Page 109 of Sweet Ruin

“In the pantry. And again in your bakery. I told you what I would do if you said it a third time.”

“If I did what…?”

He crosses the floor. He doesn’t storm this time. He simply walks, in no hurry, until he’s close enough that I have to tip my head back.

And then closer than that, so my back finds the edge of the pressing table and there’s nowhere left for me to go.

My heart starts going hard against the bones of the dress.

“Disrespecting yourself. A beanbag chair? You cannot be serious.”

“It was a joke,” I protest.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. It was the cruel things that other people have flung at you, repurposed as self-defense. But you bleed exactly the same when you cut yourself open just so no one else does it instead, Lilah. I won’t tolerate that.” He’s closer. Closer. Closer. His eyes are burning fire now. “Who was it? Your mother, your sister, your husband?”

I lick my dry lips. “All of the above, I guess. It was kind of a group project.”

“And you’re still doing their work for them, even after you threw them out of your life?” He doesn’t move an inch. “Why?”

I don’t answer. How could I? There’s nothing to say.

“Look at me, sladkaya.”

I look at him. That, it turns out, is a mistake. Up close, in this light, those eyes are downright unfair. So is his scent. He’s cold air and woodsmoke and cedar, and he’s radiating heat that seeps into my skin.

“We’re not going any further tonight,” he says, “until you say it correctly.”

“Say what correctly?”

“‘I am not too much.’“

That’s it? That’s so simple. That’s five pitiful little words. They’re one syllable each, for goodness’s sake!

… So why can’t I say them?

My mouth is open and my throat is working, but no sound is coming out.

Say it, dummy, I scold myself. How hard can it be?

I.

Am.

Not.

Too.

Much.

A kindergartener could do it. Why can’t I?

Kane’s hand floats up. It’s as if he wants to touch my face but he won’t let himself, so his fingertips stay just half an inch away. “There is nothing wrong with you, Lilah. You are not damaged goods. You are not broken. You are not wrong. You are not too much.”

My eyes sting. “This is stupid.”

“Then say it and be done with it.”

“You’re really going to make me?”