Nate opens the locket and hands it to me. On one side, there’s a photo of his parents, young and bright-eyed. His mom was beautiful, while his father looks nothing like the man I met today.
On the other side is a photo of us from a few weeks ago, his arm around me, both of us smiling, our feelings evident on both of our faces.
Something inside of me permanently cracks.
“I love you, Iris.” He says, with a sweet smile that I can’t match. “I know we haven’t been together long, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and—”
My vision blurs. Staring down at the happy photo of us.
It’s not real. You don’t know. You wouldn’t say that if you knew.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head until I look up and see the hurt and confusion flickering across his face.
I can’t do this. But I can’t not do it either.
Love? Marriage?
He doesn’t even know who I am.
“Nate…” I brush my thumb over the photo of us.
I don’t belong there.
“Oh,” he responds quietly, like he’s figured something out.There’s a crease between his eyebrows, and his lips are tugging down in a frown.
He thinks I’m rejecting him.
“I love it,” I rush out, reaching for his cheek and tilting his face up. “It’s beautiful, Nate. And I’m touched that you want to give me something so special to you.” I place the locket back into his hands. “But I need you to hold onto it for me.”
“You don’t want it?” He asks, hurt in every line of his face. I hate that I’m putting that look there. My heart is shattering, but I have to get this out.
“I do,” I reassure. “But I can’t accept it. Not until you know everything.”
His gaze snaps back up to meet my eyes, the hurt changing into worry. “Everything?”
The word hangs between us like a blade, sharp and heavy with the weight of what I haven’t said. With what’s going to happen to us after he finds out the truth.
But he deserves the truth.
“Can we sit?” I ask, gesturing toward the couch.
He nods, following me to the couch. The cushions dip with his weight, the heat of his body radiating through me. I lace my fingers together, twisting them in my lap the way I always do when my nerves are too much.
“Hey,” Nate murmurs. His big, calloused hand covers mine, stilling my anxious fidgeting. It’s such a simple gesture, one he’s done a hundred times before.
But tonight, I flinch.
His hand freezes. “Iris?”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t touch me. Not right now.”
The silence that follows is crushing, and when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You don’t want me to touch you?”
The pain in his voice cuts through me. I want him to touch me more than anything, but I don’t want to feel him pull away in disgust.
My heart can’t take that.
His hand drops to his knee, fingers curling tight. “I don’t— I don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “Did I do something wrong?”
