Making plans for Christmas. This place looks perfect!
A link followed. Even though I knew what to expect, I still clicked on it. Still looked at the accommodation my mother thought was “perfect” for our yearly trip. Still felt the need to point out the obvious.
SADIE
That place only has three bedrooms.
MOM
The couch pulls out.
Because my favorite activity was bashing my head against the wall, I replied:
SADIE
Who’s sleeping on it this year?
The rest of my family joined the chat, as well as their partners. I could see five people online, which I guessed were my mom Sandra, my sister Christine, her husband Mark, my brother Lucas, and his wife Lucy. None of them bothered replying. They just reacted to my message with a rolling-on-the-floor-laughing emoji.
Because it was a given that I would sleep on the couch in the living room. Because I was single, and therefore less valuable.
“What is it?”
I jumped, turning to see Gideon standing in the mouth of the short hallway leading to the garage. It was all darkness behind him, with only the light of the nearly-faded sun illuminating his front. He looked menacing and dangerous, but not in a way that made me afraid. He could take on whatever threat was thrown at him and come out ahead.
And I had the sinking feeling that I was nothing but a burden. First the wedding, which he obviously hadn’t wanted. Then the tire. And now my petty familial problems. How muchmore could he take before he threw his hands up and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble?
He wouldn’t be the first man to toss me away like garbage.
Iwantedto trust him, but I’d learned my lesson. I knew I couldn’t. He’d probably think my being on the brink of tears over a pull-out couch on a family vacation was ridiculous. I mostly agreed, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. But add to that the fact that my body was defective, and he obviously found me repulsive?
We wouldn’t last six weeks. We wouldn’t even last six days.
I exhaled, and the tears receded. “Nothing,” I croaked.
He set my last suitcase down and prowled toward me. He moved quietly for a man his size, scanning my face and body before casting an eye around the room. He came to a stop in front of me, then reached over to press my chin up with his curled index finger. I hated that. Ilovedthat. Forcing my eyes to open, I met his gaze. Heat rolled off his body, searing my front. His touch was gentle, barely an inch of contact between us, and it made me dizzy.
And his eyes, as always, were cold and hard and suspicious.
“You should stop lying to me,” he suggested in a quiet rumble.
“I’m not—” I cut myself off as his brow jumped. I gulped. “Don’t you find this all a bit overwhelming?” I finally asked, my voice squeaking at the end. I blinked rapidly, mortified by the prickling returning with a vengeance behind my eyes.
He dropped his hand and took a step back. “Not the Prince Charming you were expecting?”
“Stop doing that,” I snapped, regaining control over my emotions.
Gideon blinked at me. “Stop doing what?”
“Saying that kind of thing. You treat me like I should be afraid of you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
I paused, holding his gaze. The thing was, I’d dated a manipulator. Henry was charming and perfect on the outside, but he’d taken a chisel to my self-esteem and carefully carved out chunks of it over the course of our three-and-a-half-year relationship. When he’d broken up with me, I’d been devastated, but a part of me had been relieved. I hadn’tquiteshaken the voice in my head that told me no one would want me—a voice that sounded eerily similar to Henry’s—but I was working on it. And I’d been able to recognize that his leaving me had been a good thing, even though it hurt. Some men were users, consumed with selfish desires and a need for control.
Gideon was not that. He was angry and guarded, but he didn’t look at me like I was something he could use. History taught me I shouldn’t trust him, and maybe I didn’t—not completely. But I wasn’tafraidof him.
I stuck my jaw out. “Like it or not, we’re in this together, Gideon.”
