Page 62 of Dark as Knight

“Tell me you want it too. I know you do.” She takes my hand, placing it against her belly. “I can give you a family. I can give you everything, Atlas. You know she’ll never love you like I do. Nobody understands you like me.”

I stare down at my hand on her belly, an image of the two of us together, her belly swollen in pregnancy. I yank my hand back, the feelings I had confused as lingering love for Eleanor suddenly become clear.

“You left,” I repeat my words from earlier, “you left me. You never once sat me down and told me you were thinking about leaving or that things were ever that bad for us. You just walked out.”

She wipes the last of her tears away, her polished, expressionless face regaining composure. “No, I didn’t come to you and tell you because I felt I shouldn’t have to. You could see we were falling apart, Atlas. You chose night after night to stay at the office or travel across the world on a whim. I saw you on TV with her. You never would have taken me along in a situation like that.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to go, Eleanor. We stayed in a motel that barely had hot water and limited electricity. Not exactly The Four Seasons.”

I see her eye twitch; she knows I’m right. “I can be that girl, Atlas. You just don’t want me to be. You put me up on a pedestal and when I tried to come down, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“When, Eleanor?” She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut again. “You put yourself on a pedestal, Eleanor. You made it clear to everyone in my home, including Oliver, that you were above them and I stupidly looked past it. I owe them an apology for allowing you to be so cold toward them.”

“Oh please, Atlas, they’re the help. Stop trying to make yourself sound holier than thou. That’s not even what we’re discussing.”

“That is exactly what we’re discussing, Eleanor.” I laugh to myself, ashamed it took me this long to realize who she is. “These people matter just as much as you and I, and I never once had to explain that to my wife.” She flinches when I say the word. “My wife,” I say it again, louder this time, “loves spending time with the people in my home. My wife loves the way I show my feelings for her with my body. She doesn’t make me feel like a deviant or like I’m a human fucking dildo that you can just push aside.”

I’m realizing now all the pent-up anger I feel toward Eleanor and it’s coming out in a way I never intended.

“You don’t have to be so crass, Atlas.”

“Exactly my point,” I say, stepping closer to her. “My wife would never try to change me.”

I expect her to square her shoulders and march out of my office or maybe even slap me, but she doesn’t. She reaches her hand out and grabs my shirt, pulling me toward her till her lips crash into mine. She grabs my hair, tugging it hard as she bites down on my bottom lip hard.

“What the fuck, Eleanor?” I pull away, her eyes burning in a way I’ve never seen before.

“There’s a side of me that’s begging for you to unleash it.” I stare at her, confused.

“You had your chance. Find someone else to unleash it.” I push her hands off me, stepping back to straighten out my shirt. “Please see yourself out.”

“Fine, but I won’t go without a fight, Atlas. I won’t lose you again.” She turns, walking out of my office and shutting the door softly behind her.

I stare at the door for several minutes after she leaves.

Had I not needed to get married, would I have taken her back?

The thought marinates in my head for the rest of the day. My mood sullen, my thoughts consumed with what-if scenarios and possible outcomes that could or should have been. I feel lost, completely consumed with the idea of going home to Stella right now and telling her that I love her. That I can’t stand the thought of living another day without telling her that.

But I can’t. I can’t love her. Because a man in love wouldn’t do the things I’ve done. A man in love wouldn’t lie like I have. I’ve wedged myself perfectly between a rock and a hard place. Do I tell the woman I love who I really am, what I did to get her and risk losing her, or do I let her go at the end of this contract and go back to what I know, back to Eleanor. Maybe I should have fought harder for Eleanor. Maybe she was right about how much time I didn’t spend with her.

My phone buzzes with a text from Stella. My heart sinks when I see what it is, a photo of dinner ingredients along with a rose, candles, and a bottle of wine.

Stella: Dinner at seven. Clothing optional. ;) Don’t be late!

I smile at her message and picture her saying that with her head tilted and a sexy grin on her face. My heart feels like it’s breaking or dying and right now I don’t know which would be worse.

It’s nearing six. If I want to make it home in time for dinner, I need to leave now. But I can’t face her. I know if I go home I’ll tell her how I feel. I’ll give her false hope because when the inevitable happens, when she finds out I’m the reason she was fired from her dream job, she’ll hate me.

Instead, I grab a bottle of scotch from my bar cart and sit back on the couch in the far corner of my office. I take several large swallows, the burn spreading rapidly through my body as the sun begins to set over Chicago.

Florence knocks on my door when she leaves, the building slowly emptying as the hours pass on. I turn my phone on silent, the buzzing from the worried texts and missed calls from Stella reminding me how much of a piece of shit I am.

Eleanor’s words haunt me all night. I repeat them in my head over and over, remembering all the times I pushed her away by not being there. And here I am, doing the same thing to Stella.

Maybe Eleanor’s right. Maybe it is best Stella walks away from this at the end. Because even if she could find it in her heart to forgive me for the wicked things I’ve done to her, I would inevitably break her heart again anyway when I push her away.

Chapter 19

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