Page 120 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I meet his hazel eyes, and even as I speak the words that I know will hurt him, I try to memorize every facet of his face, every beloved feature. There is that small faded scar again, the one I’ve traced with my lips so many times. There is the tiny freckle on his right ear that I will never again kiss.

“This was a beautiful college romance.”

In the silence that stretches between us as he stares at me, incredulously, I let all the words I cannot say flow through me.

You, Lucas Sebastian Murray, are the love of my life.

You are my soulmate, even though neither of us believes in such fanciful nonsense.

And if there truly is such a thing as one’s soul, every bit of mine will crave every particle of yours until I am no more.

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

I almost smile. Clever Lucas, who knows exactly what question to ask. My breathing turns a bit shallow because logic to logic, brain to brain, I don’t know whether I can outwit him. But if I can make him angry . . .

I make my voice deliberately calm, almost gentle. “You remember when we first met?”

“Of course.”

“From the first day we became teammates—” I hold up a hand when it looks like he’s about to reach for me. Gentle Lucas, who’s been brought up to respect women, to honor all boundaries. “I told you that what I cared about . . . was money.”

“That was almost two years ago.”

“When a person shows you who they are . . .” I start. I know I don’t need to finish. “You have a fledgling startup, some beginning funding. But there’s no guarantee there, no promise that the nights of ramen and ten-dollar dates will ever end.” I see the way this half-truth lands, the way he flinches. “My father’s approval, my engagement to Tatum, gives me access to financial security now. Today. Not some tenuous potential of a promise a few months or even a few years from now.”

More truthfully? My financial situation won’t change. Beatrice wasn’t able to negotiate more than Caltech tuition without arousing suspicions: My father believes I’ll graduate in two years, that I’ll be working for him, drawing an admirable salary.

Requesting an additional allowance for me would have been suspicious.

Besides, I remind myself as I watch Lucas crumple in front of me, sitting on the edge of our bed and placing his head in both hands, I will have the blessed relief of knowing everyone I love is protected.

A minute passes.

Two.

Finally, Lucas looks up, his eyes already bloodshot. “The startup has two years of funding, maybe three. It won’t be diamonds and mansions right away, but . . .” He licks his lips. “There’s always a chance I could go back to Eluva. They’ve kept in touch, and I can adapt. If it’s a dealbreaker for you⁠—”

“Stop.” I can feel a tangible, physical ache as he speaks, and I interrupt him before he can continue, before he can make himself even more vulnerable. I feel every bit the to seoi gaa, the albatross, weighing him down. I make sure to maintain eye contact as I ask, “Don’t you think you deserve someone who would choose you despite the lack of diamonds and mansions?”

He closes his eyes briefly. “I would give up anything for you. I would give up everything.”

I shake my head against the truth of his words. There are tears streaming down his face now, and again, the need to reach for him, to ask him to solve the problem with me, or to at least wait for me, is almost debilitating. There is a metallic taste in my mouth that tells me I’ve drawn blood, but I stay rooted to where I am.

Lucas looks at me, hazel eyes holding my gaze. “Am I really not enough?”

I let out a shaky laugh because it won’t be a lie.

Lucas almost never allows himself to ask questions like this, questions where the answer is ambiguous.

“No.”

No is the truth. The double negative. No, you are not really . . . not enough.

But also? No hides my lie. Because as long as he doesn’t stop to think about it, he’ll believe I’m agreeing with him. That he is not enough.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.