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“Are you? Because it looks like you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. You should have one of those step counter things. I’d be interested to know how far you’ve walked already tonight.” I make sure to smile so she knows I’m not pissed or irritated. I’m more concerned if anything.
“Sorry. I guess I just don’t have anything to do, really. I want to be with you,” she insists in a rush when my brows draw together. “That’s why I’m here. I want us to be together as much as we can.” Her teeth sink into her lip before she averts her gaze.
“But you’re bored,” I finish for her.
“That sounds harsh. I’m not trying to be,” Emilia insists, wrinkling her nose.
“I know.” Folding my hands over my stomach, I take her in. Gone is the de la Renta from Saks. She’s still hot as hell in tight jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater that leaves me longing to run my lips over her skin. If anything, I like her better this way, especially in public. There’s no making her unattractive, but she’s not asking for attention. Only I get to enjoy her body. “You’re too good to me to be harsh.”
A soft smile touches her glossy lips. It’s a shame she’s feeling so anxious, or I’d suggest putting those lips to work. I can’t help it. She has that effect on me. “That’s sweet of you to say, but I don’t know. Lately, I feel like I’m a lot of trouble. I’m supposed to be adding to your life, right? All I’m doing is raising issues and complaining.”
“You feel directionless. That’s not a complaint. And listen…” I motion for her to come to me, and she does without hesitating, crossing the room and propping her ass on the edge of the desk so she’s between my spread legs. I could suggest ways for her to keep herself occupied while she’s here, but that would only be a quick diversion. The underlying issue would still exist. “I know I’m not great at this whole talking about our feelings thing, but I’m trying. I’m in this forever, and that means I’m responsible for you having everything you need. If you need something and I’m not providing it, I have to know.”
She draws a deep breath, then blows it out. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” she whispers.
Not exactly a great start. “I understand,” I murmur as evenly as I can. This is so new to me. I want to be the man she needs, but this is my first time in this position. I’m vulnerable, and it has never been something I’ve adjusted to very well. The woman sitting in front of me holds my life in her hands—nothing short of that. It’s uncomfortable. The uncertainty is enough to make me scream as she fights to find the words.
“It’s just that I feel like the walls are closing in on me all the time,” she admits in a soft voice. “I can’t breathe. I’m always being watched. I have to stay on the grounds unless I’m at the club with you. It’s a lot to deal with.” She looks miserable by the time she’s finished.
“You’ll adjust,” I offer. “It will take time. Give yourself a chance.”
“Time?” She winces, and I know it was the wrong thing to say. “And how much time would that be? I don’t mean with Vitali,” she insists when I was about to mention the name. “That’s one thing. What I’m saying is, how much time do you think it’s going to take for me to adjust to my whole life being changed all at once?”
What’s gotten into her? This is all so abrupt. Maybe when her parents are back in the country, she’ll feel more connected to her life outside the family. Until then, this is my problem to deal with.
I notice her hands trembling while she picks nervously at her nails. She’s afraid, and that’s the last thing I want. I would never hurt her. Doesn’t she know that by now? “My life has changed too,” I remind her in what I hope is a gentle voice.
“Not the way mine has,” she quickly counters, almost like she was waiting for that argument and has her answer prepared.
“You don’t have to sound so sour about it,” I mumble. Heat rises in my core, flushing my skin, leaving me irritated and floundering to understand. I want to give Emilia what she needs, but how can I do that when she sounds so damn accusatory?
The creases in her forehead deepen when she scowls. “See? You tell me to share everything with you, and when I do, you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I insist, which isn’t technically a lie. But I’m getting there.
“You’re doing a pretty great impression of it, then.” She groans when I scoff. “Please, listen to me. Hear me. Your life has changed. Yes. I won’t take that from you. But it has not changed as profoundly as mine, and you can’t pretend otherwise. I’m not only talking about my job,” she insists when I scoff again. “But let’s not forget I was used to coming and going as I pleased. I had my work. I had somewhere to go every day. I felt like I was doing something and contributing somehow. I called the shots, made my own choices, saw people, and interacted with the world. And now? I’m trying so hard to get used to this new reality, but every day, it’s like I lose a little more ground and a bit of myself, and I don’t know how to stop it. I love you and hope you would want to help me.” By the time she’s finished, her chest is heaving, and her eyes shine with unshed tears.
I don’t know what part to focus on first. The last thing she said is the freshest, so I latch onto that. “Since when do I not want to help you?” I demand through gritted teeth.
She’ll never know how hard I’m struggling to keep calm. There is no way she could comprehend the seething heat in my chest that I would normally vent with my fists or a gun. I can’t use those outlets now. There’s nothing to do but fight every violent impulse I possess.
She lowers her brow, staring at me for a silent beat. “Since you take this attitude with me,” she replies, sounding confused. “I tell you I need something, and you take it as a personal insult.”
“Who’s insulted?” I challenge as I lean back in my chair, arms spread in a shrug. “I’m not. Maybe you’re projecting.”
“Don’t do that,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Don’t try to gaslight me now.”
The mention of that word makes my skin crawl. “I didn’t think you were someone who used the buzzwords of the day to make a point. I gave you a little credit for being intelligent.”
She flinches, and pain flares to life in her eyes. “Don’t be mean. I’m coming to you with this, and you’re throwing it back in my face. That’s not how this is supposed to go.” She folds her arms defensively and might as well rub salt in my wounds.
I hate myself for making her feel this way.
I hate myself more for not knowing how to fix it.
“Exactly how is it supposed to go?” I ask. “You’re telling me I’m not enough for you. Am I supposed to be happy about that?”
“That is not at all what I’m saying! That’s what you’re taking from this? Fuck!” She throws her hands into the air and pushes away from the desk, but I’m quicker, standing and caging her in with an arm to either side of her body. “You’re starting to have second thoughts, aren’t you?” I lean in, forcing her to lean back a little. “That’s what this is really about. That’s what you don’t want to say.”
