“When you got out of your relationship, could you picture being serious with someone this quickly?”
She asked me the tough questions. Put me on the spot. Made me consider a situation that had never crossed my mind. She was smart, really thought things through, and while that held her back sometimes, considering the gravity of her decisions was a good way to be. It made me respect her. And it made me realize what I meant to her, because she had every reason to leave, but she continued to stay.
“Now I think you understand.”
I’d planned on marrying Isabella. Was about to buy a ring, about to tell my mom about it, but then it all came burning down. To jump into another relationship within a few weeks of that, even if she was in the wrong, was impossible to imagine. She’d really broken my heart. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” It took me a while to sleep with someone new. At least a couple months. I broke things off between us with no intention of ever going back, but a part of me still felt like I was in that relationship. Until one day, I wasn’t. “But there’s a difference betweenus. You said your relationship had fallen apart a long time ago and you were still holding on. Mine was great until the moment it wasn’t—and then it was just done. I needed time to recover from that, while you’d been preparing for the end for months. You jumped into bed with me right away because you were ready.”
“Jumped into bed . . . thanks.”
“Trust me, I don’t say that judgmentally. He stuffed your heart in a garbage bag when it should have been in a safe. When you were free, you were ready to be free. You were ready for me. So, no, it doesn’t bother me at all. This feels right.” It’d been nine long years since someone had made me look twice. Since someone made me feel anything at all. After a while, I wondered if Isabella had destroyed my ability to ever love again.
And then I met Aurelia.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” There was only one subject off limits.
“You could have literally anyone you want. I mean, Jesus Christ, look at you ...”
I didn’t smile. I was too focused on the upcoming question.
“Smart, sexy, funny, easygoing ... protective. Why me?”
“Why you?” I asked, almost not understanding the question.
“Yes. I’m not saying I’m unattractive. But I’m not, you know, bombshell-on-the-runway, front-cover-of-Voguetype of attractive. And I’m not successful, I don’t come from a nice family, I don’t come from wealth. It’s just me and my camera. I put up with some asshole’s bullshit for far too long and lost all self-respect. I hate myself for not just getting up and leaving. I judge myself every day for being so ... pathetic.”
I fought the urge to smile. Everything she said was ridiculous, but I reminded myself that it felt very real to her. That she actually believed all this nonsense. “Let me tell you what I thought when I first saw you, all right?God fucking damn.That’s what I thought. I’ve seen and been with a lot of beautiful women, but none of them have ever captured my attention the way you have. If you wanted that fine ass on the coverofVogue, we could absolutely make that happen. Why do you think I want some boudoir photos of you? I want to put them on the walls of my office. Add them to the collection. And the fact that you’re on your own, standing entirely on your own merits and talent, is exactlywhyI like you. Everyone has someone to lean on, but all you’ve ever had is yourself. I like that—a lot. And in regard to what’s-his-fucking-face, you would have made very different decisions if he’d had the balls to be honest with you. But he deceived you, gaslighted you, and then you didn’t know what was true and what was false. You didn’t know what was wrong, so you naturally assumed that you were the problem. So you stayed because you continued to search for the problem in the hope you could fix it. And the last thing I want to say is, Jesus fucking Christ, you’rewaytoo hard on yourself.”
There was a blast of emotion in her eyes before she quickly looked away, like she didn’t want me to know how deeply my words hit her.
“Would you ever say those things to a friend? To any other human being?”
Her eyes stayed elsewhere.
“It’s one thing to take responsibility for your actions. Learn and grow. But you treat yourself like a punching bag, sweetheart.” I pointed my finger and pressed it into the surface of the table. “Starting today, you don’t do that anymore.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“All right?” I hated seeing a man rip apart a woman. I hated seeing a woman forget that she was infinitely more powerful than he was. But for centuries, women were oppressed by misogyny and sexism and just plain bullshit.
She let the words sink in for a while before she finally gave a nod. “All right.”
Now, I smiled. “Attagirl.”
“I think I’m going to head home ... if that’s okay with you.” She sat beside me in the passenger seat, her dress up to the very top of her thighs because she didn’t adjust herself when it was just the two of us. “I want to meet Medusa. I just ... it feels a little heavy right now.”
I was a bit disappointed, but in my book, no meant no. Simple as that. “Of course, sweetheart.” My hand moved to her thigh, pushing her dress up even higher, touching the silky material of her thong. She looked so sexy in the material that it got me every time, even just a glimpse.
I drove back to her apartment, left my Range Rover on the street, and walked her to her front door. I didn’t want the night to end there. If she came by my place and fell in love with it and didn’t want to leave, it wouldn’t even bother me. “Good night, sweetheart.” My hand moved to her ass under the dress and gripped it right there in the middle of the hallway. I kissed her with her back pressed to the door, feeling her hand squeezing my arm through the sleeve of my collared shirt. I could easily change her mind about the end of this night, get her to beg me to come inside, but that wasn’t my style. Not just with her, but any woman.
I ended the kiss before it could burn into an inferno.
“Good night,” she said, a look of longing in her gaze that she couldn’t hide. It took her a moment to let me go, to fish her keys out of the tiny little purse that hung over her shoulder.
Chapter 20
Aurelia
