His eyes are so soft. “Hard to believe. Since you already are.”
“You don’t know me. Not really. If you did, you wouldn’t wantme.”
He frowns, taking a step up. Closer to me. “I know that you’re strong. And smart. And caring, and thoughtful. That when you love someone, like your cousin or your mom or even your content manager, you give them every ounce of yourself. I know being with you makes me feel more like myself than I ever have in my life. No matter the circumstance—listening to audiobooks on trains, or feeding you orgasms in bed, or crying in alleyways—I never don’t want to be in your presence.”
My insides feel as though they’re filling with helium. Any moment, I’ll float away.
“I know that the only time you stop fidgeting is when you’re unconscious.” He leans closer. “I know how breathtakingly beautiful you are when you sleep, and how your hand reaches for mine under the covers like it doesn’t even realize it.”
My breathing is shallow.Myhand reaches forhis?
“I know enough,” he says. “I know enough to want to know everything.”
I’m trembling so hard that he finally makes contact, gently holding me by my arms. “I know you’ve been hurt. I may not know all the details of your past, and you don’t have to share them with me if you don’t want to, but Anahid…” His thumbs rub back and forth on my biceps, spreading that unmistakable Ryan warmth through the fabric of my blazer. “I’ll never be callous with your heart. I promise, I’ll keep it safe. Protect it. Cherish the privilege of having it in my care.”
Tears spill over my lash lines, sending wet spots onto the silk of my white camisole. My heart, its sutures holding together so tenuously, knows it can trust his words. Knows that Ryan would treatit with utmost tenderness. That it would be safer than it’s ever been, sealed away from peril in the lockbox of his love.
But even if my ruined heart could figure out how to trust, my brain has a longer memory. Nothing lasts. Not romantic love, nor any love. Nobody stays by your side forever, not even the people who are unconditionally tied to you.
I take a breath, razor blades in my airways. “Ryan,” I whisper. My face is damp, downcast. “If I could, I would. But…” I worry my lip, not meeting his eyes. Not having the courage, the resolve. Sure that the moment I do, I’ll snatch it back, fall at his feet, and offer him everything. Damn the consequences.
“Can you seriously tell me you don’t feel anything for me?” he asks. No edge, all earnestness.
“It’s not that simple—”
“I didn’t say it was.” His voice is so gentle. “But admitting that would be a good first step.”
Toward what? Beingknown? I’ve already been through that fire and lived to drag the scorched wreckage in my wake.
“I can’t do that,” I say.
“Can’t?” he asks. “Or won’t?”
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t push me to. He simply drops his hands, my arms suddenly cold at the absence of his touch, and nods.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Jaw working. Wheels turning behind his eyes. “I wish there was a way I could be in your orbit and not feel…” He gestures broadly with his hands. “It’s been hard enough to deny it all this time—it would be impossible now. I can’t do that to myself.”
As far as goodbyes go, it’s devastating.Final. “Ryan,” I say. Whimpering.
“Good luck with your TV show.” His voice is thick, strained. “And with everything.”
I reach for his hand, and he doesn’t snatch it away. In fact, hegrips mine tight, uses it to pull me close. Guiding me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my neck, my hair, breathing deep. One last time. He whispers into my skin, but I can’t hear the words over the reverberation in my ears. I turn my face, my lips finding his like a homing beacon. He kisses me gently, his heart hammering against my chest, my face wetting his.
I clench my eyes shut against the tears that continue to spill out, dripping on the shoulder of his jacket. When he presses his lips to my forehead, I dissolve out of his embrace more than I pull away. Legs numb, I take one step, then two. Down the staircase, away from Ryan, my descent feeling like a tumble down the side of a mountain.
Chapter 22
I spend the next day in a daze. When I finally draw open the blackout curtains, the sun is already high in the sky. I slept later than I have in ages. My body feels like it got hit by a semi, so I forgo a workout and crawl back into bed.
I scoffed when Maral insisted we not schedule anything into our calendar for today or tomorrow—she’d reasoned that we’d be bushed from the tour and back-to-back events—but now I’m grateful. Well, grateful that I don’t have to figure out how to put on the public persona today. Not grateful for yet another reminder that Maral is brilliant and regularly saves me from myself.
My apartment is a maze of Maral triggers—the den where we record podcasts, the kitchen where she and only she ever cooks anything, the closet filled with clothes that are at least a third hers. She’s come here practically every day for the past five years. And she was no stranger before that.
How on earth am I going to survive without her?
Beyond the heartache, I can’t face the fact that I’ll have to find a new brand manager. That someone other than Maral will run theSPOYbrand, handle my entire calendar, have access to my whole life, be my right-hand woman. It’s laughable that anyone could measure even halfway up. She gets it. She gets me. We grew up inthe same house—in the sameroom. She knows how to talk me down when I’m spiraling. And, more importantly, she knows when to leave me alone.
Except now, when her name is blowing up my texts like it’s the end times. Which, hell, it is.
