Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
With her eyes downcast she said, “It just came out. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, and I’d appreciate it if we just pretended it never happened.” She sliced her fork into the tender meat drenched in wine sauce and placed it in her mouth.
It took me a moment to understand her reference. “Alright.”
She kept her eyes down as she cut into another piece.
“But I already knew.”
Her chin immediately lifted, and her eyes locked on mine.
“Doesn’t matter whether you say it or not.”
“How-how did you know?”
“Because I can feel it.”
20
LAURA
Bartholomew sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. He began the long process of tightening the laces before he secured them in a knot.
I still wore his shirt, and I wasn’t anxious to give it up. “Can you stay?” Now that work had calmed down, I hoped he had more free time to spend with me. We hadn’t slept together much, but every time we did, it was magical. I loved seeing his face first thing in the morning.
He looked at me, arms on his knees. “I can stay until you fall asleep.” He’d just woken up a couple hours ago, so he wouldn’t be able to sleep beside me and have breakfast in the morning.
So I took the offer. “Alright.”
He untied his boots and slipped them off before he stripped down to his boxers.
I removed his shirt so he could wear it when he left.
We got into bed, nearly naked, and that strong arm wrapped around me and pulled me close. Sealed in his warmth and his manly scent, I was happy. I stared at his face beside me, treasured the sight of those beautiful eyes as I felt the fullness in my heart. My fingers lightly felt his chest and his neck, feeling the tight cords underneath his skin.
His eyes were on me, hardly blinking.
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, feeling brave.
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “Yes.”
“Would you ever want something more than this…?” I’d fallen head over heels for this man and wanted a lifetime at his side. I wanted his mornings and his nights. I wanted to be his wife, the mother of his children. But would he ever want those things?
“When you laid down the rules for this relationship, you made it very clear more was off the table.”
“That was before I fell in love with you.” Or admitted that I was in love with you.
His eyes remained steady, unaffected by the romantic confession. “Define more.”
“Move in together, maybe?” I asked hopefully.
“You want to live with me?”
“Yeah…I would love that.”
“Alright.”
What…? “Alright what?”
“I asked you to move in with me, and you said yes.”
I’d missed it, assuming it was all hypothetical. “Really?”
“Really.”
“So, you do want more…” I felt the smile move on to my lips. “It’s kinda crazy to ask a woman to live with you when you don’t love her.”
“Who said I don’t?”
The smile left my face, and a tightness moved to my chest. I suddenly felt like I wasn’t getting enough air, like I was on the verge of a panic attack, but then it passed instantaneously and I felt a joyful calm. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Not the kind of guy to say such things. But I will say that I’ve loved you far longer than you’ve loved me.” He said it with a hard face, without an ounce of emotion. “I would have let you die if I didn’t.”
His words were beautiful in the beginning but had a horrible aftertaste. I’d chosen my father, a man who would have killed me, over the man who loved me enough to sacrifice his whole world.
He must have seen the distress in my face because he said, “It’s in the past. Let it go.”
“It’s hard…”
“I have.” His fingers slid into my hair, and he kissed me on the forehead. “I’ve forgiven you. Forgive yourself.”
I didn’t have a lot of things to pack.
The furniture would be donated because Bartholomew’s apartment was already furnished. I’d only been there a few times and spent most of my time in his bedroom, but I could tell all his belongings were designer-level and custom-made. My table from IKEA had no business there.
So it was just my clothes.
And I had a lot of clothes.
I began the process of putting everything into boxes as they still hung on the hangers. I went through my keepsakes, old photo albums of my family when life was good. My mom was beautiful and my dad seemed happy.
But who knows if he’d ever been happy a day in his life.
My apartment door opened, and heavy boots thudded on the floor.
“In here.” I sat on the bedroom floor, my stuff scattered everywhere, a stack of fold-up boxes leaning against the wall.
Bartholomew rounded the corner, dressed in his signature black, and looked at me from the doorway.