“Out,” I say.
He grabs his jacket and stalks toward the door, shooting Iris a last confused look. The bell jingles as he stomps out.
Iris stares at me. Her chest rises and falls quickly. Her hands are shaking. “What the hell did you just do?” she demands.
I open my mouth. Nothing coherent comes out.
Because suddenly, painfully, I realize I’ve just claimed her in front of an entire town without explaining a single damn thing.
“Iris,” I start carefully, “we are married.”
Her laugh is sharp, humorless. “You don’t get to use that like a weapon.”
She steps away from me, crossing her arms. The physical distance feels like punishment.
“Not as a weapon,” I say. “As the truth.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t get to show up after months of silence and?—”
“I know,” I interrupt quietly. “I know I don’t.”
She blinks, thrown by the lack of defensiveness.
I take a breath. “I came here to grovel.”
That gets a reaction. “Grovel,” she repeats flatly.
“Yes.” I glance around. Everyone is staring.
“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Iris says tightly.
“Got that right,” an older lady a few tables away shouts. Someone shushes her, and she mutters something in return, but nobody pays attention. Everyone’s eyes are on us.
I stand there, unsure if sitting would irritate Iris. Irritate her more, that is. Because she’s angry already.
Iris stays standing, arms still crossed, eyes bright with restrained emotion. “You don’t get to claim me,” she says quietly. “Not after you showed how much you hated being married to me.”
“I never hated marrying you,” I say instantly.
“Then why did you react like you did?”
There’s the question that’s been haunting me since she walked away from me.
Because I was afraid doesn’t feel like enough.
Because I loved you the moment I saw you feels too raw.
But it’s the truth.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Because I thought being with me was dangerous for you.”
Her breath catches.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life believing attachment is a liability,” I continue. “That caring too much gets people killed. That if I loved you the way I did…I do…I’d either destroy you or lose you.”
She swallows. “So you chose to lose me.”
“Yes.” The word tastes like ash.
