She hugs me, but her eyes stay worried. “I do love you, Jenna.”
“I love you too… and I thought I loved him too…” There. Tears. Great.
Isla swipes away one tear that falls down my cheek. “Honey, maybe things seem different but… yeah I guess you need to talk.”
I leave Isla’s with my suit jacket slung over one arm and my heels in my hand, walking the three blocks to my car barefoot. The city is a different animal at night: everyone either moving too fast or standing very, very still. By the time I reach his building, my feet are black with city grime and I’m buzzing with adrenaline. I enter the lobby, wave at the security guy who probably thinks I’m Colton’s side piece too and take the elevator up.
The ride is long enough to rehearse every possible scenario: I storm in, yell, throw something, we make up, I storm out, we never speak again. Or maybe we talk. Maybe he listens. Maybe there’s a way to make it all make sense, if I could just find the right legal precedent.
“You want pasta?” he asks the minute I walk in. “I made a lot, like for the whole team or something.”
“No,” I say. “I want the truth.”
Colton blinks and immediately walks up to me from the couch. “Are you okay? Is something up?”
I close the door behind me and let the silence do the work for a minute.
“Why did you say that?” I ask and stop at an arm’s length away from him.
“What?”
“Well… I listened to the podcast, and you said you might never love me. There’s no such thing for you. Is that true?”
Colton runs his hand through his hair, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks ashamed. “It is…complicated. I don’t talk well about these things. I wanted to protect you from—” He stops, realizes he’s said too much, or maybe just enough.
I almost laugh. “From what? People knowing you’re married to the help?”
“No.” He steps closer. “From getting hurt. I… I’m not good at this, at saying it out loud.”
“So, you thought telling the whole world you don’t love your wife is better?” I can hear myself getting shrill, but I can’t turn the volume down. “You thought that would hurt less?”
He doesn’t answer, but his hands are fists at his sides, and I realize I have never, ever, seen him look this lost.
I want to punch him or kiss him or maybe both, but what comes out instead is: “You know what the sick part is? I didn’t even expect you to love me. I just wanted it to be real. I wanted to believe I mattered to you. I didn’t need a fairy tale; I just wanted a family. Someone that wants me just the way I am, and you pretended to be what I needed.”
Colton exhales. “So, what is your problem then? That you think I am not in love with you?” His accent is stronger now, all the hard edges coming out. And suddenly I don’t see the Colton I got to know over the past few months. I see my bully.
“You said so, on record. In front of everyone.” My eyes burn, but I don’t look away. “You said you don’thave that thing. I’m not a thing, Colton.”
He steps forward until there’s barely a foot of space between us. “When I was kid, in Russia, my father said men do not voice feelings. If you say you love, it is weakness. Only actions matter.”
“Well, I’m not your father,” I shoot back.
He nods, like he’s been expecting this. “I know. You are smarter. Stronger.” He almost smiles, but then looks at the floor. “But if you need the words, I… I…”
I wait, but he doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t love me.
I move past him, into the kitchen, and lean against the counter. “It’s not about the words, Colton. I don’t care if you tattoo it on your forehead or spell it in garlic bread. I just want you to be honest with me. About who you are, what you feel. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy. I want you to tell me it’s real. That you won’t leave me now that we won.”
“You know it’s a bit fast to go from strangers to husband and wife in just two months.”
Another blow. “I know. But…”
But what?
I thought it would work out. I thought that two months would be enough time to nurture those feelings because, damn it, it was enough time for me. I love Colton. I fucking love him. But he doesn’t love me back, because if he did, he would have said it by now. Sometimes people reveal exactly who they are, and we need to pay attention. I’ve ignored too many red flags before.
“So that’s it then. You don’t love me and probably never will.” I see him blurry now. Those freaking tears sting at my eyes.
