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Slowly, his gaze lifts, meets mine, and withers. “Marcella, what’s wrong?”
I sniff, scorning the fancy cloth napkin because I’d feel bad blowing my nose into it. If I didn’t want to not exactly hold hands with him again, I’d be demanding to see if he still has that stupid kerchief on him. Alas. Digging my fingers into my hair, I grip a fist at the base of my skull. “Nothing.”
“There’s a suspicious amount of something in that nothing, Marcella.”
“I’m upset,” I snap. “Being upset is my natural state. Ignore it.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ugh. He’s just soo helpful, isn’t he? Flippantly, I nudge my menu. “Order me some sushi so I don’t have to look at the prices and feel worse for taking advantage of you.”
His brows rise. “Taking advantage of me?”
“What else would you call it?”
“We have an agreement.”
A rueful laugh escapes me—half damp. “An agreement that leans heavily in my favor. Face it. No matter what happens, I get the better deal. You’re too nice to be anything but perfectly amicable the whole way through.” I swipe my free hand over my mouth. “Why did I agree to this?”
“Well, to be fair, I coerced you quite a bit.”
“Yeah, because I’m a—” I swear. “—ingrate who was offered the chance of a lifetime and selfishly demanded more.”
“Not wanting to immediately agree to marry someone you barely know with habits that annoy you isn’t exactly selfish? Actually, not listening to your plea that I forget you applied was selfish of me.”
“You liked me.” Great. My voice is feeble and wobbly now. “You actually liked me. Not the person I mute and make tolerable. Not even the person I show to my friends. You liked the pieces of me that I only express when I’m alone. You’ve done so much for a chance to make my life a million times better, and I’m—”
He scoots around the circle booth, putting himself close enough to tug my hand out of my hair. Gripping it tight, he says, “You’re scared, Marcella. Scared. And you have every right to be. I build up and tear down companies as though they’re houses of cards. I hold all the power in this relationship. I control your job, and if I want to, your future.”
“But—”
He silences me with a look that turns my bones to jelly. Soft, yet firm, he says, “But nothing. I’ve spent the past few weeks falling asleep while reading your answers to my form. I know so many bits and pieces of you from those words, and I feel such an inexplicable connection to who you are. You are used to being hurt, abandoned, ignored, and resented. For reasons you can’t understand. So. You split yourself in two. You created a character who warranted no negative response, then you let the rest of your fragments embrace every cynical thought whenever you are allowed.”
My eyes close.
He catches a teardrop on his thumb, swiping it off my cheek. “The hardest part about rejection is never knowing what in the world could possibly make you so…wrong. The hardest part about rejection is the marrow-deep understanding people find you unlovable…even when you’ve broken yourself into pieces trying to be loved.”
I crumple, shoulders sagging, head drooping. I have no words to explain how right he is. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t want to share them—just in case I get it all…wrong.
He murmurs, “Did you ever get a chance to read my answers to the form questions?”
Numb, I shake my head. “I’ve been avoiding them. Out of spite.”
He chuckles. “Well, after work today, I expect reviewing them to take up your evening.”
My nose wrinkles. “Is that an order?”
Leaning forward, he plants a tickling, uncomfortably soft kiss to my forehead, then he whispers, “Yes.”
Does removing my tie entice you, my dear?
– Finnegan
~~~
Absolutely go die in a hole.
– Marcella
