Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I break off when he lifts his head and meets my eyes. He doesn’t look amused or even exasperated.
He looks . . .
Well, shoot. I can’t tell.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching across the counter to touch his hand. “It’s just a crap tabloid thing. People will forget about it.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
I smile a little wider, determined to erase the sudden awkwardness that’s descended. And more important, to eradicate the longing in my heart. The desire for it to be real. “Looks like we did our job a little too well, right? I mean, I knew I was good, but even I didn’t know—”
“What if we did it?” he interrupts.
I frown in confusion. “Did what?”
“Got married.”
My mouth drops open, even as my stomach flips. “That’s taking the charade a bit far, don’t you think?”
His jaw tenses, and he looks down at the floor before looking up once more. “What if it wasn’t a charade?”
I put a hand to my still-fluttering stomach. “Matt. You don’t want to get married.”
“Not in the traditional sense, no,” he says. “But I wouldn’t mind trying it your way.”
“My way?”
“You know. Sex. Companionship. None of the emotional, messy stuff.”
I can’t breathe. Somehow this moment feels like my ultimate fantasy and my worst nightmare, all rolled into one confusing, heartbreaking moment. Because now I know I want so much more.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he says, his voice urgent as he steps closer. “I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks, and I know you have, too. You said yourself, you want someone to come home to at the end of the night, and . . . hell, why can’t that someone be me? We know we’d fight, but we also know the make-up sex would be outstanding. We respect each other, and neither of us would have to pretend that we’re the next great love story—”
“I can’t,” I repeat, more desperately this time.
Matt frowns in concern at my tone, reaching out a hand toward me. “It’s okay; I know it’s sudden. You need time to think, and—”
“No.” I shake my head and close my eyes. “I mean, yes, it is sudden, but that’s not why I’m saying no.”
When I open my eyes again, his expression is shuttered and unreadable. “Why are you saying no?”
I take a deep breath. “Because you don’t love me.”
Matt’s eyes widen slightly in shock. “Well . . . no. I mean . . . I don’t really do that. But neither do you.”
I bite my bottom lip so hard my eyes water. Actually, no. My eyes are watering for another reason entirely. This hurts.
“Sabrina.” His tone is sharp. “You don’t love me. Do you?”
I take a deep breath as I realize I owe it to him—and to myself—to be completely honest.
Forcing a smile, I lift my shoulders and let them fall. “Apparently, I do. And knowing what that feels like now, I don’t think I can do marriage the companionship-only way I always imagined. I want . . . more. I want a real marriage. And I don’t think I can settle for less.”
29
MATT
Sunday Night, October 8
Sabrina’s statement lingers in the air like the aftermath of an explosion, my shock rendering me speechless.
When I finally do manage words, they’re hardly eloquent. “What?”
She flinches. “I know. I was surprised, too.”
I don’t move; I can only stare. “Sabrina, I thought—”
“It’s not like I’m joining a cult, Cannon,” she says, some of her usual sass returning.
“Might as well be.” The words are cold and callous, and I don’t mean them to be, not really. But to say she’s caught me off guard here is an understatement. I can barely think clearly, much less speak eloquently.
Her blue eyes seem to blaze at me as she comes closer. “You’re terrified.”
Damn straight.
“I’m confused. Just a few days ago, we were on the same page. You yourself said you wanted to avoid the emotional, messy stuff.”
“I know I did! And it’s precisely because of moments like this,” she says, sounding slightly frustrated. “Because this”—she gestures between us—“sucks.”
“Exactly,” I say, reaching out and grasping her shoulders. “So let it pass. It’s just the proximity messing with your head. We can go back to the way we were, just friends who enjoy each other’s company. Or we can go back to fighting.”
Just don’t leave me. Don’t walk away.
“Look, Matt.” She lifts her shoulders and eases away. “I’m not asking anything of you. I know I changed it up. You don’t feel the same, and that’s . . . f-fine.”
She stutters over the word as though it pains her, then takes a deep breath and continues.
“I get it. I’m not exactly thrilled, either, but my feelings are there, and they’re complicated, and they’re not going away anytime soon. You don’t want a wife who loves you, and I don’t want a husband who doesn’t love me. Where does that leave us?”