“You don’t have to say anything. I’m the one who needs to talk. To apologize.”
I clutch the bag to my chest, anchoring myself with its familiar weight. “I’m listening.”
Noah takes a deep breath before speaking. “I was an ass. At my mother’s. With you. I panicked, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. You were there for her when I couldn’t be, and instead of thanking you, I made you feel like an outsider. Like you didn’t belong.”
His words settle over me like a suffocating blanket. I want to believe him, to accept his apology and move on, but a small, stubborn part of me resists. The part that remembers how it felt to be shut out and be told I didn’t fit into his life. The very same part that has always been told that she was not good enough.
“You hurt me,” I say quietly, tightening my fingers on the bag. “You made me feel like I was nothing to you. Just the help who overstepped.”
Pain flashes across his face, and for a moment, I think he might reach for me. I won’t be able to resist if he does.
But he doesn’t. He keeps his hands at his sides and his posture open but restrained.
“I know. And I will spend as long as it takes making that up to you, if you’ll let me.” His voice is low and rough with emotions, something he doesn’t usually let other people see. “You’re not nothing, Bea. You’re everything.”
My fingers dig into the bag, clutching it like a life preserver. I should say something. I should say anything. Instead, my breath comes in short, panicked bursts, and I can’t decide if I want to run or throw myself at him.
There’s a version of me, the bold, brassy Bea who once stole someone’s lunch from the King Developers boardroom fridge, who would laugh and call his bluff. There’s another version, the one who grew up in the echoey, empty Wrong mansion, who would say nothing and wait for him to leave, because she’s always known that’s what people do.
But the real me, the present me, is stuck somewhere between hope and terror. I want to believe him. I want to believe that the man who just crossed an ocean with my grandmother’s Chanel in his hands is not the same one who made me feel so disposable.
I didn’t know what to do with this newfound freedom and how to make my own decisions, and he was the first person to dare me to think for myself. And maybe this is why his betrayal hurts even more.
My mouth is dry. My mind is loud with the fighting of all these feelings, and I don’t know which one will win. I want to ask a million questions and also never speak to him again. Does he mean it? Will he still mean it tomorrow? What if his mom doesn’t like me? Will he throw me away like yesterday’s trash?
I swallow and force myself to say something—anything—before I lose my nerve and give in to the pride that might keep me from exploring possible future happiness.
“Why now, Noah?” I wrap my arms around my torso. “Why did you wait until it became almost too late?”
“Almost?” The corners of his lips quirk up.
“Not the point, caveman!” My spine straightens as my brain picks up the excitement of a possible battle of wills. We both have always loved this game.
“But I’ve got a chance here.” His smile strengthens.
“Noah!”
“Yes, Beatrice, you are right. I waited until it wasalmost,” his eyes twinkle, “too late because I’m an idiot. Because I thought I could keep you at arm’s length and still have you in my life.” He takes a step closer, and I feel the heat from him like it’s a physical touch. “But mostly because I’m in love with you, Bea. I have been for a long time. And I’m done pretending otherwise. To everyone else and to myself.”
I feel my mouth hang open. We’ve slept together only once, and he did me an orgasmic favor on his desk, but other than that, I didn’t expect him to possess such deep feelings. Me, on the other hand, I’ve loved him since the moment I nearly fell over his duffel bag a year ago, but for him to say this to me so soon?
“I’ve loved you,” he continues, “since the moment you almost fell over my duffel bag.”
A crazy chuckle escapes my mouth. Then another. And another. And then I’m doubled over with laughter that probably looks insane.
He clears his throat. Then again. Then louder.
“Do you need a minute here?” comes his annoyed voice. “I can come back later.”
“Phew,” I whistle through tears as I straighten myself to look at him. “Sorry.”
The sorry doesn’t work because he’s looking at me with pursed lips and an unsure look in his eyes. The look I put there with my lunatic behavior.
“Sorry, Noah. I’m not laughing at your confession.”
“Could have fooled me,” he says evenly, looking like he’s one step away from sprinting out of here.
“Then someone should give me an Oscar.”
