No wedding.
No him.
That last thought should bring relief. It should feel like salvation, like the answer to prayers I didn't even know I'd been saying.
It doesn't.
"I don't understand," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You've spent all this time making sure I couldn't leave. Making sure I knew exactly who I belonged to. And now you're just… letting me go?"
"I'm notlettingyou do anything," he says, and there's that edge in his voice now, that sharp reminder of exactly who he is. "I'm giving you theoption. There's a difference."
I look up at him, studying the hard lines of his face, the tension in his shoulders, the careful blankness in his expressionthat I've learned means he's feeling far more than he wants to show.
"And you're just… okay with whatever I decide?"
His gaze darkens.
"No."
The single word makes my breath catch.
"But I'll accept it."
Somehow that's worse. Because I believe him.
I can see it in his eyes, the truth of what this is costing him, the iron will it's taking to stand here and offer me this when everything in him wants to lock me down and never let go.
"You really think I'd walk away?" I ask.
"I think," he says, stepping closer now, closing that distance he created, "that you're the kind of woman who needs to know she can."
He stops just in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough to touch.
But he still doesn't.
"And if I don't give you that option," he continues, his voice dropping to something almost tender, "then I don't get all of you. I get the parts you're willing to surrender because you have no choice. But not the parts you give freely."
My throat tightens because he's right.
"If you don't show up tomorrow," he adds, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that steals my breath, "I won't come looking for you."
No tracking devices.
No hired investigators.
No dragging me back kicking and screaming.
No second chances.
"You'd just… let me go," I say, testing the words, trying to make them feel real.
"Yes."
The word is quiet.
Final.
