Page 80 of The Mister I Married

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she turned away and began to pace the well-made but weathered Turkish rug.

Her brother cared for her, and he was only here because he was worried, but that did not mean she welcomed his interference.

Telling him so would be a waste of time, though. He was a grotesquely stubborn man, and she knew him well enough to know he would not leave until he had an answer. One he deemed satisfactory.

“I suppose I did run away,” she finally admitted quietly. “I suppose I felt I had to, though I am not certain you would understand why.”

“Let me try.”

She drew in a breath and faced him, searching for the right words to illustrate her feelings. “Marriage does not impact a man the way it does a woman. A man may do as he pleases and go where he likes, much the same as he did before he was wed. It is not the same for women. We do not have your freedoms.”

Griffin straightened, a scowl falling over his face. “Are you telling me Whitcomb is exerting his control over you? That he’s—” His mouth clamped closed, his gaze hardening. “Is he mistreating you?”

“No. No. Alex would never hurt me.”

Some of the tension left her brother’s shoulders and he nodded, evidently satisfied with her answer. “Then what are you trying to tell me, Em?”

She puffed out a sigh. “I am trying to say that men have all the power. That in my marriage, my husband has all the power, and I suppose I thought that if I kept my distance, maybe I could keep my heart, and then at least he would not have all of me. At least a little part of me would still belong only to me.”

Griffin watched her for a moment, as if digesting her words, and then said, “You’re right about one thing: the power imbalance between wives and husbands is absolute, and unfair. But I think you underestimate your husband, Em. And what it means to be loved.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I do.”

“Emmy—”

She held a hand up, cutting off his words. “No. Please. I don’t want to talk anymore tonight. I’m tired, and I just want to sleep.”

He nodded, his face softening, though there was clearly more he wished to say. “Of course. I’ll leave you now, only—if you do want someone to talk to, remember that I’m always here for you. I just want you to be happy, Em.”

“I know,” she said, mustering a small smile. “And thank you.”

Her brother left her then to return to his wife, leaving Emmy alone again in her cozy rented room.

And as she lay in bed some time later, staring up at the ceiling from beneath a heap of blankets, she waited for the contentment to come. But it never did.