**

Throughout my life, three men have told me that they loved me.

Beyond maternal love or "friendly" love; innocent love. These declarations of love were ones that I categorized from the heart or soul, whichever place you find more sentimental.

Hudson was first. We were at dinner in New York with a few of his friends from his firm. On the taxi ride back to the hotel, he told me he loved me. I knew he didn't mean it, but I replied anyway to ensure the simplest of car rides was not over complicated: "I love you, too."

Alejandro was second. In Venetia, is where he told me. Not in person, no. Over the phone - the burner phone that was supplied to me from my estranged grandmother. In Colombia, thousands of miles away, he told me that he loved me. But I didn't say it back. Not yet, at least. I haven't even called Alejandro back yet; I'm scared for what words are going to come out of my mouth or what words will come out of his. 

And lastly, Sebastian was third. Sebastian Harrison - the president of Harrison Incorporated. Hollywood's favorite retired playboy. Media heart throb. Paparazzi favorite. My client. The man that I slept with, breaking his heart right after. Sebastian was different - is different. He didn't tell me that he loved me, but told me that he was in love with me. Surprisingly, there's a difference. To say you love someone is easy to an extent, depending on the context. But to be in love with someone is completely different; there are no contextual gray areas that can save you if you confess that you are in love with someone. To be in love is to be completely invested in that one person - body, mind and spirit. To be in love is to look past all flaws, to dock all judgment and accept that person for who they are because your mind and your heart refuse to see anything else but the perfect being in front of you.

So, when Sebastian confessed that he was in love with me, I didn't know what to say. I stared mouth agape like the village idiot and had a difficult time processing his words. Honestly speaking, I didn't believe him. After he walked away, Claude following him, I thought that he was crazy. In love with me? I couldn't understand. After moments of contemplation, I became angry because I still couldn't understand.

"He's lying," I thought to myself. "He can't be in love with me. That doesn't make any sense. How can he tell me this after all this time? It's too late now," my anger arose, "I have a boyfriend. Alejandro. Why would he tell me this while I have a fucking boyfriend? Why did he make things more complicated?"

I retreated into the house and asked Granny Fae for her in the kitchen. And when she came in to meet with me, I couldn't stop talking. The tears flowed freely as I angrily - bitterly - told her of the horrible, awful thing that Sebastian just did; the crime he had committed.

"Slow down," she said. "Wh-what happened? What did he do?"

"He just told me that he's in love with me," I repeated more coherently. "Right now. Just now." I wiped the tears with my shirt sleeve. "Why would he do something like that? Why would he even say something like that?"

Granny Fae was confused. I went from the village idiot to the village crazy lady.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, sniffling.

"Because," Granny Fae replied before laughing, "I just...I don't understand, dear. I don't understand why you're so upset!"

"This isn't funny!" I whined as she laughed - cackled, even. "I'm upset because this just over complicated everything! For one, we are both in relationships. Secondly, he is my client and thirdly, he knows the mess this would create if -"

"Leslie, stop," she told me, her cackling fading into a slight giggle. "That isn't why you're upset."

"What?"

Granny Fae groaned out of sarcastic irritation, "Sweetheart, you're upset because now you're conflicted."

As if I weren't angry enough, now my grandmother was creating these ridiculous notions about my emotions. It was clear to me that she didn't understand the underlying issues this situation possessed.

"Of course I'm conflicted. I'm conflicted because his words carry a substantial weight - more than he knows."

"You know, this all sounds too familiar," she said. "You know who I had a conversation like this with twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine years ago?"

I shrugged. "Who?"

"Your knucklehead of a father," Granny Fae answered. "We stood in this damn kitchen as I tried to knock some sense into that stubborn brain of his. Genina sat right there in that living room; he tried to convince me that he no longer had feelings for that girl."

"Grandma - "

"Of course," she continued, "I didn't believe him. I was too smart for that. I told him that if he didn't confront his heart head on, it would be too late. But he kept going on and on about how it was all in the past and that I didn't know what I was talking about. Your father didn't listen. Now, look what happened?"

She didn't have to answer the question for me. I had somewhat of an idea.

"So, what are you saying I should do?" I asked. "I have a boyfriend, grandma."

Right when I needed her advice - her guidance - the most, she went silent. Smirking, she slowly walked away from me and left the kitchen. I was speechless, contemplating if I should go after and demand an answer. But that's not what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to figure it out on my own. I didn't know how; I kept looking out of the windows, waiting for Sebastian to come back. This made me anxious; what could I have said to him?

I decided to retreat to my room and call Alejandro. Not to tell him what Sebastian said, of course. I needed to check on him, hear his voice. Maybe that would give me some clarity on what to do next.

He answered on the third ring, but his voice was anything but welcoming.

"Hey," I said, pulling my feet up on the bed with me. "It's me."

"Oh," he said. "I didn't expect you to call today."

"Um, well I just...a lot has happened the last couple of days, so I wasn't able to call you."

"Hm," is his only reply. I don't know how to take that.

"Is something wrong?" I then asked him.

"Nothing. I'm just busy right now. I wasn't expecting your call today."

"Well, is that a signal for me to call you later?"

He sighed. "Actually, that isn't going to work, either."

I knew he could sense the change in my tone of voice. "Why?"

"Something came up," he explained. "I actually won't be back in the states for a while longer."

"How much longer?"

"Until early November, I think." He said the words with an alarming amount of nonchalance.

I held the phone close but didn't reply. My eyes focused in on the wall - the landscape photos - for an extended period of time as I processed his words.

"November?" I finally said. "You said it would be another week and now it's three more months?"

"Leslie, I just...I need more time. I'm -"

"You're what?" My emotions were still raging from the encounter with Sebastian; it was only a matter of time before something made me explode. I wish that it wasn't this, though. "What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing, Alejandro? What are you doing in Colombia that requires you to stay there for three months?!"

I knew Alejandro and his character - if I was going to yell, then he was going to yell, too.

"I don't need this shit right now," he growled at me. "You want to call me, yelling at me like I'm a fucking child?!"

"Yes! Because you know what you're doing? You're lying to me."

"Y que?" he snapped. "I told you that I needed more time and I already told you that I can't share everything that's going on. You don't trust me?"

"No, I don't," I said. And that phrase led us both into silence. I felt like I had every right to be upset with him - he goes off to another country for months and doesn't tell me why, the only form of contact between us being a burner phone that was supplied to me by Ramona Malatova. Shit isn't adding up, and I made sure to let him know of that by accusing him of conspiring with Ramona. I didn't know for what reason, but I knew that somehow he was close with her.

"The burner phone and her interception all link back to you; you're the one who urged me to go to Venetia in the first place."

He thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but I knew how to put the pieces together when I needed to. I didn't want to hear his excuses. I just wanted to know why.

"Leslie, listen to me. I will explain everything to you when I come back."

"Three months?" I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it. "Alejandro I...I can't do it. I'm just...I'll use these three months to think about it."

"What does that mean?"

"I need a break," I said. Once the words were out of my mouth, there was no taking them back. "I have a lot going on right now as do you, and the last thing I need is to have to question my boyfriend's credibility."

I could tell that he didn't expect that. I didn't, either. I just wanted to call to see how he was doing, but now we're putting our relationship on hold because I felt as if I couldn't trust him; I felt like I didn't know him.

"Leslie, please," he then said. "Please, I-I'm sorry. Just...just hold on a second - "

"We can talk about it when you get back," I interrupted him. That's when he became angry, screaming at me through the phone and accusing me of lying to him for things I didn't even understand, as he was speaking so quickly in Spanish I couldn't keep up. But his voice was menacing; frightening. I had never heard him yell like this before, and before I could hang up, he hung up first. I threw the phone across the room, watching it bounce against the desk and break into little pieces. I stared at the fragments, replaying the conversation that happened through them moments before. And that's what I did for majority of the day into the night - sitting on the bed, staring at the items in the room, looking out of the window to see if Sebastian was still outside, and trying to process my shock. I wasn't crying; maybe because it was only a break between Alejandro and I. But I cried when Sebastian told me that he was in love with me. That fact only strengthened this internal conflict I had with myself.

Now, the entire house is dark, the occupants in their rooms sleeping or relaxing. I have showered and changed into pajamas; I hoped that the shower would hopefully wash away the filth I felt surrounded my mind.

My cousin sleeps soundly on the other bed. I'm still awake, hungry since I skipped out on dinner out of fear of sitting at the same table as Sebastian. So, my stomach is growling, my mind racing.

I need to talk to them. Both of them - Alejandro and Sebastian. Sebastian first, since he's actually in the same vicinity as me. Alejandro? I don't know how I would be able to get into contact with him. Realistically, I don't want to; the way he yelled at me fills me with old rage all over again. But ignoring problems has created problems in the past for me. I need to address them head-on.

But first, I'm going to make myself a sandwich.

Quietly, I sneak out of the room, downstairs into the vacant kitchen. It's raining lightly outside, but nowhere near as powerful as the other night.

I flick on the lights and open the fridge, gathering the ingredients needed for my sandwich - mayonnaise, turkey, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese. I pair it with potato chips a cup of coffee before sitting at the island, eating silently and forcing myself not to fall too deep into my thoughts. My only priority is speaking to Sebastian. I think of what I'm going to say to him: apologize for my reaction, acknowledge his feelings, then state why we need to become aware of the impact his words have. Yes, that's perfect. In that order. Once I'm done with my sandwich and coffee (I'm two bites away, several sips until the cup is empty) I will go upstairs, knock on his door, and talk -

"Shit! I didn't know anyone was down here."

I turn around, potato chip in my mouth, surprised to see Sebastian standing by the entrance of the kitchen. He's surprised to see me, too; he must have thought I was Judith from the back with my hair loose, curling down past my shoulders.

I stare at him, and he stares at me. I chew my potato chip quickly so I can perform what I have been rehearsing, but once the chip is gone and swallowed, I can't speak.

Sebastian breaks his gaze from mine. "I'm just gonna get some water."

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead."

He walks to the sink and fills a glass with water. Once the faucet is off, he forces himself not to look at me as he drinks. My hands are trembling; shaking. His presence now is much more intimidating. Not in the frightening sense, though.

I take a deep breath. "Sebastian."

He faces me; his gaze makes me suck in a sharp breath. I close my eyes and reopen them before continuing.

I stand up, my bare feet cold against the floor. "I just...I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I reacted this afternoon. I shouldn't have stayed silent like that. And...I um...i-it's...there's a lot of factors involved in a situation like this - "

"A 'situation,'" he repeats, the low octave of his voice unsettling. "That's an interesting noun choice."

Fuck. What do I say? I try to remember the next set of words in my speech, but my mind comes up blank.

So, Sebastian speaks instead. "Leslie, I don't want you to feel...'guilty' or 'pressured' after what I told you. That wasn't my intention; the words just came out."

"So, you never planned on telling me?"

He laughs quietly. "Not necessarily, no."

I run my fingers through my hair nervously. "Can I just ask? Because I don't understand."

"You don't understand what?"

"Why you feel this way?" I blurted out, anxiety lacing my voice. "About me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He replies.

And that's his answer. Simple. Vague. Just three words that hold a weight heavier than any longer dialogue could have ever carried. Goosebumps rising on my arms, my heart beating in my chest ferociously, I can't help but ask him because suddenly I don't see the obstacle of "restraint" and "professionalism."

"Can you say it again? I think my mind's in a better state to receive it." I shake my head at my own nonsense. "I  I just want to hear it."

Sebastian purses his lips innocently, pushing himself off from the sink counter and closing the distance between us - not too much, but enough. And without the frustration he carried earlier, he tells me again.

"I'm in love with you, Leslie," he says, his face rid of any emotion except an emotion that would describe someone being able to accept their own feelings - not happy, nor sad. Just content.

It's a mutual choice, what we do next - we kiss. I have to stand on my toes in order to reach him, but he stepped forward as did I; it was a mutual choice. One we didn't assess the consequences of.

I forget what the word 'consequence' even means when our lips touch; our mouths moving against each others, as if his mouth was a feeling I forgot I even missed so badly.

**

The rest of this is in After Dark for those of you curious...

-Hailey