“That’s not the solution,” he says. “What do I have to do to you to make her inconsequential compared to me?”
If my research and reflecting thus far is right…I think he needs to mentally and emotionally abuse me for twenty-two years, never missing a single moment to remind me how he carried me in his womb for a grueling nine months whenever I mess anything up, even if I haven’t messed anything up yet.
My attention lowers to his midsection, the abs his tight shirt defines, and I… I think I have some bad news.
He drawls, “I’d have to have given birth to you, huh?”
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He sighs, cupping my face and making me look at him. “We’ll get through this. You’re not alone, Clara. You never have to deal with her alone, ever again.” Lifting my wrist, he presses the inkmark to his lips. “Mine. Remember? Whose name is on your skin?”
“Yours,” I say.
“And who’s allowed to own you?”
“You.”
“And why do you humor my nonsense?”
Because, I don’t say,you love me. In a way that actually looks like…love.
He chuckles at my silence, smiling and releasing me before he opens his door. “Come on, cupcake. We’ll handle Gothel later.”
