“No,” I say, hating that I put that kind of pain into her. “I would’ve still lost. The bet was for three months, and I still had time. I forfeited.”
She blinks, finally tearing her gaze from the urn and turning her head toward me. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to win. It didn’t matter anymore.” I exhale heavily, but the weight on my chest doesn’t ease. “I thought you had used me for money back in college. But even then I couldn’t stay away from you. I wanted you. I…”
My heart is pounding against my ribs so hard, they feel like they’re about to snap. I like to be strategic. I like to win. But what I want to tell her… I’m afraid it’ll only come across as a pathetic, blatant attempt at manipulation. She already thinks I’m the kind of asshole who’d pick winning a bet over her grandfather living longer.
But she deserves to hear this because it’s true. And if she uses it against me, so be it.
“I didn’t want to admit it, and I fought so hard against it, but I love you. When I asked to start fresh, it was more for me—because I can’t fight what I’m feeling for you anymore.”
She blinks at me, but I don’t think anything I said is penetrating. She frowns, confusion fleeting through her sad moss-green eyes.
Finally, she says, “You don’t have to say that because you feel bad for me, Grant. It’s okay. I knew I was going to be alone when he…was gone. Your pity won’t change the fact that I have no one left.”
Her rejection is like a hard kick in the balls, but I bear the pain. It’s the least I deserve. And whatever I’m feeling is nothing compared to what she’s suffering. I’d give up everything to relieve her agony.
“I saw Kenny on Sunday before he passed away.”
“What?” Her eyes flash. “I told you to stay away from him!”
“I had to. I thought you might be with him, and…we needed to talk.”
She stares at me for several long moments, then finally her shoulders sag. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“He was worried about you. He didn’t want you to feel alone. I promised him I’d be there for you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t blame you. But I did.” I keep my eyes locked to hers, willing her to believe me on this one point, if nothing else. “I love you, Aspen.”
“What if I hate you?” she demands.
“It doesn’t matter. I still love you. I’ll never, ever leave you to be alone.”
She takes another swallow, her eyes still on me. I wish I could read her better, but she’s so volatile. And I don’t know how to make her believe me.
Then I see the jam I brought her on the counter. The sticky note is still on the lid.
I turn my focus back to her. “I know you don’t believe me, but I want you to know you’re my everything. I remember every second of our time together. I was riding Starfire when you chased me on the polo field. We danced to ‘La cumparsita’ for the first time, and again when we were in Malibu on that rainy night.”
Her expression is unreadable. But she’s listening.
“Our first real date was at an Italian restaurant named Benedicto’s. You were in a white Aquinas College T-shirt and denim skirt. Your hair was down, and you looked absolutely beautiful. We sat at the table by a window that overlooked a garden full of flowering rosemary. You had clam pasta, and I splurged and had the chicken parm, then we split a tiramisu for desert because you said it was the best in the state. And you were right.” I smile a little at the memory. I’d give everything I have to be able to go back in time, erase all her hurt. “Your favorite fairytale princess is Belle fromBeauty and the Beast. And I was the Beast, according to you. All roaring gruffness. And just like him, I didn’t make the best first impression.”
Her mouth forms a small O.
“Your favorite jam is an organic strawberry jam from Sun Valley Farms. Your grandmother told me you also like their blueberry jam.”
Her gaze lands on the jam on the counter briefly, before lifting back to me. Pain and confusion fleet through her eyes.
I continue, “I asked because I wanted to get some for you, since you said it was hard to come by. During our visit, your grandparents danced to ‘Por una Cabeza,’ and you and Kenny tangoed to ‘Danzarin.’ All of you looked so happy together, and I longed to belong with you.”
Aspen abruptly lowers the bottle and lurches. My heart drops, and I swear I can feel my hair graying.
She drops the bottle, which lands with a thunk, and extends her free hand. “Can you help me? My legs are asleep.”
“Yes.”
