I start typing my daily text to Nicholas.
–Me: How are you? I had another job interview. Now that I’m not at Get Jacked anymore, more companies seem interested. Funny, isn’t it? I thought I should have a job offer in hand before quitting.
I wait. The text remains unopened for an interminable ten count, then is finally opened. I pray for three dots to show…but they don’t. I should’ve given up by now, but I just can’t believe he can shut me out so easily. And how much ithurts.
He’s done so much for me, catered to my needs so well. I’ve received affection in far greater measure than I deserve. Maybe subconsciously I knew that, which is why I kept pulling back. I was too afraid to settle in and seize the happiness. I was afraid that if I showed I wanted it, it would be snatched away—that something bad would happen.
But nothing prepared me for the icy pain of his withholding himself. If it hurts this much just to have him retreat, how much will it hurt if he dumps me like my exes? Or looks at me with disappointed judgment like my dad? Or worse, disappears from my life entirely, like Mom because she was trying to give me what I asked for?
I bury myself deeper under the sheets. Shame flows over me at the realization I didn’t even know that he didn’t like coffee. I know almost nothing about him—what he likes, what he wants. I was terrified of the possibility that when he realized what he wanted, he’d also realize that it wasn’t me.
He told you what he wanted over and over again. You just didn’t listen.
Nobody else is going to eat with you… The words he said after he’d won the dinner with me at the auction.
He defended me against Owen. Spared me any possible embarrassment at the auction and ensured that no one else would be able to have my company. Gave a ridiculous amount of money to a cause that I care about. Came to the shelter to see me even when he was allergic to animals. Then said I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. He only wants me to do what makes me happy.
That, and open up to him. Tell him what I want.
But that means letting my shields down. Trusting that it’s okay to ask for things—and that it won’t necessarily end badly, like it did with Mom and the blueberries.
I didn’t want to do any of that because it was too scary. I didn’t think my actions would hurt him enough to have him walk away. Intellectually I can understand that my being honest about what I want isn’t necessarily selfish or destined to end badly. It’s just…something holds me back. And if I’m one hundred percent frank, I did want to call Nicholas first—without feeling guilty or anxious—when Jack hurt me. I just didn’t want to admit it because I thought that would make me selfish and wrong.
I turn over, then punch the pillow in frustration and fear. Nicholas isn’t going to be happy with a mere apology. He wants more.
He wants my acceptance. He wants me to embrace what he’s offering and let him in, not just physically but emotionally as well.
Except that’s…
My hands tremble. I clutch a pillow, clenching my fingers, hoping they will stop quivering. But the tremor spreads all over.
If I continue on my current path, Nicholas and I are both going to be miserable. But I’m so afraid to change course. What if I end up hurting us even worse?
But what if you don’t…?
Regardless, I can’t live in his house, forcing him to stay elsewhere. I have decisions to make about myself—and him.
I stay up all night thinking about them. The next morning, I text Georgia.
–Me: Do you know where Nicholas is staying? Or can you find out? Cody won’t tell me, but he might tell you.
–Georgia: I’ll see what I can do.
A few minutes later, I have a response.
–Georgia: Cody won’t tell me where he’s staying, but he said Nicholas might be able to spare a bit of time after his lunch meeting at Nieve.
–Me: Okay. Thanks, girl.
I put my phone down and inhale deeply. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say when I see him, but I can’t let both of us down without a fight.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Nicholas
Today is the one hundredth day since Molly and I started dating. Spending it in a meeting with Tara isn’t how I envisioned it would go. But at least our conversation is pleasant.
A stunning Asian with flawless, milky skin and full red lips, the woman’s as sharp as the crisp edge of her asymmetrically cut jet-black hair. She doesn’t become emotional during negotiations. She’s one of those rare people who truly believes it’s just business, nothing personal—which makes her an ideal business partner. Perhaps she believes that because she generally gets the best of everyone in deals. Her preferred outfit is a red dress with matching stilettos, probably to hide the blood of whoever’s across the negotiating table. Today is no exception.
