“I would have spent a lifetime like that, probably.” The admission sounded reluctant. “Then about three years ago, I accidentally spotted some text messages she’d exchanged with a college friend of ours. I filed for divorce the next day.”
She waited, but that seemed to be it. The end of his story.
Jesus, this man could break her wide open.
He’d left so much unstated. How the blow of his wife’s infidelity must have staggered him. What immense strength must have been required—fromMartin, of all people, a man whose family had denied his worth again and again—to tell himself he deserved better. To leave, instead of blaming himself for his wife’s disdain and betrayal. To watch as his ex got engaged and moved his beloved daughter halfway across the country, and then uproot his entire life for one more year with that daughter.
How he could sit there by Rose’s side, holding her hand, full of so much love and kindness, she had no idea. He’d somehow managed to keep his heart open, even as the people he loved proceeded to damage it, one after the other.
He had to know. She had to say it.
“You’re a marvel, Martin Krause,” she told him. “Look at you. So many people you loved didn’t value you like they should have, but you’re still whole. Still loving and vulnerable and...amazing beyond words. A marvel, like I said.”
She was more than ready to elaborate, more than ready to listen if he wanted to share more. But in typical Martin fashion, he took the compliment and turned it around. Made it about her, when he deserved so much more recognition than he’d ever received.
Leaning forward, he shook her hand gently. “But that’s exactly what I wanted to say earlier. You’re so sure people will judge you for your past, and I don’t get it. Look atyou.” His gaze caressed every inch of her, from top to bottom. “Everything you are, you made yourself. I don’t understand why that isn’t a source of pride for you. Why you wouldn’t expect the people who matter to admire you for it, not criticize or judge you.”
Her back snapped straight in startled affront. “Iamproud of who I am. What I’ve become.”
“But you don’t trust anyone else to feel the same.” His brows rose. “Is that it?”
Somehow, he reallyhadturned this conversation around on her. And not in the sweet, safe way she’d originally envisioned. Now she was scrambling for answers, for justifications, for anything that would nudge this discussion back into calmer waters.
“I trust Annette and Alfred. I trust some of my college friends. I, uh”—she forced out the words—“trust you.”
That admission didn’t seem to be as big a revelation as she’d expected it to be. It certainly didn’t distract him from his intended point.
He gave his head a little shake, and his lips firmed in determination. “Then come to prom with me, Rose. Make our relationship public. Trust me not to hurt you. Trust me not to expose you to the judgment or ridicule of others.”
And there it was. They’d circled back around to the topic she’d been dreading. The topic they’d both carefully avoided, for fear of cracking a still-fragile connection.
It seemed that avoidance had ended.
Unfortunately, she still had no idea what to say.
When she didn’t respond, he continued. “If that’s asking too much right now, trust your own ability to handle scrutiny and brush off any unkindness you might experience. Especially since I’d have your back the entire time. I promise.”
Words. She needed words.
“I want…” Jesus, why was a direct statement about her emotions so fucking hard? “I want you. I want a relationship with you. More than you know. I’d just prefer our colleagues not find out about it.”
“For how long?” He wasn’t backing down, and she respected that, even as she feared what it meant for her. For them. “At what point would you be sure enough to risk exposure?”
She had no idea. None.
Before she could fumble through an inadequate answer, he continued speaking. Continued tearing her foundations out from under her, one by one, as she scrambled for balance.
The rare hint of anger in his voice had disappeared, leaving only tenderness and sadness, which were somehow much, much harder to take. “I don’t want to hide how I feel about you, and I’m too old and tired to sneak around for long, even to keep someone I want as much as you.” So gently, he smoothed her hair behind her ear. Stroked her cheek. “I get your scars, Rose. I respect them, and how you’ve chosen to deal with them. But I have scars of my own.”
Of course he did. Why hadn’t she considered them before, except as a source of rage on his behalf? Why hadn’t she understood how they’d shape her relationship with him?
He pressed a kiss to the bridge of her nose. Her temples. The center of her forehead. “Above all else, I need to be with someone who’s proud of me. Proud enough to claim me in public, rather than hiding me like a dirty secret.”
She’d never, ever considered him a dirty secret.
Her time with him, their relationship, was a jewel she’d wanted to protect from damage, to tuck into a box and keep safe. The same way she’d kept herself safe all these years.
He held her gaze, his steady and solemn. “I know it’s too soon. I know it’s not entirely rational of me to demand so much of you right now. But I am who I am. I need that public acknowledgment. I need to know the woman I love is proud to be with me.”
