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When there’s still no reply, I push open the door to his bedroom and enter. A bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. The sound of the water running reaches me. I walk past the bed and toward the open door of the bathroom. It doesn’t even occur to me to stop. I should leave, but my legs don’t heed the warning.
I slip inside the bathroom, and the heat surrounds me, embraces me, seduces me…leads me to where he’s standing in the shower, fully clothed. One fist is pressed into the wall; the other arm hangs by his side. His head is bent. The water drips down his hair and plasters his clothes to his back, his butt, his thighs. I step into the shower, and he still doesn’t notice me. His shoulders bunch; a shudder runs down his spine.
Is he… Nope, not possible. He’s not… He can’t be crying, can he?As I watch, he raises his fist and smashes it into the wall. The muffled crack splits the air.
"Ed, stop."
62
Edward
One second, the pain squeezes up my arm; the next, she’s there. She slips into the space in between me and the wall of the shower cubicle, wraps her fingers around my wrist and urges me to lower my arm.
"Why did you do that?" She surveys the reddened skin over my knuckles. "Why did you hurt yourself?"
"I hurt you." I try to pull my hand from hers, but she holds on; and while I’m stronger than her physically… Emotionally, this woman is my rock. I’ve come to depend on her in ways I never thought were possible. I’ve come to need her for her sunshine, her warmth, the way she shines a light in the dark crevasses of my soul. How she illuminates the secrets of my past, treats me with compassion, and brings them to the front of my mind. She forced me to look in the mirror, to acknowledge the man I’ve become—bitter, unscrupulous, one without a conscience. One not above resorting to unethical means to get what he wants. A man who is the opposite of everything I ever hoped to be. A man who wants to stay true to his calling, to his vow to serve the greater good. Only, I hadn’t faced the ghosts of my past.
Not until she processed all the wrong I’d done her and decided, shockingly, not to walk out on me.
Not until she reminded me—with the goodness of her nature, her generosity, her magnanimity, her kindness of spirit—to see the positive, the good in everyone and in any situation.
By being herself, she reflected back to me how in the wrong I was… I still am. How I shouldn’t have let my ego get the better of me and twisted the circumstances around her to force her into this marriage with me. "I’m so sorry, Belle."
She looks up at me, and when our gazes hold, that chemistry between us heats up. The air grows thick, the heat in the air pushing down on us.
"Ed"—she swallows—"please don’t punish yourself like this."
"I deserve all of this, and more, for how I changed the course of your life. You should have had the freedom to choose who you wanted to be with."
"That choice was never mine to make. Not when I was headed for an arranged marriage anyway. At least, I knew you…somewhat. I suppose, it was the lesser of evils."
I wince. "Why didn’t you rebel? Why didn’t you tell your father you could choose the man you were going to marry?"
"I thought about it. Perhaps, if I’d met someone else, someone I wanted to be with, I would have, but from the moment I saw you, there was this attraction, this longing, this need to be with you. And when I found out you were my arranged match, I thought all the stars were aligning. I didn’t realize you’d manipulated things to look that way."
"Belle—"
She places her fingers on my lips. "And even now, after I found out just how much you engineered things so you could marry me… When I should hate you and want you out of my life, all I can think of is how much I miss you. I’m such a loser."
"You’re not."
"I hate myself."
"But I love you."
Her gaze widens.
"I’ve wanted to tell you so many times over the past week, but I couldn’t bring myself to. You…my wife, are far more courageous than I am. You’re able to speak your mind, unlike me. You’re able to share how you feel, while I… When it comes to the stuff that matters in life, turns out, I’m not the man I thought I was."
"But you are, Eddie. I don’t know what the incident did to you, but I know it couldn’t have been easy. And yet, you picked yourself up and moved on. You survived. You lost the woman you thought was meant to be your soulmate—"
"She’s not; you are." I cup her cheek. "You’re everything I prayed for all through those years when I was a priest."
She frowns.
"Oh, I don’t mean I prayed to find a soulmate. But I prayed for peace, for a way to still the thoughts that never allowed me to sleep, the images from my past that haunt me. I asked for a way to release the hurt, the pain, the sorrow. And the only time I find any measure of stillness is when I’m with you."
The water pours down over the both of us. Her hair sticks to her forehead, long strands plastered to her cheek. I reach behind her and shut off the shower. The silence envelops us, punctuated by the drip-drip-drip of the last remaining drops of water. Then that, too, cuts out.
