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“Oh, Quentin.” I swallow. I want to rage at him and tell him I don’t believe him, but the sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, the honesty of his words… All of it gives me pause. “I had no idea you felt this deeply. That all these thoughts were running through your mind. You seem so strong, so dominant, so confident. I never would have guessed you felt so exposed. I didn’t realize our age-gap would affect you so deeply.”
His lips twist. “Neither did I. And I admit, it didn’t, initially. This feeling that hit me when I saw you, knowing you were the one, overpowered everything else. As long as I was acting on instinct, I was fine. But the more I fell in love with you, the more I realized how precious you are to me. The more I realized, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t survive. It shook me.”
I want to say something but decide to stay quiet and listen instead.
He kisses my fingertips again. “I don’t think I ever got over feeling responsible for Danny’s death. And then Karma…” A haunted look comes into his eyes. “She was so full of life. She was one of those people who burned so brightly, anyone in her presence felt lit up from inside. I saw how Michael was around her. And then when she died, how he shattered. He became a shell of the man he was. Not only was it a shock to me to see someone like her being cut down in her prime, but I knew if anything happened to you, if you left me, I’d be worse off than Michael.”
He sinks to his knees, still holding my hands. “I knew I wouldn’t survive losing you. And that shook me. Worse”—he swallows—"I had to face the reality that I’ll be gone before you.”
My heart stutters. He’s right but... I don’t want to hear this. I can’t hear this. It’s too painful. “Quentin,” I begin, but he squeezes my hand.
“Let me finish, baby. I turned a blind eye to this, and that was selfish of me. In ten years, I’ll be fifty-one, and you’ll be thirty-three. You’ll be in your prime. You’ll wake up one day and realize you’re married to someone much older, while others your age are living the single life being digital nomads or climbing Everest or going scuba diving… Know what I mean?”
I nod, then shake my head. “Yes and no. I know you’re older than me. And that you have more experience and more confidence, and frankly, that’s the appeal. And I haven’t ever wanted to be a digital nomad, or climb mountains, or go scuba diving. So, I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
His forehead furrows. “You have the money. You could do anything you want. You could travel the world. You could work from exotic locations. You could hook up with men your age—” He winces. “You could spread your wings and fly, rather than be with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did...”
I take in his serious features, the agony in his open gaze, and despite the fact he acted like an asshole, I can’t stop myself from feeling his pain.
“I’ve never wanted to do that.” I half smile. “All I’ve ever wanted is my family to be happy—maybe even one day, have my own—and not to worry about paying my bills. And having a home with a studio where I could paint. I was, and still am, a nerd. I prefer reading poetry in my downtime. As for men?” I raise my shoulder. “The only one I’ve wanted is you. That’s why I married you. It wasn’t only for the money,” I add in a hurt voice.
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry that I insinuated otherwise.” He weaves his fingers through mine. “I want to take care of you and your family. It’s my pleasure and privilege to do so. You know that, right?”
I nod slowly.
He must sense the hesitation in my gaze, for he sighs again. “I did a number on you, didn’t I?”
I nod. “I... I am going to need time to get my head around everything you’re saying.”
“Take all the time you need, as long as I can make it up to you in the meanwhile.” He holds my gaze with his. "And so, being not so young, yet dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy."
I half smile, feeling my heart melt further, despite not wanting to. He can be persuasive, my husband. "Did you adapt Poe’s words to help you plead your case?"
"It’s called creative license." He doesn’t smile back.
"He’s probably turning in his grave." I try to look away but can’t.
"He knows it’s for a very good cause." He peruses my features. "He, more than anyone, realized love is the other name for longing and pain, and being beautiful and tragic at the same time."
"Are you comparing us to one of his poems?"
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before," he murmurs.
Liquid longing infuses my veins. His quoting Poe will always my undoing. He must see the response on my features, for he nods. “Let me make it up to you, baby, please.”
“You tried to distance yourself from me.” I bite the inside of my cheek. "You tried to make me hate you. You tried to force my hand, so I’d leave you, but I’d have never done that. That’s not me. I don't give up easily. All you ended up doing was torturing me. It made me feel so, so, unwanted. You were so horrible to me, Q.”
He squeezes my hands, which he’s still holding in his. “I’m so goddamn sorry, baby. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving you alone, but not only could I not make myself walk away, but I ended up hurting both of us. I’m—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ll never be able to forgive myself for putting you through that. But I hope you’ll give me a chance to make it up to you. Please, Raven. Give me a chance. I promise you, this time, you’ll see my love through my actions.”
When I see the earnestness in his eyes, when I see how open he's being, that he’s bared himself fully for the first time, and knowing that wasn't easy for him, that traitorous heart of mine softens even more.
“Okay,” I say softly.
His shoulders slacken with relief. “You won’t regret this, baby, I promise you.”
“You’ll have to prove yourself.”
“I will,” he says with vehemence. “You’ll see.”
