Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
The thoughts swirl and tumble and turn, and I just can’t stand it. I cross the room so quickly—as though I can escape them—only to find him in my path. He takes me in his hands. His hands, not his arms, pressed to my forearms.
“I’m done talking about this,” I mutter. My thoughts and my feelings are too tangled to untie.
“Admit you’re scared, Mila. Scared of your feelings.”
“What I am is hurt, and I can’t do this right now.” Pulling away, I leave the room.
Chapter 31
Fin
“What are you doing sitting in the dark like a sad ball sack?”
I squint as Matt turns the light on in my office. It’s early evening and the shutters are drawn. I thought everyone had gone for the day. “I’m thinking,” I answer with a sigh.
“I wondered what that smell was.” He sniffs. “Like burning. You ought to oil those cogs before you use them. They get rusted up without use.”
“We’re talking about my brain, not your pipes. And if you must know, I’m avoiding going home.”
“You’ve only been married two minutes.”
“Feels a lot longer today.” But that’s a lie, even if it’s hard to remember a time before Mila was in my life. Mila, my maddening, stubborn wife. The reason I can’t bring myself to go home right now. I don’t want to fight with her again—I didn’t want to fight with her three fucking days ago! And now she’s so closed off. My stomach cramps, because I feel like we might be days away from her calling this whole thing off.
I counted on her wanting to stay. Counted on her needing me a little longer, which would give me time to get her to open up. For me to woo her. Time for her to see that I fucking love her!
Need. She doesn’t need me. I accused her of needing just the idea of me, the outward persona. Because that’s my fucking fear. Not that she heard it that way, given the pile of cash on the kitchen countertop this morning, a pink Post-it Note stuck to the top, which read:
The money i owe you for Roza’s nursing home.
I appreciate your help.
Fucking appreciates my help. I was glad to give it. But the note and the money felt like a big fuck you.
Three days of her not being around. Three days of her sleeping in another room.
It could be worse, I suppose. She might have gone back to her grandmother’s flat. Then I, rather than a security team, would be sitting outside it in a van.
I just want her to be safe. Happy. I want her to fucking love me!
In the periphery of my vision, I note Matt shaking his head.
“What?” I ask wearily.
“I was just wondering if I should call a chiropractor. Slunk low in the chair like that, you won’t be able to walk when you stand. Posture is important at your age.”
But I’m not in the mood for shit talking.
“I asked what’s changed, fuckhead.”
“Everything,” I mutter. “And nothing.”
Matt folds his arms. “Well, that’s helpful. Maybe you should wait until your hair grows and then get Josie to order you some frilly shirts. Maybe some quills and a pot of ink. Some parchment and shit. Better to look the part if you’re aiming for brooding romantic poet.”
“It’s not gonna work.”
“Not surprised. I’ve heard your limericks. Your poetry would be truly shite.”
“With Mila. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“What did you do?”
“Why does it have to be something I did?” I pull myself up straight in my chair. He’s right about my back, though I won’t admit it to him.
“Because you know how women work,” he says, making an awkward gesture. “But also, you don’t know how women work.”
“And you do?”
“I’ve got sisters.”
“As have I.”
“I’ve got more than you. I’ve also got a million female cousins, and I’m still as lost as the next fella when it comes to trying to work them out. But what I will say is we’ve all seen the way you look at Mila. And the way she looks at you. You used to be the last man standing at work dinners. Lately, you piss off home before dessert.”
“You might see a little more of me now, because you were right. I can’t make her love me. And I can’t get her to accept my love.”
“Have you tried? Told her you love her?”
I shake my head. “She isn’t interested in any declaration.” Worse, she’s actively avoiding me. If she’s not with her grandmother, she’s working. And if she’s not working, she’s clearing her grandmother’s flat. So much for making this work. So much for making things easier for her.
“Controlling,” my arse. Can’t she see that it’s love?
Matt’s brows hit his hairline. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”
I tip back my head and stare at the ceiling. “I told you. She isn’t interested.”