“But you never minded. It’s not like we were together-together.”
“Yes, because you weren’t in love with me.” I thought I was in love with him, but I know now I wasn’t.
“I didn’t realize I loved you more than just a friend until you left.”
“You don’t know what you’ve missed until it’s gone?”
“Is that a song?” The irony doesn’t hit, though he sits back a little.
“A song? I think it’s more like a cop-out.”
“What?”
“You don’t love me, Tod.”
“I do! So I was a bit slow on the uptake. I think I just didn’t allow myself to hope. Not when you’re so pulled together.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I live with you. Work with you. Eat your food. Borrow money from you—I didn’t think I had a chance.”
I shake my head. “I bet none of that ever even occurred to you until I left.”
“Ned, how can I not love you? You married him for me—to save me!”
“So it’s charity you love?”
“No!”
“Good, because the thing is, if you loved me, you would never have put me in that position in the first place.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” he complains.
“When was the last time you slept with someone, Tod? Truthfully.”
Tod’s brows pinch. “You were sleeping with him.”
“My husband, you mean? Just answer the bloody question.”
“Just after you moved back in. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does,” I answer softly. “When you love someone, it makes you feel giddy just to be around them. You’re happy when they are, and your heart hurts when theirs does. And when you think of them in another’s arms, it makes you want to rip off that person’s arms and beat them to death with the soggy ends. That’s love, Tod.”
“Right.” His expression? If it were an artwork, I’d write out a little card that reads:Does Not Compute.
“You don’t want anyone else, and you certainly don’t want anyone to have your person. Not emotionally, not physically. You want them all to yourself.”
“He said something similar,” he mutters. “Deveraux, I mean.”
My heart freezes in my chest, coming to life again in an arrhythmic rush.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but it turns out, he’s not as bad as I thought he was.”
My stomach turns uneasily. I told myself I never wanted to hear his name again, but I’m a liar. But it’s not only my stomach that’s irritated because the tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin stand like pins for some reason.
“When did he say this?”
“What?”
