I’ll love you forever.
Apparently, our definitions of the word aren’t the same. For me, forever means until we are both dust. For him, it means until it stops being fun.
The carriage arrives on squeaky wheels, and I watch through watery eyes as the man I thought I was going to marry climbs inside without so much as a glance back in my direction.
What am I supposed to do now?
I’ll be twenty-five in three weeks, and I’ve wasted so many years on someone who ultimately didn’t deserve them.
I feel like such a bloody fool.
I swipe my fist over my eyes, clearing the moisture before it falls.
Suddenly, twenty-five doesn’t seem old enough to make such a life-altering decision. Why didn’t the lawmakers set the age to thirty?
By thirty, surely I’ll have things figured out.
I fill my lungs with sweet summer air and blow out a steady breath. Two. Three. Until the twisting in my chest is no more than a dull ache.
What’s worse than being dumped on a public bench?
Being caught crying about it.
Nolan didn’t deserve all the chances I gave him. He didn’t deserve my love, just like Jonathan.
I’m better off without him.
He’ll wake up tomorrow regretting his decision, and when he comes crawling back, I'll close the door right in his insufferable face.
He’s burned through his chances. Flaunted my forgiveness for the last time.
I stalk across the hot stones without flinching. When I reach the cool grass on the other side, I close my eyes, take one final deep breath?—
And run straight into a solid green chest. Hands, bigger than they have any right to be, close around my shoulders, keeping me from falling flat on my arse.
Maddox’s sharp teeth flash with his smile. “Nia Quill.”
I wish he would stop adding my surname. I wish he would stop speaking to me at all.
My jagged edges want to slice him up. Make him bleed so he doesn’t notice the bloodstains left by my heart on the gravel. Hurt him before he can hurt me.
“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t smile at me.”
His head tilts, his wet hair wavier than usual.
I hate that I notice.
I hate how my first instinct is to brush the pieces clinging to his forehead back from his face.
I hate that he’s strong and kind and holding me up when all I want is to crumple to the ground and scream.
You clearly want to fuck that Unseelie prick.
Bloody Nolan . . .
“Being in your presence makes my heart happy,” he says. “When my heart is happy, this happens.” He points to his mouth as his lips inch higher. “I do not know how to make it go away.”
Doesn’t he see?
