“Thank you,” I manage to say with a smile instead. “And if, um, all goes well with this, I think...”
Icy blue eyes narrow at my direction, and it becomes a challenge not to wilt under his gaze.
“You asked me before how I wanted to move forward—” The words tumble out in a nervous rush. “And this is it. I don’t want to be a burden to you—”
“I never said you were.”
His voice is back to being sharp, and yes, to be fair to him, he never said those words to my face, but he had to be thinking along those lines to want to marry me off.
Right?
“Anyway—” I struggle to keep my smile in place because the last thing I want is for this guy to realize how much he’s hurt me without even trying. “I just wanted you to know I’m very, very grateful to all your help—”
“I was only duing my duty.”
Ouch.
I’m ugly, so he sees me as a duty.
This guy truly has a way with words.
My rescuer crosses his arms, and I just hate how it makes me look at his perfectly sculpted biceps despite everything.
“You’ve been acting oddly for some time now.”
“I’ve just been thinking hard of how I want to move forward with life without you—”
He stills.
“I mean, without having to bother you.”
“I didn’t realize your stay here has been so unpleasant.”
Color bursts in my cheeks. “You misunderstand. I didn’t mean...I’m grateful, okay? I can never thank you enough for saving me, but I’m just not used to depending on anyone, and...and I don’t think it’s fair that I keep troubling you like this. So I’m really hoping this email will change everything.”
He glances back at the laptop. “You used your real name when querying. Does this mean—”
“I’ll use a pseudonym if I do get published. One of my favorite authors openly acknowledges using one, and no one knows who he is. Or if he’s really a he or a she.”
“And where do you intend to live?”
As far away from you as possible.
“Somewhere really far?”
A pause.
And then he says coolly, “Give me a day, and then we can talk about options.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
How weird. That same word we just uttered is supposed to mean something wonderful, so why did we both sound like we’re talking about our own obituaries?
Silence erupts between us, and I find myself stupidly taking notice of how the afternoon light slanting through the window has caught the gold in his hair, and—
Stop it, Mira!
