He stared at me, losing control. "So what? You're still wearing the dress I gave you to flirt with some other guy? You trying to tell me that even after running to this godforsaken island, you still can't give up the luxury I gave you? Or is the outfit supposed to help you find a new meal ticket?"
The instant those words left his mouth, I saw panic flash in his eyes—like he hadn't meant to say something so cruel. I knew it wasn't what he really thought. Jealousy had blinded him; the terror of losing me had cornered him into choosing the words that would hurt most. But I still shook with rage.
"Paul Vincent, you bastard!" Tears spilled down my face. "You think everyone's life revolves around money? I wore it because I consider it a dead thing! And you, you're exactly the same as six years ago. You've never learned to respect anyone!"
The jealousy and fury in Paul's eyes melted into bottomless regret and helplessness the moment they met my tears. He opened his mouth to explain, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Casey... I didn't mean it like that..." He tried reaching for me, voice almost pleading. "I just... seeing you dance with him, I couldn't take it. Couldn't stand you in that dress next to him. I'm sorry. I lost it."
I wiped my tears hard and pushed his hand away. Reason reclaimed the high ground. That fragile trust we'd just started building shattered on those few cutting words.
Chapter Seventeen
Paul
I let go. She stumbled back two steps and slammed into the railing. Moonlight broke through the clouds and caught her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips pressed tight, fighting to keep the tears from falling.
"Casey, I just wanted to dance with you." I took a step forward.
"Dance?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Paul, you want to dance with me now? Six years ago, I begged you to take me to your parties. What did you say? You said it wasn't appropriate. You said I wouldn't be comfortable in that kind of setting. You said maybe later. I waited so long. How many times did you take me? Not once! You were ashamed of me, weren't you? Afraid I'd say the wrong thing, dress wrong, afraid your friends would laugh at you for having a girlfriend who wasn't good enough!"
"It wasn't like that—"
"It wasn't?" She stepped closer. "Then what was it? Tell me. How many times did I ask? I said I wanted to go, wanted to meet your friends, wanted to stand beside you. What did you always say? You always said next time!"
Her voice got louder, echoing across the empty terrace. The ocean breeze blew her hair loose. A few strands stuck to her face. She didn't bother brushing them away, just glared at me.
"I planned our anniversary dinner for two whole weeks. One phone call from you—family emergency—and it was canceled. I waited at the restaurant for three hours. The waiter asked if I was still waiting. I said yes, maybe he's stuck in traffic. I stayed until they closed. Called you, no answer. Texted you, nothing. Next day, you told me there was a family dinner you couldn't get out of. You didn't even say you were sorry. You said, 'I'll make it up to you.'"
"Casey, I really did have something—"
"You always have something! Your family matters, your career matters, your business dinners matter. Just not me! What am I to you? A pet? A dog? Something to play with when you're in the mood and ignore when you're not? You come find me when you remember I exist, and when you don't, I might as well not be there?"
Her voice started shaking. Tears spilled over, but she wiped them away furiously.
"When I had Tommy, I hemorrhaged. I was on that operating table with nobody there to even sign the forms."
"Casey—"
"And you, Paul. You show up out of nowhere, saying you want to make it up to me, give me a better life. Did you ask me? Did you ask if that's what I wanted? The desserts you made, the slide you installed—did you ask if I needed any of it? No. You never ask. You never have. You think you want something, you take it. You think you should give something, you give it. What I think doesn't matter to you. It never has."
"I just wanted—"
"You want me to forgive you? You want me to throw myself crying into your arms and say it's okay? You want me to takeTommy back to Boston, live in your mansion, and keep living by your rules? Paul, wake up! What I need, you can't give. You never could!"
"What do you want?" My voice rose too, words I'd been holding back finally breaking free. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you! Whatever you want!"
"Respect!" She was shouting now.
I froze. She was breathing hard, chest heaving, tears still streaming down, but she didn't bother wiping them, just stared at me.
"You haven't changed, Paul. Not at all. You still think you're always right."
After those words, she was trembling all over, hands gripping the railing, looking at me with complete disappointment.
"Casey." I stepped forward, reaching for her.
"Don't touch me!" She slapped my hand away. "Listen good, Paul Vincent. Stay away from me. You hear me?"
