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"You don’t know much about my life growing up," she began, her voice thick with emotion. "My parents had a horrible, vicious divorce, and before that, our home life was hell. They were always arguing."
"That won’t happen to us," I said, trying to reassure her, my hands rubbing soothing circles on her back.
"How do you know? Do you have a crystal ball?" she snapped, her voice filled with bitterness.
"Because it won’t. I won’t let it," I promised, my voice firm.
"My parents were happy and in love once, now they hate each other," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It fucked up my head. I don’t have a very good example of marriage."
I held her tighter, feeling the weight of her fear and pain. "We’ll make our own example," I whispered against her skin, hoping she could hear the conviction in my voice. "I love you, Erika. And I’m not going anywhere. You said Morgan’s parents are still married, what about them?”
"I don’t see them enough to know," she replied, her voice distant.
"So that’s it? You never want to get married or be in a committed relationship?" I asked, frustration creeping into my tone.
"I thought we were committed," Erika shot back, her eyes narrowing.
"Are we?" I challenged, searching her face for any sign of reassurance.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she slipped out of my arms, the warmth of her body suddenly gone. Climbing over the side of the tub, she grabbed her pink terry robe and slipped it on, her movements quick and deliberate. Without another word, she walked out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering scent of lavender.
"Erika!" I bellowed, scrambling from the tub. I grabbed a white terry towel from the bar and wrapped it around my waist, bubbles dripping down my chest and shoulders as I followed her into the bedroom.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the area rug beneath her feet, her shoulders slumped.
"Talk to me," I begged, desperation leaking into my voice.
"I think you should go," she murmured, her words like a punch to the gut.
"This is stupid. I told you I loved you," I insisted, trying to break through the wall she was putting up between us.
"I didn’t ask you to," she said quietly, finally looking up at me. "Go home, Lincoln."
The use of my first name felt like a slap in the face, a clear sign that she was serious. Erika stood up from the bed and walked back into the bathroom, the soft click of the lock echoing in the silent room.
I stood there for a moment, the sting of rejection settling deep in my chest. There was nothing more I could do. Forcing her to talk wasn’t an option. We’d have to work this out eventually, but not tonight. With a heavy heart, I dried off, got dressed, and left her apartment. I had an open house the next day, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to lose focus on my work right now.
I didn’t sleep well that night. Erika’s face, filled with pain as she talked about her parents’ marriage, haunted me. By morning, I was exhausted, but I had an eight-million-dollar property to show, and there was no time to wallow in my thoughts. I needed to prepare for the agents’ showing later that morning.
My assistant took care of the food and spec sheets, while I busied myself making sure everything in the apartment was immaculate. I hated when owners left their homes in disarray, so I didn’t hesitate to dust, vacuum, and even clean toilets if necessary.
By 11 a.m., the place was looking perfect—trays of finger foods and drinks were laid out on the sleek, obsidian-black granite counter. By 11:30, the apartment was buzzing with agents, their footsteps echoing as they explored the two-floor space, peppering me with questions while they filled up on the refreshments. I was in the zone—until Erika walked in with her assistant, Colvin.
They looked too comfortable together, and my jealousy surged. When I saw Erika feed one of the canapés to Colvin, I nearly lost it. The gesture was too intimate for mere colleagues. Barely excusing myself, I made my way over and placed a firm hand on her elbow.
"Can I talk to you, Miss Bramwell?" I asked, my voice tight.
She glanced up at me, her expression cool. "I’m busy right now. Let’s chat in a little while."
I could feel Colvin's eyes on me, and the slight smirk on his face made my blood boil. It was like he was challenging me, and I couldn’t stand it. I leaned in closer to Erika, lowering my voice.
"How about now?" I ground out. "I think you can spare a few minutes."
Before she could respond, the agent I’d unintentionally ignored earlier approached again, asking about the downstairs bathroom. I turned to answer her question, and when I looked back, Erika and Colvin were gone. Irritation flared, but I reasoned she couldn’t have gone far. I’d find her before the event was over—she wasn’t slipping away from me this time.
It took over half an hour before I could break away, leaving my assistant to handle the agents. Erika hadn’t reappeared, and it was clear she was avoiding me. Determined, I searched every room, finally discovering her upstairs in the master bedroom. She stood by the windows, gazing out at the city skyline, oblivious to my presence until she heard my footsteps.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, her voice cold.
