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"Just because there’s chemistry between us doesn’t mean anything. And just because I kiss you, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for everything you did."
His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "I’m sorry I crossed boundaries I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I upset you. I’m so sorry it’s causing you so much distress, but"—he swallows—"it helped ensure you were safe and well, and given a choice, I’d do it all over again."
I whip my face in his direction. "Are you hearing yourself? Have you crossed the line so many times that you can’t tell what’s right and wrong? Have you forgotten what it is to be a decent human being?"
"That, I never was." He laughs without humor.
"You were a priest and served your parish; you must have been a decent human being then."
"I was, and then I wasn’t."
"What do you mean?" I frown.
"I walked away from my faith. Then I turned my back on my best friend. I couldn’t face the fact the woman I thought I loved chose him over me. I was envious about their happiness. I was envious of them. That’s how far I had fallen."
"You were human."
"I couldn’t stand to see them together."
"Understandable."
"I hid away, hoping to get my life back together, but I flitted from one focus to another, until I saw you. I saw you and my world rightened."
"You…can’t tell me all this, Edward. It doesn’t make what you did right."
He blows out a breath. "Then tell me how to put it right, Mira, because I have no fucking clue how to make things up to you."
"You have to stop this entire tracking me and having eyes on me and following my every movement baloney, Ed."
He shakes his head. "I… I’m not sure I can do that."
"You have to." I set my jaw. "And you need to tell me why you feel compelled to shadow my every move. Why are you convinced I am in danger? Is it because of the incident?” I scrutinize his features. “Is that what’s making you paranoid about my safety enough to have me followed? Do you have to have eyes on me because that’s the only way you feel reassured?”
He squeezes his lips together. “I told you I need more time to tell you about what happened.”
He must see the disappointment on my features for he blows out a breath.
“Belle, I—” He rubs the back of his neck, “I want to tell you what happened. I swear, I do. And I will, I promise. Just give me a little time okay?”
A crushing sensation squeezes my ribcage. My shoulders feel heavy. I thought…he might make up for what he did by sharing more of himself. I refused to let him down in front of his family; I wouldn’t walk out on him or show my anger toward him in front of them. Did I do that because I wanted to use it as leverage against him? Maybe. I think a part of me hoped it would demonstrate goodwill and encourage him to trust me. Maybe it would put enough pressure on him to reveal the secrets from his past. But it didn't work.
I know I'm not being fair. I know how painful this must be for him. I'm sure whatever happened to him contributes to his need to watch over me at all times, but if he won't tell me anything, how can I understand his actions? Then there’s the fact he's been watching me for almost a year.
All this time, I've had a stalker, and I didn't even know it. And now that I do know, every rational bit of me is telling me to run away.
But there's another part of me saying I just need to listen to his explanation, and it will make sense. Maybe, it's not as creepy as it sounds. On the other hand, maybe, that's just wishful thinking. I'm just so overwhelmed, I don't know what to think… Or feel… Or do.
It's clear he cares about me, and he would never harm me. So that means he can't be a stalker, right? And sure, he wants me enough to take me to his place where he likes to hide out from the world, and he desires me enough to tie me up and mark me and fuck me. He’s protective enough to be my shadow and follow my movements. And even though he hasn't been able to say the words, it's obvious he loves me. Only, that's not enough for me.
I want to be a part of his life. I want to help him, but every time I try, he shuts me down. Perhaps, he does trust me. Maybe, he doesn’t want to talk about his past because his trauma is deep, and it will reopen old wounds to do so. He says he needs more time, which is understandable. I just need to be patient. Which I can’t be when I’m working in such close proximity to him, and falling more in love with him every day, and becoming impatient when he doesn’t open up to me. I need to find a way to get perspective on this situation.
"I need another job." I look away from him.
"No."
"I can’t work in such close proximity to you. Not when I’m trying to find a way to be patient and give you the time you need to come to terms with your past."
His jaw tics. "Your life is with me."
