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His eyes remained steady, unaffected by the romantic confession. “Define more.”
“Move in together, maybe?” I asked hopefully.
“You want to live with me?”
“Yeah…I would love that.”
“Alright.”
What…?“Alright what?”
“I asked you to move in with me, and you said yes.”
I’d missed it, assuming it was all hypothetical. “Really?”
“Really.”
“So, you do want more…” I felt the smile move on to my lips. “It’s kinda crazy to ask a woman to live with you when you don’t love her.”
“Who said I don’t?”
The smile left my face, and a tightness moved to my chest. I suddenly felt like I wasn’t getting enough air, like I was on the verge of a panic attack, but then it passed instantaneously and I felt a joyful calm. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Not the kind of guy to say such things. But I will say that I’ve loved you far longer than you’ve loved me.” He said it with a hard face, without an ounce of emotion. “I would have let you die if I didn’t.”
His words were beautiful in the beginning but had a horrible aftertaste. I’d chosen my father, a man who would have killed me, over the man who loved me enough to sacrifice his whole world.
He must have seen the distress in my face because he said, “It’s in the past. Let it go.”
“It’s hard…”
“I have.” His fingers slid into my hair, and he kissed me on the forehead. “I’ve forgiven you. Forgive yourself.”
I didn’t have a lot of things to pack.
The furniture would be donated because Bartholomew’s apartment was already furnished. I’d only been there a few times and spent most of my time in his bedroom, but I could tell all his belongings were designer-level and custom-made. My table from IKEA had no business there.
So it was just my clothes.
And I hada lotof clothes.
I began the process of putting everything into boxes as they still hung on the hangers. I went through my keepsakes, old photo albums of my family when life was good. My mom was beautiful and my dad seemed happy.
But who knows if he’d ever been happy a day in his life.
My apartment door opened, and heavy boots thudded on the floor.
“In here.” I sat on the bedroom floor, my stuff scattered everywhere, a stack of fold-up boxes leaning against the wall.
Bartholomew rounded the corner, dressed in his signature black, and looked at me from the doorway.
“I hope you have room in your closet for all these clothes.”
“I do.”
“Good. Because I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
The corner of his lips quirked up in a smile before he took a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall, his arms resting on his knees. “When do you think you’ll be ready?”
