-battle ended immediately.
William finally spoke, his hazel eyes narrowed. "You mean Nate Jensen's girl?"
"One and the same. How do you know him?"
“Most conceited football player on the team? Hard not to hear about him. A few weeks ago I rounded a corner at school and he was yelling at her. He and I nearly got in a fight. She was unfazed by what was going on. She barely reacted to anything.”
"Nate's a creep," Emma added. "They’re both in one of my classes. Being around him scares me. He acts like one of those guys who wants to prove his manliness with his fists."
"I know, Em. More than I think you realize."
Gabrielle sipped from her water glass and leaned forward. "When did she tell you? Are you seeing her behind his back?"
"We only became acquainted a little over a week ago and are friends, Gabby. We're not dating. I won't date someone who’s attached, especially not a woman who needs protection instead of being hurt more when we leave."
Gabrielle's brow furrowed. "What is her boyfriend doing now?"
"The bastard hits her!" Without thinking, he slammed his fists onto the table hard enough to rattle several plates. "The bastard…hits her. But she won't leave him. I asked her to stay here, and she refused."
Jareth tossed his fork down. "So you’re willing to risk her finding out about us? If she left him and stayed with us, aren't you worried she'd suspect what we are?"
"Quit acting like everything has to center around you."
"Shut up, Tristan. We must protect our identities first and foremost, and you know discovery would mean being subjected to government testing or something. You should have figured that out by now!"
"No, you shut up, Jareth, she wouldn’t believe any of it even if I came right out and told her. So unless she saw one of us change, she’ll just think we eat strange because our meat’s raw and don't sleep much when she's around. Who would take the word of one young woman on the off-chance she said anything? I’m her friend now, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help, no matter what you have to say."
Jareth snarled pushed his seat back and stood, pointing a finger at his brother
. “She’s an adult and can take care of herself. Stop worrying about her.”
Tristan rose to his feet and balled his hands into fists at his side.
“Easy, fellas.” William’s urging went unacknowledged. He slid his own chair back in preparation to break up a fight.
“No, Jareth! Juliette’s had a very hard life. She’s only 18, and hasn’t had anyone care until I came along. The worry I have for her safety isn’t going to abate just because you lack any caring bones in your body!”
Gabrielle gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Well, Tristan, if you think…if she'd consent to staying here…we'd find a way to make things work. This is the final word about this matter." Her pointed gaze kept Jareth quiet. He narrowed his eyes and turned away from her.
Emma nodded. "We’ll manage, Jareth. If we can help one person like we couldn’t for Gabby, then we should."
Though they meant well, frustration swelled. Without bothering to finish his meal or excuse himself, Tristan pushed back from the table and stormed to his gold Bentley. He yanked the door so hard it nearly came off the hinges. Shaking, he pressed the ignition button. The engine purred to life and he peeled out fast enough to leave a trail of smoke and skid marks on the stone tiles making up the driveway.
Tristan had to get away and work through his anger at Nathaniel and Jareth before he did something he'd regret and put his entire family in more jeopardy. The hairpin turns of Mulholland Drive did little to slow him down. Though his driving was reckless, almost at its worst, at that moment he didn't care. He sped to the 405 and drove south, behaving like one of those drivers he'd swear at under normal conditions, swerving dangerously around other cars without using his blinkers, relying on his slightly heightened sense of vision, sense of reaction, and the performance of the car.
It was a race. Tristan couldn’t decide whether it was to something or from it. Not until he exited at Wilshire and cut over to Santa Monica did he finally start paying attention to more than the road in front of him. He didn't trust pedestrians to not press their luck crossing when he had the right of way. Not even a Bentley could stop on a dime.
The Pacific Ocean came into view, glimmering in the warm evening sunlight. Screams and shrieks and laughter filled the air mingling with the squall of dozens of seagulls overhead, vacationers and other beach-goers enjoying the surf, sand, pier, and everything else the overpriced tourist trap had to offer. Tristan drove around for a while to find a parking spot, carefully parallel parked, rolled up the windows, and headed toward the pier on foot.