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“That’s not what this is.”
I slowly withdraw my hand, the reality of his words filtering through my veins like a toxin. “I’m going to need you to spell it out for me, then. Whatisthis, in your mind?”
I see something flicker in his eyes—conflict. Angst. I wish I could tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling. It would be so damn easy for me to let the spikes come back out and do what I always do: retreat. But the fact is, I don’t want to. I want to stand my ground and make this work. I want Rowan to see that while we might have started things based on mutual attraction and nothing more, that our relationship—like me—has changed.
“This is...” He drags his gaze away from mine. “We’re having fun, right?”
“Yes, I’m having fun.” I don’t move a muscle. “I enjoy your company.”
“And I enjoy yours.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
He lets out a long slow breath. “I don’t want anything more than that.”
Even though I knew it was going to happen, the fissure in my heart splits even wider and the pain sears through me like a hot knife. I know this issue is his and not mine. For once in my life, IknowI’m enough...even if that won’t save what we have.
And that hurts like hell.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rowan
I’VENEVERTHOUGHTwords had a taste before, but these ones do. It’s like sour milk and something metallic and rusted. Unpleasant. Bitter.
It’s the taste of a lie.
Deep down underneath the baggage and the layers of protection I put in place, Idowant something more. I want her. All of her. Not just the sex and the snark, but the beautiful softness she has underneath. The vulnerability and her persistence and tenacity and all the other amazing qualities I’ve seen since the day I stumbled across her booth at the convention.
But last night proved something to me—I can’t take my eye off the prize. I can’t risk getting distracted and letting my mother’s dream die.
I refuse to let that happen.
And this is all a distraction—the paintings, Emery, thinking I might be able to have it all.
“At least have the decency to look me in the eye when you say that,” she says. “So the record will show that you lied straight to my face.”
Damn her. Damn this prickly, pushy woman who I never should have let get close to me. I thought she was safe. I thought she wasn’t looking for anything, either. I thought this could be a physical thing, and nothing more.
And now I’m tangled up by how much I love seeing her blossom and grow, how when she opens up it feels like the world is shining.
“Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re right, okay? I want you. I want this. I want to cook you stupid fucking crispy-skinned salmon and wake up with you in my arms and listen to all your dreams and ambitions and be there to cheer you on. Happy?”
“No.” She shook her head, electric blue hair flicking behind her. “How can I be happy knowing that we both want the same thing and yet it feels like we’re looking down the barrel of the end?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I have to choose, okay? Having it all is an illusion and I have to choose.”
“No, you don’t. Rowan, whatever you’re going through... I can help.” Her eyes are soft and pretty and I want to scream. How is she secretly so perfect? “I want to help.”
“Youcan’thelp.” It’s too much—the fear of losing her, the fear of failing my mother’s memory, the crushing sadness that still feels like a demon in my body five years on. I’m broken. Beyond repair.
And I don’t want to drag Emery down with me.
“Won’t you even let me try?” she asks.
“I don’t understand why you want to. Is the sexthatgood that you’re willing to put up with all this?”
“Please don’t reduce this to being about sex.” She presses her lips into a flat line. “You know it’s good.Iknow it’s good. But you didn’t show me these paintings because of sex. I didn’t tell you about my confidence problems because of sex. Don’t cheapen what we’ve shared.”
