Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
An electric buzz streams beneath my flesh and my heart beats so loud, I’m surprised it doesn’t fall out at my feet.
Eli stands before me in his tall, intimidating glory.
He’s wearing black trousers and a white T-shirt that doesn’t quite strain against his shoulders like before. He’s lost weight, but his face has somehow become more beautiful.
Or maybe that’s just because I miss him.
I want to kiss him.
To drown in the edges of his deep-gray eyes again. To start anew.
Despite everything.
But I force myself to remain still because I’m not that desperate.
Actually, I am that desperate. For a touch, a skim of his fingers, even.
I want him with everything in me. I love him with my incomplete sanity and my heart that he broke once upon a time, which only mended itself because of his unconditional care and protectiveness. The last five months were an atrocious hell because I couldn’t touch him.
I couldn’t bury my face in his neck and fall asleep smelling him.
I couldn’t see the look in his eyes when he stares at me.
All this time, I’ve been starving, pining, completely and utterly lost and heartbroken, and defeated.
And yet it was the thought of him that made me work harder on myself. I wanted to be whole so I’d no longer hurt him or be his weakness.
I wanted to get better so all his sacrifices for me wouldn’t go to waste, but I can’t admit any of that aloud out of the fear of making a fool of myself.
Again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in a low murmur.
“Henderson said you fell, but he clearly lied.” His eyes taper as he runs them down the length of me with observant intensity. The moment ends too soon when he releases a worn-out sigh and turns around. “I’ll be out of your hair.”
His back muscles strain against his shirt as he walks across the cobbled pavement with firm steps.
Wait.
I take a step forward.
Wait.
I scream in my head.
“Wait,” I whisper, but he doesn’t hear me and keeps drifting away.
Out of reach.
Out of my life.
“I want my things back!” I shout at the top of my lungs.
He comes to an abrupt halt, but he doesn’t turn around. “Ask Sam and she’ll get it sorted for you.”
“My watch. The one that you’re wearing,” I blurt. “I bought it, not Aunt Elsa, and now, I don’t want you to wear it anymore. Give it back!”
He glances back at me, his voice deep, smooth, and cryptic. “No.”
“I told you I’m the one who had it made.”
“I know. Mum mentioned that a couple of years ago. It’s mine now and I don’t give away what’s mine.”
“I thought I was yours, too, at some point, but you had no issue giving up on me.”
I hate the tremor in my voice, in my limbs, in my insides.
But what I hate the most is the possibility that I can never be with him again.
I don’t need doctors to tell me that I would’ve never fixed myself if it weren’t for him. He gave me purpose, something to fight for. He also fought for me so many times during the years of our marriage.
After I calmed down and recalled everything he did for me, and after Sam told me all the sleepless nights he spent, all the sacrifices he made for my comfort, I knew that I had to fight too.
It’s not fair that I ended things before I cleared my head.
I don’t want to leave him. Not when I need him more than air. I need the unconditional comfort and safety he offers. Even if he doesn’t love me, he cares. And that’s enough.
For now.
He faces me fully, a muscle working in his jaw. “I never gave up on you. I only presented you with what you asked for.”
“Divorce?”
“That’s what you wanted, Ava.” His voice darkens. “May I remind you that you held your life in the balance for it?”
“That was before I learned about what you did for me, how you took care of me all this time, and how you visited me every day. You did everything to make me happy and asked for nothing in return, and I know how uncharacteristic that is for you. How I’m an exception. I don’t take your sacrifices for granted.”
“And that changes something?”
“It changes everything.”
He strides toward me, his emotions spilling from him with every step. It’s a vortex of passion, adoration, desire, but mostly hope.
As crushing and grandiose as mine.
“Don’t fuck with me.” He stops in front of me, his chest rising and falling with his harsh breaths. “If this is your method of revenge—”
“Tell me you’ll love me. You’ll try to, no matter how long it takes. Tell me your care, adoration, and protection will develop into love someday and I’ll forget about the divorce.”
He shakes his head.
My heart falls.