Page 71 of Sweet Heart

I know I’m begging. I can hear it, but I don’t care. Not when it comes to her. I just need to understand why she is so upset. Galas are a tedious way to spend your evenings. Surely, she knows this.

“Amor, please…”

My voice gets higher and higher. Even though her back is turned to me, I can see her flinch, and my body goes as rigid as hers. It feels like the temperature has just dropped ten degrees, and I’m standing with my back against the wall. She’s crying, right in front of my eyes, and I can’t do anything to console her because I am the reason. Think, Katherina. Fix this!

“It isn’t about the gala, is it?” I whisper, and her shoulders start to shake. “Maria, talk to me. I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

The small sob that leaves her is so fragile that the sound feels like a sharp knife plunging into my chest. Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she finally turns toward me. I go completely still when I see her tear-stained face and searching eyes, as if I am glued to the ground. She jerks a little as if she wants to pull away from me before she crashes into me and buries her face in my shoulder. My hands instantly come around her. One against the small of her back and the other cradling her head.

I feel her warm tears against my neck, and her body is shaking from how hard she is sobbing. She is gripping my shirt so hard that the fabric creaks and strains against my chest, but I couldn’t care less. Even if she’d rips it all to shreds, as long as it means she holds on to me like this, choosing to stay with me, it will be more than worth it.

Her sobs slowly turn into hiccups, and her grasp loosens slightly before she leans back a little. Her skin is so pale that it’s nearly see-through, her eyes are red-rimmed, and her lip is still trembling, but she is here.

“Hey,” I whisper, dipping my head slightly to meet her gaze.

“Hi,” she answers in a voice so raspy it hurts to even hear.

I pull her against me again and kiss the top of her head, breathing in the fresh, clean smell of her hair. Something she calls Marseille soap.

“You are shaking,” she murmurs, and I am surprised to find that I am.

“So are you,” I retort, but there is no humor in it. “What just happened?”

“I… I…” she starts and stops, her muscles clenching under my fingertips.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You are safe here.”

“Do you?”

The words fly out of her so fast that she gasps in horror before they can even land with me. Her eyes widen and she bites the inside of her cheek as her eyes flash over my face. I can only shake my head in confusion.

“Do I what?”

“Have me?” Her voice is small and tight, like a mouse’s squeak, but her eyes keep searching my face.

It takes a beat before the meaning of the question dawns on me, and this time I am the one who flinches. The short spasm of my body makes me jerk backward and gasp for air. I nearly lose my balance while I try to make sense of what she is asking.

“Maria,” it comes out more breath than voice, and her whole face crumbles.

I reach for her, wanting nothing more than to take her face in my hands, but I am no longer sure if that’s what she wants, too. My hand hovers in midair, and my chest tightens.

“Why?” I whisper, almost unable to keep myself standing.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the gala?” she asks again.

Confusion floods my system and I can only blink at her.

“¿Cómo? ¿Por qué sigues preguntándome sobre—”

“In English, please.”

She lowers her eyes, and I feel myself get cold. So very cold.

“It… it…” I stammer as I try to find the words, my mind racing but my voice unable to catch up. “The gala is a… a work thing. A charity event. They are tedious, and—”

“And you don’t want to bring me.”

She says it as if it is a final conclusion. Her hands fall to her sides like dead weight.