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He asks, "How are we not equals? Explain this to me, pet."
My stomach flips. I tilt my head, confessing, "You held all the power. I had none."
"That's not true," he claims.
I softly laugh, mostly because of my nerves, insisting, "Yes, you did."
He grinds his molars, his chest rises and falls faster, and he studies me. More tension swirls around us, and goose bumps pop out on my skin.
He states, "Give me an example, because I'm not following you."
I hesitate, trying to figure out how to make him understand what I'm trying to say when I don't even understand it on some levels.
"Tell me," he pushes.
I finally answer. "Okay, my career is only because of you."
He jerks his head backward. "That's not true. You have your career because you have a special talent. You've earned it."
I shake my head. "No, I'm only where I am because you made it happen with Ears."
"Bullshit," Riggs barks out.
"Riggs—"
"So you're upset I introduced you to Ears. Seriously? I'm being punished because I introduced you to my good friend, who happens to be the number one person in the industry. Wow. This makes a ton of sense, Blakely."
I cover my face in frustration, groaning. "No, it's just… Ugh. This is all coming out wrong."
"Then how is it supposed to come out?" he sneers.
I stay quiet.
Riggs adds, "People get where they are in life based on who they know. And for your information, I wouldn't have ever talked to Ears about you if you didn't have the level of talent he requires."
I confess, "I'm not wording things correctly."
He studies me, clenching his jaw. Hurt covers his expression. "Well, maybe you should figure it out."
I attempt to explain again, asserting, "Riggs, I'm grateful for all you do for me. Really, I am. But I relied on you. If you see an issue, you fix it for me."
"Yeah, I do. I'm your husband. So why is that bad?" he seethes.
I put my hand on his knee. "I'm not saying it's bad. I just..." I release a stress-filled breath. I can't blame Riggs for being frustrated with me. I wish the words would form so we could move past this topic.
He demands, "Just what?"
I blurt out, "If you're always making things happen for me, solving all my problems, I'll never be your equal. This will always be a marriage where you are at a higher level than me."
He puts his hand over mine, softening his tone, asking, "Do you think for one minute I would've married you if I didn't think you were my equal?"
The question about why he married me rears its ugly head again. I try to push it down. I told myself yesterday I'd let it go, so why can't I?
He groans. "You're still questioning why I married you."
I squeeze a handful of sand, focusing on it.
"You told me you forgave me," he accuses.
