Page 171 of For Better or Hearse
Her heart lurches at his stern tone. “What?”
“Sit down.”
She stands on shaky legs, wanting to go to him, but she’s just frozen. Unbalanced.
He looks at her over his shoulder, opens the fridge. “Ashabelle, would you fucking sit down? Please.”
Finally, she does. She covers her face, hiding from him as best as she can. “You’re upset.”
“I’m upset, yeah. But not at you. Your blood sugar’s low.” When she looks up, he’s setting a glass of juice in front of her. “Drink that.”
She brings the glass to her lips. Sips. Heat returns to her face.
Sweeping concerned eyes over her, he slides the chair back to sit beside her. Rests broad palms on the table. Those long fingers tan and perfectly shaped. “Listen to me. I’m in love with you. Thepast doesn’t matter. I don’t know whether you need to fucking hear it, but I forgive you for what you did.” He grasps her hand. “No more punishing yourself.”
She shakes free of his hold. “You say you forgive me, but what if you—”
He looks frustrated, amused. “I know my heart. Don’t tell me how I feel about you. Don’t shut down because you made one mistake.”
She takes another sip of juice, runs her thumb along the lip of the glass.
“It was a big mistake.”
“It wasn’t a—” He breaks off, blinking, his features contorting into pain. “Saying you breaking up my wedding was a mistake completely negates what we have. Don’t you fucking get that?”
She shakes her head, over and over. “I don’t know,” she mumbles.
He swallows. “You cannot be serious.”
Her voice is gone. Completely mute.
“Get that shit, get Jakob out of your head.” He’s angry now. Fury etched all over his handsome face. “I’m not upset about Camellia; I’m upset because you doubt us. I’m in this, Ash. I’m in love with you. And I don’t know why your morbid little brain won’t let you see it.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “Maybe it’s because I’m not right for you. Maybe you need someone else. Someone different.”
He stares at her, roughs a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that,” he says hoarsely. “Push me away.”
“I mean, can you see me as a doctor’s wife? Going to galas? Charity functions? Your father’s country club?” Ash breathes heavily. The walls are closing in. The doubt, the despair of losing Nathaniel in the future. It sideswipes every bit of rationality, joy, love.
“Ash—”
“You need someone who wears pearl earrings. Who fits your family. Because I don’t.”
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re doing it again. You’re taking away what you want because you’re scared,” he says, voice stricken. “Because you think I want something other than you. When you’ve never been more wrong in your life.”
Tears blur her vision. As she blinks them back, she takes in the stoic, masculine living room. Pieces of herself scattered around Nathaniel’s apartment. Her boots on the rug. A tea bag and a cold cup of tea on the coffee table. Scattered throw pillows from the night they fucked frantically until they both fell apart, gasping for air in each other’s arms.
Her anxiety has claws. The thorns in her chest ready to regrow, ready to rehome her heart, somewhere far away and dark.
Ash scrunches her eyes tight. Gulps air. Her head and heart throb.
Is she going to fuck all this up? Let her anxiety tell her that they never should have agreed to continue this? That she and Nathaniel should have left what they had in Hawaii?
It would be easy to be scared of this. To allow herself to push love away.
But she won’t.
She is better than her past. Better than her bullshit brain telling her lies.