Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I didn’t know how I looked, but I must have looked less than happy at that announcement. I felt trapped, restrained by invisible ropes that bound me in place, that prohibited me from being free. My heart wanted to sing and dance, to let him deep inside me, to know me the way he used to…but I just couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
It was a quiet ride home.
The elevator ride was stuffy.
The walk up the stairs and to the bedroom was somehow the most uncomfortable of all.
We entered the master suite, and I headed straight to the closet to slip off my heels and unzip the black dress. It was the first moment of privacy I’d had, the first moment I didn’t have to share the contentious air with him.
I removed my jewelry and pulled on a shirt before I stepped out of the closet.
He sat in one of the armchairs, ankle crossed and resting on the opposite knee, his tie yanked loose with his jacket tossed over the back of the chair. He stared at me with that hard look, not the intense one that hinted at the desire beneath the surface, but the one that showed the depth of his anger, his disappointment.
I froze in place as if he’d just yelled at me when he didn’t say a word. I stood there and waited for him to speak, to lash out at me, to say whatever was on his mind.
He propped his elbow on the armrest and dragged his fingers across his jawline. His blue eyes weren’t bright anymore. No longer playful. Just dark and angry. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I sucked in a breath, feeling the same fist in my stomach as the night he’d left me.
“You’re either in this marriage with me, one hundred percent, or you’re not.” He’d spoken at a normal decibel up until that point, but it skyrocketed after that. “Which is it?”
I stilled as if he’d just backhanded me.
“I’m tired of our moments being shattered by your sabotage. I’m tired of feeling you run whenever I get a little deeper into your heart. I’m tired of this fucking brick wall that you put up every time I get too close. This marriage is never going to work if you keep one foot out the door. Do you understand me?”
I was paralyzed by his anger. Paralyzed by the fact that he could read me so well, see my mind withdraw into another room when my body hadn’t moved an inch.
He got to his feet, the top buttons of his shirt undone and revealing part of his chest. “Scarlett—”
“Yes, I understand you.” I turned away.
“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”
I focused on the window, which was obscured by the closed curtain. “It’s not that easy…to just forget.”
“It’s not easy when you don’t let yourself.”
“That’s not how the brain and the heart work. You have no idea how much you hurt me—”
“Yes, I do. I’m so sorry for what happened, but you need to forgive me and move on.”
“Forgive you?” My eyes came back to him. “I never would have married you if I’d had another choice—”
“I said you could leave if you wanted, but you chose to stay.”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t stay.” My eyes flicked down, not wanting to look at his face. I had no idea how he looked, but I could feel the rush of pain fill the room like smoke. “As much as I…care for you…it’s never going to go away.”
“It’s never going to go away if you don’t let it go.”
“Let it go?” I looked up to meet his stare. “If the situations were reversed, you would not let it go. You deserve a lot more than a woman who chooses someone else. You’re too good and kind to settle for that.”
He gave a sigh. “We can’t have a marriage if you pull away every time we get close. I need you to let it go—for us.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.” I looked away again, the roof of my mouth on fire from the impending tears. “It’s really unfair that you pressure me to get over this when it wouldn’t be easy for anyone to get over. You want us to be what we were, as if nothing happened, and that’s just not possible. It would have been possible if you’d just—”
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s fucking bullshit, and I’m over it.”
I stilled, feeling as if he’d slapped me again. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He took a couple breaths, his face tinted red in anger. “I trust you. I trust you with my fucking life. So I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise me you’ll keep it to yourself. Promise me.”
My heart raced at a different speed as the situation became far more intense. As if I stood on the edge of a cliff, blind and deaf, I didn’t know whether I should take a step back or a step forward. Any move was risky. “What—what do you need to tell me?”