Page 61 of Cross Me

“Have you spoken with her?” he asked.

“I’m drinking. What do you think?” I downed the remains of my drink and reached for the bottle.

“Will that help you cope with her absence?” Norris didn’t move to stop me, although he probably should have. It didn’t matter which one of us was the so-called ruler. Only one of us was being responsible at the moment.

“I’m not coping,” I corrected him, continuing to pour. “I’m surviving.”

“You might want to survive on one.”

“This is my third.” There was no point hiding it from him.

He frowned. “Stop at two then. Your wife is on her way home.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” I abandoned the Scotch and switched into crisis mode. The last time I saw Clara I’d been drinking. I didn’t want her to come back and find me in the same state. Even though we’d been apart, I had actually been attending meetings and to business.

“I thought I’d give you the opportunity to do the right thing for the right reasons.” He shrugged. Norris hadn’t pretended to approve of my choice when we’d left Silverstone, nor had he been happy to learn I still hadn’t told my wife about my connection to Anderson Stone.

That was about to change.

“How long before she arrives?”

He considered for a moment, as if adding time and distance together. “Another hour or so.”

“Call Edward and ask him to be here in two.” I’d been delaying the inevitable. I couldn’t risk avoiding the truth about Anderson any longer.

Norris’s eyebrow curved into a question mark.

“It’s time.” I didn’t need to say more. I would take an hour with my wife before I told her the truth. One hour to win her back before I risked losing her forever.

Her knock was tentative, so unlike her that I paused and studied the door that separated us. One slab of wood that stood between me and my whole life—me and my future. But it was more than a physical barrier, it was a choice. Once I opened that door I was committed to this path, and it wasn’t going to be an easy one.

I turned the knob and made my decision.

Clara had turned but she stopped when the door opened, her back still to me. Her dark, glossy hair was piled messily on top of her head, as if she’d been in a hurry. She was wearing a t-shirt and loose, grey pants. As she glanced over her shoulder, her face was pale and tired, but, Christ, was she beautiful. Her full lips trembled as if stuck on what to say. This wasn’t the Queen of England. This was Clara Bishop. For a second, I saw her standing lost in a hallway on the day we met. She was in a club dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, looking irresistible as she said no to me. She was crying as I asked her to marry me. My life flashed before me in glimpses of her. She was the girl I’d fallen in love with despite swearing I’d never do so. She was the girl who’d stumbled into my life and changed everything. She was my beginning, my end, and every breath in between.

“Poppet,” I murmured. I didn’t care where we’d left things. She was here and that was all that mattered. I crossed to her, hesitating only a moment before I caught her hand and pulled her into me. She belonged to me—with me. But somehow that fact felt more fragile than before, as though one wrong word could shatter the bond between us.

She didn’t resist but rather crumpled in my arms. Her body shook with silent sobs and I held her. It was torture having her so close, but resisting the urge to kiss her—to carry her away. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her scent and reminded myself that she wouldn’t walk away. We’d been through worse. We’d lived through it. We’d fought through it. Now it was time to fight again, not with each other, but for each other.

“X, I fucked up.” She pulled back, her confession trembling from her, and my heart stilled. Regret shadowed her grey eyes like storm clouds, and something dark twisted inside me. She belonged to me. She always would no matter what she’d done.

I thought I’d known what I had to lose, but seeing her now, I realized that I’d pushed her away—forced her to defy me and led her to another man. I hadn’t lost her. I’d taken her for granted. Maybe I didn’t deserve her at all.

“I’m s-s-sorry.” She turned into me and clutched my shirt, hiding her tears, but I felt them. I heard them, even as she tried to stifle her anguish. It jolted me to the present. I had taken her for granted, but I could stop. I only had to make the choice.

I hooked my index finger under her chin and directed her face to mine. “You don’t apologize to me.”

“But I—” she began.

“Don’t apologize for my mistakes. What has happened was because of my choices. My mistakes aren’t your burdens. ”

“Everything you are, I am,” she breathed. Despite the tears swimming in her eyes, they were full of fire. We were a marriage of opposites. One gave meaning to the other. “Your mistakes, your sins, your secrets…”

My breath hitched as she spoke. I had secrets—we both knew it. But there was no demand in her words now, only an offer. Or rather, a reminder. The secrets I carried with me were no longer mine. They were ours.

“I know,” I promised her. How could I not? “You are my life. Always.”

“I don’t—” She shook her head, her fingers sinking into my chest as if trying to hang onto me.