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“Yes, it is. You don’t need to be shackled to a damaged old man who’s never had a real relationship in his life. I’ll never allow it. I’ll live in misery for the rest of my life before I allow it.”
“Oh my God, Arthur.” I’m torn between indignation and a ridiculously swoony wave of excitement.
Because I had an idea of what was prompting Arthur’s decline, but I hadn’t realized his feelings for me were so serious.
It’s clear he doesn’t only want to kiss me. He wants a lot more.
“You’ve worked yourself up into a laughable melodrama here.”
He shoots me a narrow-eyed glare.
“Don’t give me that look. If you’d take even the slightest step back, you’d see how it’s all gotten exaggerated in your mind. You’re not an old man, and I’m just as damaged as you are.”
“You are n—”
“Yes, I am. Everyone is damaged in their own way. It doesn’t mean we don’t deserve love. It doesn’t mean we can never be happy.”
He’s staring down at the fire again. Says between his teeth, “I’m not going to do that to you, Scarlett.”
With a stifled groan, I mentally sort through options, then say matter-of-factly, “Fine. You don’t have to kiss me again. You can at least talk to me.”
He blinks, clearly taken by surprise. He turns his head slowly.
“We don’t have to do anything else. Why can’t we at least be friendly like we were before?”
“Because every time you’re close to me, I want to drag you to bed and bury myself inside you. I can’t keep my hands off you. If we talk, I’m going to eventually turn it into something more.”
My cheeks burn. My breath hitches. “Well... um... that’s okay then. I won’t mind if you feel the need to do that.”
He frowns.
I reach over and gently pull the whiskey glass out of his hand. “You’ve probably had enough of this.”
“It was just my first.”
This time I’m the one surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t drink much. Not after my dad.”
His dad would occasionally get drunk and hit him. That’s what he told me. Of course he’s not going to want to do anything that reminds him of that.
“Well, still. You don’t need the drink. You need some fresh air.” I stand up, reaching down to give one of his arms a little tug.
He doesn’t move. “I don’t need fresh air. I need to be left alone.”
“You’re acting like a child in a pout, and it’s not like you at all. Let’s take a walk.”
He growls low in his throat. “Scarlett, go the fuck away.”
I stare down at him, suddenly hit with a blinding realization.
I’ve been waiting for him to explode. Lose control of his temper. Let loose in anger and frustration. My father never hit me, but he was fiery, and when he was angry, he got very loud. He would snap and yell at me, and I’d be totally cowed, crying in my room until the following day when we would both pretend it never happened.
A little part of me has been waiting for Arthur to snap in the same way, but it’s not going to happen. Even in anger, he’s under control.
He’s never going to yell at me. He’s never going to cow me. He’s never going to make me feel as helpless as my father did.
Even right now, at his worst, he makes me strong.
