I smile, unsure whether I love or hate that she’s in this much denial.
“I’ve missed you every second you’ve been gone. That’s what I mean. I’ve been like a fish tossed on the shore, gasping and lost. And I’ve hated myself almost as much as I’ve missed you. You know how many times I’ve fucked up in my life—and none of them compete with throwing you out. Never again.”
I hold her gaze, making a sacred vow, here and now.
A bigger mistake than taking the night to think over Taylor’s pregnancy.
I don’t care if it sounds insane.
For over a decade, I’ve been holding on to one gruesome mistake, carrying it with me, blaming myself for Taylor and the baby.
We were just kids who fell in over our heads.
Yes, I was wrong, but as terrible as Taylor’s death was, I didn’t murder her.
If Hattie turns me down now—if I lose her—that’s my fault.
Undeniably.
And I’ll spend every last day hating myself for becoming too toxic, too repulsive for her to love.
“I want a wife like the boys in your books, Hattie,” I whisper. “A real marriage. One where we’ll laugh and love and bicker and make up again. One where we wake up next to each other every morning and you bring me coffee and you’ll cover every surface we own in books.”
“God, you…” She laughs roughly. “…you really want that?”
“Fuck yes.” My voice is gruff, but desperate to show her. She needs to see how I’m all in. “I want the full package. You. Even the bits that aren’t perfect. Because I love them, Hattie, every single piece of you.”
She’s crying now, and I can’t bear her tears.
So I reach up, brushing them away with my hands, my mouth.
Predictably, she only cries harder.
“No expiration date this time. No bullshit contract. Just you and me. Just us. I’ll buy you all the books you want and bring you to the greatest libraries on Earth. Anything you want if you’re with me, happily married.”
Then my mouth hovers over hers, aching from holding back.
I squeeze her hand so tight my fingers shake, all I can do to keep from kissing her now. Hell, from throwing her down on the ground and making a very public spectacle of reclaiming my fiancée.
“Say yes,” I whisper. “Say it so I can kiss you again, because I might die if I can’t.”
“Kiss me now,” she whispers. “I mean, if you want to. I’m kinda snotty and—”
No hesitation.
I take her lips with a noise that’s more animal than man.
Finally!
She tastes the way she always does, like sugar and cinnamon and that sweetness under it that’s all Pages.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and I don’t think I was exaggerating.
I might have died if she refused.
Heat rushes through me, from my head to my dick.
I stand up and sit beside her again, pulling her onto my lap.
