Some of her ire deflates as she stares up at me with glassy eyes. “But I’m not your wife, Warrick, and I want to work. I can’t live here and just let you take care of me, because if I do, I might as well accept that I ran away from being sold for sex, and instead I’ve ended up exchanging sex for a house, a refrigerator full of food, and some beautiful clothes. I’m not for sale, Warrick.”
Her words hit like a sledgehammer to the gut. “You think I’m trying to buy you?”
Tears roll down her cheeks. “You already did.”
Disgusted that she feels this way, I turn away from her and leave the room, choosing to give her my back for the first time since we met. Going downstairs, I open the refrigerator and concentrate on food, pulling out eggs, ham, and cheese. After a couple of minutes she follows me, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Neither of us speaks while I make us omelets, and by the time I’ve set the table and we sit down, side by side, I still have no idea what to say.
“What time is your interview?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.
“One p.m.,” she says quietly.
“Okay.”
This isn’t how I expected this day to go. In my mind, I’d envisioned twenty-four hours of nothing but naked debauchery,but instead, the woman I love and want to marry thinks my desire to take care of her is actually me trying to buy sex. She thinks I’m no fucking better than the asshole strip club-owning pimp, who wanted to sell her by the hour.
It’s nearly eleven forty-five by the time I collect the plates and carry them into the kitchen. “You should get ready for your interview,” I tell her without looking at her.
“Warrick,” she starts, but I turn my back on her again, concentrating on loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
Once the kitchen is clean, I slowly climb the stairs and step into our bedroom. Verity is sitting on the floor in front of the mirror doing something to her hair. Carefully stepping around her, I pull jeans, a shirt, and some socks from the closet and get dressed, then leave the room.
Thirty minutes later, I hear the sound of her feet on the stairs and force myself to look at her. She looks beautiful in a pair of slim black pants and a white T-shirt. Part of me wants to go to her, to muss her hair and kiss her for long enough that her lips are sexily pink and swollen, but instead I get to my feet, grab my car keys from the bowl by the front door, and hold the door open while she looks up at me with sad, doe eyes.
“If you really don’t want me to do this, I won’t,” she whispers, pausing in front of me.
“You’ll be late if we don’t leave now,” I say, looking toward the car and waiting for her to step outside.
The car ride into town is full of strained silence. I want to say something to reassure her, but what the fuck do you say when the woman you love believes that you are actively trying to buy her?
Slowing to a stop on the street outside the ranger’s office, I kill the engine and exhale shakily. “Good luck,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry—” she starts.
Shaking my head, I stop her. “We can talk later, but first you need to go and ace your interview.”
“Warrick,” she whimpers.
“Do you have your cell?”
She nods.
“Do you want me to wait for you, or would you rather call me when you’re done?”
“I don’t mind. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be.”
“I’ll go grab a cup of coffee then. Call me when you’re ready for me to swing by and pick you up.”
“Okay,” she whispers, sounding miserable.
Sucking in a breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again and turn to look at her. Pinching her chin between my finger and thumb, I press a chaste kiss against her lips. “You’ve got this. Go and show them they’d be an idiot not to offer you the job on the spot.”
Inhaling shakily, she nods, her eyes watery and a little lost.
Unable to help myself, I lean forward and kiss her again, then I let her go and watch as she opens her door and climbs out. When she pushes into the ranger’s office, I can’t help feeling like I’ve lost her.
Starting my Jeep, I drive around the corner to the coffee shop and park. Climbing out, I order myself a coffee, then take a seat at one of the bistro tables on the sidewalk, and sip at it while I try not to worry about how I’m going to fix this fucked-up mess.
I love Verity. I want to marry her and to give her everything that her heart desires, but she just imploded our entire relationship, and I don’t know how to even begin to fix it.
