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I can do this.
I can be mature about this.
Falling in love with my husband didn’t blow my brains out.
I’m still Asia.
I still analyze and research.
I still have eyes and a brain.
“One of those women is potentially pregnant with your baby and you didn’t tell me for several days. You lied to me and would have continued to do so until it was convenient.”
He doesn’t combat that one.
“And now you're asking me to put my trust in you when all the facts point to me getting hurt again if I do that.”
He pins his lips together. Glances away.
It’s tearing him up.
I can see it.
And it softens me.
I let the shields down.
Let myself be vulnerable.
“Why should I trust you?” I whisper urgently. “Why should I, Hansley?”
I wait.
For him to tell me that he loves me.
That he loves me.
Only.
Just me.
That his heart won’t change.
Not now. Not ever.
They’re just words.
They don’t mean much, but they’re something.
Tell me you love me, Hansley.
But he doesn’t.
His jaw tightens and his eyes harden.
And I realize that we’ve switched roles. Now that I want him to beg for me, to fight for me, he’s given up.
I know because he’s wearing the same fractured expression that he wore when he was telling me about his mother. The curse echoes in his eyes. I’m just like my father.
