Page 83 of Worth Loving You

It never failed, I always laid my worth on the number of pounds I registered on a scale. Within a few months of moving in with me, Jennifer had been begging for us to go on a cruise together. I had always been able to afford it, barely, but I had avoided it time and again because my mind went to my weight, picturing me sitting on an airplane in those cramped seats, wondering if the showers in the cabin on the boat would be big enough for me, terrified of wearing a bathing suit and being embarrassed that I’d be the only one onboard wearing jeans.

I had denied myself pleasures because I was ashamed of my weight. Now I had a man who delighted in the very thing I always condemned myself for. Milo liked that I was fat. It turned him on. He truly loved every inch.

Did I love him as a person, or because he was willing to accept me when I couldn’t accept myself? Was I seeking validation from him to pep my ego?

My emotions rising, the back of my nose burned, my eyes watering. I focused on the times he wasn’t buying me things, when we were pawing at one another, and he wasn’t showing me off. Recalling the times we just laid in bed, staring into one another’s eyes in silence, the times we cuddled on the sofa and watched movies together…the times he sat up and held me, rocking me when I woke up from my nightmares of my stepfather.

He was the biggest supporter I had ever had, encouraging me to start my own business, lighting a fire in my soul to strive for something I could call my own, planting seeds of motivation.

I thought about the times we strolled around Chicago, the city buzzing around us at a fast pace, while we leisurely ambled about, holding hands, making plans for our future. While everyone else was rushing from one place to the next, we took our time, no destination set, just enjoying one another’s presence.

My heart ached, a tear trickling down my cheek. I was in love with Milo. If he lost every dime to his name and became penniless, I would still want to be right by his side.

I loved him and he hurt me so goddamn badly the night before. Why her? Didn’t he have enough lovers? If he needed a new one, why my best friend?

He promised he was cutting ties with all his affairs. Could I believe him? Did I dare take that risk again? For months, he snuck around behind my back with Jennifer. For months, he’d promised to use protection and hadn’t been. He was playing Russian Roulette with my life. How did I believe his words?

How did I trust in a man who was lying to me about who he was, about his complete identity? What if Wyatt wasn’t lying, and he was part of the mafia? That was huge! That was a major piece of information hidden from me. There was no way I could trust him.

The pattering of bare feet on the floor drew me out of my thoughts. My sight adjusted in the glass when the light in the kitchen flipped on, illuminating the area.

It was Wyatt. He was wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else, scratching at the side of his head while yawning. Opening the fridge, he took out the orange juice, turned around, and jolted.

“Holy fuck!” he shouted, slamming the container on the island.

I wanted to laugh that, for once, he was the one startled, but there wasn’t much to find humor in at the moment. I was exhausted with all the thoughts crammed in my skull.

Standing upright, he swung open a cabinet and got a glass, pouring the juice in it. I couldn’t see the details of his face, but I could feel his sight on me as he put the container back in the fridge.

“You okay?” he asked just before taking a sip.

“How long have you known Milo?”

“Since the day he was born.”

My brows lifting, I craned my neck to peer at him. “How old are you?”

“Forty.”

“You’ve known him your whole life, yet thought last night on the subway was okay?”

He took a sharp inhale, turning his profile to me. Lifting the glass, it hovered in front of his mouth for a few seconds before he took a sip.

“Let me clear something up. I’ve known Milo since he was born. My father was his father’s right-hand man. I was raised to shadow him. I was never, ever meant to be anything other than his guard. That was my purpose, why I was born.”

My lip puckered, feeling a sense of loneliness and sadness from the tone of his voice. If everything he said was true, how dismal had his upbringing been? Knowing from an early age he had no choice in who or what he wanted to be. He was trapped.

“I have a lot of respect for him. The man’s a genius and excellent at what he does. But I also hate him at times. He’s arrogant and self-centered and—”

“Narcissistic.”

He set the glass on the island, pressing his palms wide to lean forward. His head tipped, he stared somberly. “He’s basically my brother. I would give my life for him, and not just because that’s what I’ve been trained for since I was five. When most kids are running around playgrounds, playing, I was standing in the corner of that playground, watching a three-year-old, making sure the bigger kids didn’t bully him, making sure he didn’t fall off the swings or get hurt on the teetertotter. That’s how I grew up,” he barked, slamming a palm to his bare chest.

I bowed my head, picturing an innocent little boy watching everyone play while he couldn’t. He could never play, never be free, never enjoy life. No wonder he was so moody and grouchy. He had no idea how to relax.

“Milo has his faults.” He stood up straight and retrieved his glass. Bringing it to his mouth, he grumbled, “Especially where women are concerned.”

Turning to face him, I twirled my hair around a finger, my stomach shaking with apprehension. “He promised last night to let all his affairs go if I forgive him.”