“Come on, Ren,” I exclaim, jumping up from the chair and walking to the middle of the room. “I need to get this off my chest.”
He gives me a long-suffering look, then slowly puts his book on the nightstand, pushes the blanket back, climbs out of bed. He closes the distance between us, coming to a stop barely a foot from me, then crossing his arms over his chest. “Well go ahead, but I can assure you you’re wasting your time because I don’t care what horrible atrocity you’ve made up in your head, there is literally nothing you could’ve done that would make me mad at you.”
I believe he absolutely believes every word he’s saying. Which makes this even more difficult because the last thing I want to do at this point in our marriage is disappoint him, even if it was earlier Cassidy who did the tale telling to get her own way.
“You don’t understand, Ren,” I respond, needing him to know, to understand my deep treachery, so I can get on with my life with my conscience fully clear. “When we made that de?—”
“Fuck the deal,” he interrupts, his hands moving to cup my cheeks, forcing me to meet his gaze. “How many times do I have to say that?”
My hands lift, grip his wrists; not to pull him away, but to anchor him to me. “Please, I have to tell you.”
“I already know,” he whispers.
“What?”
“I know,” he replies. “I’ve known for a while.”
Surely we’re not talking about the same thing. Because if we were there’s no way he’d still be standing here in front of me.
Wanting me.
Loving me.
Shaking my head, a tear escapes, leaving a cool trail down my cheek as I stare up at him. I yank at his wrists, now trying to rip myself from his grasp, but he holds on, refuses to let me hide. My knees wobble, suddenly unable to hold me upright, but still, he holds on, just follows me to the ground.
One last attempt to shake him loose, but he adjusts his grip, his hands moving so his arms are wrapped around me, my cheek pressed against his chest. He’s shushing me, rocking me soothingly, and suddenly, I feel all kinds of silly. “What are you doing?”
His sigh flutters my hair. “Just chillin’.”
I smack him on his chest slightly harder than playful. “Stop that.”
He says nothing, just tightens his hold on me, his low chuckle a rumble in his chest. I sigh deeply, already feeling lighter, but still needing to be sure we’re talking about the same thing. “How’d you find out?”
“Conrad,” he responds rather flippantly. “I confronted him and he laughed in my face.”
My cheeks heat. “My father knows?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t care at all. It was more like he admired your ability to think outside the box to get your own way.”
“Why didn’t you confront me then?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I retort, completely baffled that he seems so nonplussed about the entire thing.
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you for it to be true,” he explains. “It would’ve been cruel for me to bring it up at that moment, and then I decided it would be stupid to bring it up at all because I wanted you and I had you and I wasn’t going to give you up for anything.”
I mutter to myself incoherently, even as warmth spreads through my chest. Love and understanding take on a whole new meaning at this point in my life, and even as I sit here and mutter to myself under my breath, I’m eternally grateful I managed to snag this guy.
“I have a confession,” Ren murmurs, and my heart stops in my chest.
“Nope,” I respond, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care.”
He smiles, his fingers brushing my cheeks gently. “I think you do.”
“No, I really don’t.”
The look he gives me is incredulous, as if he knows I’m just blowing smoke and at some point, I’m going to come back andneedto know. We stare each other down, neither one of us wanting to blink first, but after a time I finally do. “Okay. Tell me.”
