Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I squeezed my hands together so my nails punctured the skin.
“Or he shouldn’t.” I spoke quieter that time. “If you are a simple woman, without thorns of her own. But I’m not. Therefore, I do not deserve your love, and you deserve much better than what a life with me would entail. In fact, you would not survive it. Men like you are not made for women like me. Again, that’s not an insult. It’s a compliment.”
I didn’t miss how Elliot’s normally warm irises seemed to have frozen over, his perpetually upturned lips now downward.
He didn’t speak for several seconds. And while normally content in silences, I squirmed uncomfortably.
“It is an insult,” he said quietly, an uncharacteristic fury threaded into the words.
My chest constricted, hearing it.
“To you,” he continued. “To my woman. And I won’t hear someone say horrid, untrue things about the woman I love. Even if, especially if, that woman is you, Calliope.”
Still, his words were laced with ire even as he said kind, gentle, loving things. Protective things.
I wasn’t being harsh enough, it seemed. He was going to fight for us. For me. For the version of me that existed in his head and nowhere else.
Oh, how I longed to be there. To Frankenstein myself together into the ideal version of myself that would be worthy of him.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out the apology, shocked and ashamed of the tears that welled up in my eyes.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he snapped, gathering me into his arms.
“I have everything to be sorry for.” I pushed at his chest so I could look at him. “I knew that it was a mistake, sullying your life with mine. But I was greedy and selfish, and I fell in love with you, and now it’s too hard for me to get out. I’m not strong enough.”
The admission at the end of my strangled, halfway-noble speech made my voice break as I fought against the foreign tears blurring my vision.
Elliot’s gaze was heavy, his jaw tense, blue eyes searching my face. “You don’t have to be strong enough with me.” He rubbed my arms. “You’ve been plenty strong your whole life, Calliope. Proved yourself to everyone.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Proved yourself to you, who you’ll never be worthy of. That drive, that strength is one of the things that made me fall for you, Calliope. But that’s not what defines you or my feelings for you. I love you equally, if not more, when you let go.” He wiped a tear that escaped. “When you’re soft, not proving yourself to anyone, not punishing yourself. Just being. I’m under no illusions that life with you is going to be simple, but that makes me happy as a pig in shit.” He smirked, and I let out a choked laugh. “I understand there’s a long journey ahead, and I’m going against a headstrong woman who has made a habit, an identity, around never needing to rely on anyone. But I’m patient. Willing to wait to prove to you that you can rely on me. For a lifetime. No less.”
There was no way even a strong bitch like me could hear all of that from the man she loved and not blubber like a baby.
Which was what I did.
I dove into his chest and soaked it with my tears.
I did something that I was ready to practice for a lifetime. I relied on the man I loved to hold me, to weather emotions I considered too heavy, too unattractive, too weak.
And Elliot didn’t let me down.
I doubted he would.
Not in my entire lifetime.
Twenty-Eight
Work Song — Hozier
“Do you want to talk about it?” Fiona asked.
“Talk about what?” I feigned ignorance, trailing my finger around the rim of my glass.
Fiona’s penetrating gaze was focused solely on me. June was with Kip, so I wouldn’t be saved by toddler antics.
She’d arrived on my doorstep about fifteen minutes before Elliot had left to get groceries. I didn’t know if it was a coordinated effort to ensure that I wasn’t left alone or if it was a coincidence. I didn’t care much since she’d been carrying a bottle of vodka and takeout from Avery’s restaurant.
Elliot had stayed to speak to Fiona in that easy way of his, eating with us, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze darted to mine more often than usual, him watching to make sure that I was eating.
I’m sure Fiona noticed too. She was used to having an eagle eye on a toddler with a death wish, that latent energy needing to go somewhere.
Whether Elliot had sensed the need for girl talk or genuinely wanted to get groceries—the cupboards were bare—he kissed me on the head then left me with Fiona who didn’t fuck around with small talk, asking her question the moment the front door closed.