“I know you were avoiding me because of what happened the other night. And the date,” he says and stops grating the cheese. “Was it…too much? The sex?—”
“No,” I say stiffly. “It was fine.”
“Fine?”
I nod and continue my made up task.
“It was notjust fine, Natalia.”
He puts down the parmesan cheese and the metal instrument. His presence alone demands attention and space. He drowns the room with his existence and it’s impossible to ignore, so I stop my task.
“It wasn’t fine, Natalia,” he says, his voice deep and husky. “None of it with you is everfine.I’ve had the best sex of my life with you.” We snort at the same time. “I’ve had the best nights and days. And even this is incredible. None of it isfineor normal or average. Not when you make me feel like this.”
“Rowan,” I breathe shakily, my heart so unbelievably full.
“Natalia, we aren’t just fine,” Rowan whispers, and I avertmy gaze to keep myself under control. Those blue eyes are brewing up a storm and I won’t survive a hurricane. “Iam not fine.”
“I—”
“Don’t tell me you are,” he begs. “Don’t.”
I almost ask what he means until I realize thatfinedoesn’t meanfineright now. It means an entirely different thing. And I realize I am notfinewhen it comes to him either. No, Rowan Asher drives me mad—to the brink of insanity with the way I feel about him. Or maybe I am already past the point of insanity.
Rowan’s earnest eyes have me in a chokehold. “Natalia, the other night—after that date?—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I murmur, turning away from him and attempting to focus on the pasta before me.
“I said you could talk to me and I meant it.” His arm comes around me and pulls my back into his chest. He pulls my hair over my shoulder and to the side, kissing the back of my neck. “So, I’ll tell you my secrets too.”
I shake my head, my body shuddering from the contact of his lips grazing the curve of my neck. It would be so easy to give into him—to givemyselfto him. But that is much too dangerous. I’ve been down that road before and all it got me was intensive therapy and endless nights of crying myself to sleep while I questioned my worth.
But I take a breath and decide to trust him tonight the way I did last week.
“What are your secrets, Rowan?” I whisper.
“I’m angry with my mother,” he confesses quietly. “I know it wasn’t her fault that she got sick and left me and my brotheralone with my dad. We were happy—we had a good life with my dad—but I’m angry. My dad did his best, still does, especially with Andrew still in college. But I’m so fucking angry, Natalia, and I don’t know why.”
The only thing I hear is our breathing for a moment, then a pained, heavy sigh from the grieving man behind me. Then the weight of his head comes down on my head, his forehead resting at the top.
“It’s grief,” I breathe and relish in the solace I’m strangely finding in the position I am in with him. “Grief always reshapes and renames itself as anger.”
“Do you think it’ll go away?” Rowan rasps.
“One day,” I answer honestly, but I wish I knew a cure to his calamity.
“I don’t think I want it to go away,” he says. “The grief.”
“Why not?”
“Grief means it was real. It means she existed, and she loved me. Grief and love come hand in hand.”
“Package deal,” I mutter. “See, this is why you shouldn’t listen to me. I’m messed up.”
“You aren’t messed up,” he whispers into my hair. “Have you ever grieved something? Or someone?”
“I feel like I grieve something new everyday.”
“Like what?”
