Page 119 of You’ll Be the Death of Me

Here eyes stay on the sea. Her voice stays soft. "You have the perfect story. I used you to kill someone, then I went and killed a bunch more people. I’m the villainess who broke your heart.”

She’s right. I did. But not anymore. I pretend I need help figuring it out. “What really happened?”

She takes a breath and exhales slowly. "I thought about staying, yes. There were moments were you saw me. When you insisted we stay at some play you obviously found tedious. When we read lines and you marveled at the wit of a devious heroine. When I couldn’t sleep and you wrapped your arms around me and said you’d do anything to help like you really meant it."

"I did.” I believe it too.

“And when you tried your best to give into one of the outlandish role play scenarios I concocted. I knew you loved me. Because you tried so fucking hard.”

“It wasn’t in my nature.” Or so I thought. But I loved pretending with her. Building a scene together. Building our own little world.

She smiles I know. Then that fades. Her eyes go to the blue seat cushion. “We had moments. Then I slipped back into perfect girlfriend. And you believed it. And I knew it would never work.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never asked you to give up anything big. I offered to wrap my life around yours. And you didn’t even question why.”

I shake my head. "Was I supposed to doubt you?"

She frowns. "No. You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

I was supposed to be a mark.

And I acted like one.

There’s that old expression: you can’t con an honest man, because an honest man won’t take more than he deserves.

If she asked me to give up my job and run away with her, would I have done it?

It's a good question.

Fair.

And she’s probably right, given my current choice of strategy.

But I wish she’d given me the chance.