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“Damn it, Emilia. That’s not fair. I never left. I was run out of town. I had no choice, just like you.” He shot from his chair, the entire thing falling back and slamming to the dry dirt behind him, sending out a small plume of dust.
He turned and stormed away a few paces. More silence came. His stance excluded her from gauging the reactions on his face.
Once more, he left her alone with their past and her guilt.
“So you’re married?” His back remained to her, like the only way he could ask that question was if he didn’t have to look at her.
She gave a small. “Yes.”
This time, he spun around. His eyelids flared in a way that said she wounded him yet again. “Then why come on this date? What was with the last few days of jealousy and drama?” His voice echoed across the field, and she flinched at the semi-manic laugh that escaped him, his hand dragging through his hair. “Why give me hell over Sarah if you’re the one who’s already taken?”
Her mouth wavered, in part because she knew she deserved his rage. And still, rage, no matter how many times she witnessed it, turned her tummy rock-hard and brought an instant debilitating ache to her chest. “I…”
“Say something.” He barked out the order.
She flinched again, and her mind blanked. She wanted to answer him but simply couldn’t.
“Nothing makes sense.” He strode forward and stood over her, voice still lifted, so she buried her back deeper into her chair, trying to hide.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to think.” He leaned in. “Tell me!”
“Stop yelling at me!” This time her voice was the one to shatter the field’s peace.
She jumped to her feet, shoving both hands at his chest just to get him out of her space.
To his credit, he did move, his face falling slack like he hadn’t expected her retaliation. Well, good!
“I’m so sick of men yelling, and ordering, and getting so damn uppity every time I fall short of expectations.” She gave him a searing glare and backed up even more. “You call us the ‘hysterical’ sex, but look at you.” She thrust a hand out in his direction. “Every single one of you is a goddamn mess too.”
Holy cannoli… Did she just say, “damn” followed by “goddamn”? Each of her dead Roman Catholic ancestors would be rolling in their graves…
Blaine’s gaze flicked over her like he didn’t quite know what to make of her reaction. He didn’t seem angry at least, just… confused?
Something shifted in her chest, and her temper cooled a little.
“My marriage was hell, okay?” Not that she’d never mentioned her bad marriage before. Time and time again when she had, she’d been told to stop complaining, to put on a brave face, to “adjust” to her misery because she was probably at fault for everything wrong in her life.
“You really want to know why I came to Harlow? I filed divorce papers, Blaine. I didn’t lie. I’m free to do whatever I want now, okay? Including dating. And if you must know, I left LA to get away from him.”
Blaine worked his jaw from side to side, grinding his teeth as though that might bring about his next thought. “And let me guess, your dad and Anthony don’t so much agree about you leaving?”
“I ran, Blaine.” She wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her voice. “I planned as best as I could. I hadn’t figured on leaving so soon, but the night before I left Anthony and I got in a fight, and I couldn’t stay any longer. So, I ran the very next morning.”
It hurt to look at him while relaying this, but she did so, anyway. She needed him to understand. Needed him, and everyone else, to just go easy on her for a while. “I’d decided on Harlow weeks before I left LA and sent an email to Frank and Maureen about renting the cottage the night Anthony and I fought. I had no idea my escape would lead to you. You have to believe me, Blaine, I didn’t set out to hurt you.”
The strain across his face dropped, the hard line of his jaw easing. “That fight you got into with Anthony.” He jutted his chin toward her hand still wrapped across her body. “Is that why you arrived in town with busted knuckles? Did he hurt you?”
She didn’t need to peer down at her hand to know those cuts and bruises had mostly healed by now, so she merely peered ahead for a moment and gave Blaine a shaky nod. “He tried to touch me that night and I said, ‘no’.”
“Emilia.” Blaine’s voice was husky, and he took a step forward.
She held a hand out, signaling for him to stop. “Let me finish. Maybe you need to hear this part of my story, and maybe I need to tell it too.”
