He wipes my cheeks, lingering over my dimples. “Missed those?” I tease.
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ve missed every single thing about you, Madeline.” Then he kisses my lips gently.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I go in for another soft kiss, and nothing has felt more natural in my life.
One kiss and another, then Nate’s palm slides along my neck, squeezing as his tongue slips through my lips, while my arousal swoops in quickly.
A low moan escapes, and I grapple with his lapels, desperate for more of him.
My libido was dormant all these years, never once wanting to have sex with anyone else.
I used to think something was wrong with me, that maybe Nate broke me, but now that he’s back, it’s as if years of suppressed sexual need is rushing forward, and I can’t get a handle on it.
Nate rips away, panting, shaking his head. “We need to get a grip.”
I laugh, and he grins. It’s always been like this with us.
We lean back, enough so neither of us jumps each other’s bones again, and sip our champagne, keeping eye contact the whole time.
“You first or me?” Nate asks.
I rip off the Band-Aid because if I wait any longer, I might chicken out. “You asked me why I ran?” He nods, and I slouch back into my chair, grounding myself. “I hold a lot of guilt, and it’s been eating me alive. At first it was about Camila?—”
“What do you have to be guilty of about Camila?”
The tears are back, I can’t help it. Nate doesn’t try to wipe them away again, it’s a lost cause. This conversation was never going to be easy for either of us.
“So many what-ifs. What if I didn’t ask for space from her? What if I forgave her and moved to New York sooner to support her? What if I asked her more questions? And when it comes to us, what if I stayed in Spain instead of running? What if I had just listened to your story after Camila’s funeral? We would have been together this whole time,” I sob.
“Mads, come here, babe.” He unbuckles me and pulls me to his lap, circling his arms around my waist.
“When I look back, I don’t like the person I was, Nate. I don’t like that I wasn’t there for my best friend. I don’t like that I never gave you a chance to explain. I was young and immature and so, so angry with you that I wouldn’t give in. Ten minutes, and so much could have been different.”
He runs his fingers through my hair, twirling the end, lost in his thoughts. “So you ran because you’re mad at yourself?”
“I don’t deserve you. But I’m also selfish enough to want you anyway. I caused us a decade of pain and suffering…for what?”
“No, Madeline. I caused that. I broke up with you. You don’t get to take the blame for this.”
“It’s because I’m stubborn. People break up all the time; they don’t hold ten-year grudges.”
“Stop this,” he snaps. Nate almost never gets mad, but when he does, he means business. “This isn’t you, Mads. You are not some self-loathing, woe-is-me woman. You own your decisions, you’re strong, and maybe you’re a little stubborn, too.” He cups my cheek. “And yes, people break up, but no one, not one other couple I’ve come across in my thirty-three years of life, has the type of connection we do. So don’t compare our situation to anyone else. How you acted was completely justifiable. I takeone hundred percent responsibility for our downfall, and that’s where we are leaving this. Regarding Camila, I won’t dismiss your feelings, but I will say this: she shouldn’t have meddled, even though I love her for it. I love that she loved us so wholeheartedly, but it wasn’t her place. And Mads, youwerethere for her. You have a warped memory of what happened. So what, you didn’t move to New York? You think you pushed her away? Except the second you found out she was pregnant, you were in constant contact. I remember because when she was sick, she stayed with Leo and me a lot of the time.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” he insists. “Dig deeper in that head of yours. I’m no psychologist, but maybe you suppressed memories as a coping mechanism, because trust me, you were there for her.”
I squint, racking my brain, and it’s only making me become more frustrated.
“Maddie, let me ask you, did she have morning sickness?”
“Badly, all times of the day, not only in the morning. Until she became obsessed with those ginger cookies that finally settled her stomach.”
“What were her cravings?”
“Taco Bell quesadillas, and after she would do yoga, she always wanted a peanut butter smoothie.”
He nods. “Correct, and?—”
