What if I find love and it’s not enough?
What if I’m not enough?
LOVE, the kind that eclipses lowercase and blares with the wattage of a Broadway marquee, dogs my steps like Eurydice. Longing threatens to choke me with every breath. But I’m terrified if I ever attempt to search for it, I’ll turn and find out the truth— it’s not there and never will be.
So, I don’t look, and I keep on pretending.
But sometimes… Sometimes I can almost believe it, especially when Lincoln looks at me.
Maybe that’s why faking it with Lincoln isn’t easy anymore. Everything he does fills the gap, but I have to keep reminding myself it’s not real.
When it isn’t a show for his family, it’s a study for his work or practice for his dream girl.
And I agreed to it. Hell, I started it. It wasn’t Lincoln’s foot getting lodged in my mouth at the ball, getting into this mess. It wasn’t Lincoln who said too much at the restaurant and led Kyle to blackmailing him.
This is my own fault.
Just like in school. Just like every other time I’ve slipped on my own imagination and fallen head-over-heels into a fantasy.
Limerence is a hell of a drug.
Which is why I need to put an end to this. As soon as the weekend is over, I’m going to bow out. Curtain call, no reprises, no encores. Done.
I want the steel in his voice when he fights for me, the gentleness in his eyes when he’s reassuring me, the strength of his desire when he’s kissing me.
I want his slow wake-ups and sly grins and undivided attention.
I want the overboard gifts and poetic seductions and the grip of his hand in mine.
I want, I want, I want.
It’s all I’ve known since we met, an endless sea of want that might drown me if he wasn’t keeping me afloat.
Wanting has always been easier than having.
Wanting requires nothing but an object of desire. It’s fulfilling, an act of giving over to myself, of finding every gap in my heart and pouring myself into it until the emptiness is less noticeable.
Havingrisks everything.
It takes holding out all the soft, fragile parts and saying “This is me” and “I’m yours,” knowing how easily they can be broken.
It’s so much easier to pretend, because the alternative? The idea that this is real? It’s terrifying.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.
CHAPTER47
THE NIGHT IS YOUNG AND ROMANTIC
IVY
By the time I get off the phone with Mom, it’s a rush to get ready before dinner. But I still manage to squeeze every juicy secret I’ve learned from Judy and Art into a half an hour ramble. Maybe it’s the thrill of finally being a step ahead, but I don’t hesitate to slip into the yellow dress, wearing my family pendants on a fine gold chain, and hope it’s not obvious to Lincoln when my heart skips a beat as he takes one look and calls me “absolutely gorgeous.”
He hadn’t been able to get a word in while I’d dissected all the Kyle information I’d gathered, nodding and humming in the way he does when he’s in deep thought. But it was impossible to miss the clench of his jaw or the steel in his eyes. The moment we left our room, he fit his hand in mine, and he hasn’t let go since.
Dinner is no less awkward the second go around, but at least now when I catch Judy’s eyes on me, I’m not worried she’s going to skewer me with her salad fork.
She’s still quietly terrifying, her fine hair slicked behind her ears and falling in harsh lines to her shoulders. But now that I can look at her without fear of turning into a pillar of salt, I can see that she and Astrid have the same nose.
