I nod once and watch as those eyes darken, and every muscle in his body goes hard. I have to swallow, so I don't drool down my chin like an infant. The dream reappears in my head unbidden—not now, Sophie!
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Callum asks Elise, which takes her by surprise.
"What?"
“Do you think people are toys? That you can pick them up, break them, and walk away?”
"I... No, I jus—" Elise pales, stumbling over her words.
“What did you come here expecting? That I’d see you and forget Sophie exists? That I’m so weak I’d just... what,fold? Foryou?This some sick, twisted game you play?"
Elise flounders, her mouth opening and closing, but Callum doesn't stop.
“You really thought this was a game. That you could walk in here and hurt her, just because you felt like it.” He spits at her before pointing at me. "She's the sweetest, kindest goddamn woman I've ever known, and she's never done anything to you. And let's not get confused, Paul is just as complicit, but you—you knew about Sophie. That's... God, that's not just cruel.That's fucking evil.Why?"
The words, the passionate defense of me, floor me. Callum's always been so gentle and sweet, so loving and tender and warm. This is unexpected, not in a bad way. Not that I expected Callum to let anyone walk all over me, but I've never seen him this worked up before. It touches me, but it also makes me a little concerned. I don't want him to say something he'd regret; I don't want him to feel bad later, even though this is justified.
My hand reaches out to touch him, and I say softly, "Callum."
The edge in his expression softens when he looks at me, nodding once, like he's telling me he has this under control, that he's okay, but there's also some gratitude in his eyes for pulling him back. He lifts my hand and places a lingering kiss on it before turning back to Elise.
"You know what, I don't even care why. Because you're just a pathetic bully, Elise." He shakes his head and laughs. "You know, you could have walked in here naked, and I wouldn't have been tempted. Not for a second. I'm not Paul. I can recognize when I have something real and wonderful."
That statement hits me hard, and tears flood my eyes. The words are spoken with such confidence that there's no doubtin my mind it's true. Callum is choosing me. Every day, every second.
I love you, I love you, I love you...
I watch as Callum's words hit Elise like a physical blow, her face twisting in embarrassment, her skin flushing bright red to match her dress.
"Get out," he says, his voice a low growl. "And don't ever try to come back here. You're not welcome. Not ever."
"Like I'd want to spend another minute here," she crosses her arms below her chest, pushing her cleavage up even more, and Callum's eyes don't move from hers, but his lips curl in disgust. "You guys are so... cute. Enjoy your time together. What's left of it."
"Get out!"
Callum's roar rattles the books on the shelves, the walls, and Maeve's hanging crystal trinkets from the ceiling, shaking from the force behind his words.
Elise flinches before storming past us toward the exit. Callum reaches out to me and tucks me into his side, and I instantly feel safer. He places a kiss on the crown of my head as I turn to watch Elise go. And I realize that I have a couple of things to say.
"Elise?" I call out to her, not moving from my spot under Callum's arm.
She stops in her tracks, taking a deep breath, before turning around.
I look at her, really look at her closely. The trembling shoulders, as if she's trying to hold herself together. She's here, trying to entice Callum, and not with Paul—did they break up? Did he end our six-year engagement for something so fleeting? Does Elise crave validation so much that she dressed herself up to come here and try to tempt another man away from me?
How sad is that?
I look at her, and I don't feel anger, I don't feel like askingher these questions, I don't feel sadness or insecurity. All I see is a sad woman who's lashing out—hurt people hurt people—and she's waiting for me to insult her and rub her face in my victory.
But I don't do any of that, because I don't want to waste the energy. She's not worth it.
Instead, when I look at her, all I feel is pity.
"What?" she snarls, her face twisting into a sneer. Her hostile tone doesn't affect me. Doesn't even rattle me.
So, I smile at her.
Because—really—she did me a favor.
