Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Neither of us really meant those vows, but we still said them.”
“So you came out here to save me from me?”
She frowns, but her lips are curling up at the corners at the same time. “If that’s what it takes. And anything else.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me. You can’t care about a stranger.”
“You’re not a stranger. I’ve known you for a year.”
It makes sense now. The way she defended me. Not just in that chat, and not just recently. In others, too, probably when talking with her friends and other co-workers. The way she never protested the tasks I gave her. Yes, at first, she did my scheduling, booked me for travel, did my expense sheets, managed my meetings, dealt with emails and filing, and all the other executive stuff, but then she started asking me for more. Like asking me if I needed coffee or how I was finding time to pick up my dry cleaning. I never demanded that she do those things for me. She was the one who asked me. And then, yes, I trusted her and gave her more. I trusted her with my car, trusted her with my clothes, let her get my coffee, and let her know that I like grilled cheese more than any other food. It’s not easy for me to let someone in, and maybe that was the only way I could do it.
Before.
Before last night.
Before I let her hold me. And before she went to war for me when I was too exhausted to fight. When I just didn’t want to fucking fight a second longer.
She knows. She knows everything now, and she’s not looking at me in disgust. She’s not frowning as she wipes away my tears, even now. That wetness is the manifestation of pain that’s not in my head. It stayed in my chest. I know what she means about ripping in half and about the ache. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts more than my head ever has. And if she can look at me now and not be disgusted by me?
I can’t lie to myself and tell myself that it doesn’t mean something.
This is the one thing I’ve never let myself admit that I needed. It was too dangerous to admit it, to even want it, to think the word. But now it’s here, and I can’t hide from it. I don’t want to hide from it.
Care. Mattering to someone. Connection. All those things that lead to that greater word that people throw around so carelessly.
Love makes a person vulnerable. It makes them stupid, and it transforms them. I love my sister, but this isn’t the same. This emotion is coming from someone who isn’t my blood, my family, and obligated in any way. It’s offered freely, against the parameters of our contract, in spite of everything and in the face of all odds.
My chest tears itself down the middle. I’m like the damn boss apocalypse, the worst boss on the planet. The worst man that Darby could ever meet. And she married me for the love of her family. But that’s not why she’s out here now. She came looking for me because she woke up alone and was scared and worried. About me.
Breathing is suddenly quite impossible.
“Leon, you’re scaring me. You’re not saying anything, and now you’re out of breath. Your eyes are…they’re kind of wild.”
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. How does one tell another person that this is everything they have ever wanted and needed but could never bring themselves to dare to want or think about or hope for? How do they say that they’re scared to death?
She says it for me.
Darby wraps her arms around my neck, twining them there so she can slide her hand down to my back. She smooths it over my tense muscles and rubs small circles as if she could see down to the knots beneath the surface and untangle them with just that gentle touch. I rest my face at the juncture of her neck and chin and inhale deeply. It’s like the first real breath I feel I’ve ever taken in my life. It’s tinged with vanilla and flowers and the fresh morning air, the lake, and me. I can smell myself on her because she was so close to me during the night, her body wrapped around mine. I don’t know if that very masculine, potent smell is a good thing.
“I smell.” I pull back, and the words are there. The ability to talk is back. “I probably smell horrible.”
Her hand keeps making those calming, agonizingly wonderful circles on my back. “You don’t.” She smooths her other hand over my hair and leans in, breathing against my cheek. “I smell the lake. I love that scent. I can smell mint and the saltiness of you.”