Page 43 of It Must Be Love

"But we're going to Switzerland at the end of the week. We're getting engaged, Amias. Your mother has a photographer coming over to take pictures."

"She never ran any of this by me, Ann, and if she had, I would've told her not to. You concocted this on your own with her," I reminded her.

I'd have to call my mother after to let her know that Ann would not be her daughter-in-law no matter how suitable she thought she was. I didn't want to be in a relationship with Ann. I'd spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted in a life partner, and all the things that came to mind were not qualities Ann possessed. Since I'd not been pressured to propose to a woman before, I'd never actually paid attention to what I wanted. When I did, I realized that I wanted more than a good-looking career woman; I wanted a woman who cared, who was kind not just when it suited her needs but when it didn't, a woman who wanted me for me and not because of my last name. Ultimately, I wanted a woman who loved me and who I loved. And love to me meant that I would want to spend time with this person and not because she nagged me. I would want to buy her things and not because I was making up for something. I would want to be with her simply for the pleasure of her company and not because there was a social event or party somewhere.

Ann and I rarely were alone together except in bed, where we fucked and slept. Most of the time it was going from one place to another. We rarely spent time…just us. Sometimes, we'd stop for a drink or a meal, but always it would be on our way to somewhere else where we were meeting other people. I wanted intimacy with my woman, and I didn't have that with Ann. This was what my parents had, a society marriage, mostly for others to see rather than the participants to experience.

"Are you cheating on me? Have you met someone else?" Ann demanded.

I'd sat on an armchair away from her while she was on her couch.

"No, Ann. I'd never do that."

Was it cheating to touch someone's lips or want to kiss them? Yes. Yes, it was. And I was an asshole for doing that, but I couldn't help how I felt. I tried to curb it, but it kept popping back up.

She came to me and went on her knees in front of me. I hated that she did that and hauled her up. "Stop that, Ann. Sit down, and let's talk like adults."

"But I don't want to talk about this."

Her eyes watered. But they filled up all the time and with ease. It was her tactic with me, and it usually worked. I remembered another woman, a strong woman who never showed emotions, until I hurt her so badly that she had tears in her eyes; those had all but drowned me in guilt. I didn't feel like that now.

I sat her down on the sofa and went back to the armchair so we could have distance.

"Don't do this, Amias. We're meant to be. We've always ended up with each other, and that's because we love—"

"What does love mean to you, Ann?" I asked, my elbows resting on my knees as I leaned forward.

"It means you, and you mean everything," she whispered.

"What does that mean? What do you love about me?"

"Everything."

"Ann, what specifically do you love about me?" I demanded because I knew what she was doing, extending this breakup conversation in the hope that I'd change my mind by the end of it. She'd done that a few times before and succeeded in convincing me to keep the relationship going.

"I love how confident you are. How successful you are. I love how you look…you're so handsome. I love the way you take control in bed. I love how you care for me—you always buy me something to cheer me up, and it's always something you know I'll love. The way you remember to make sure I have my favorite perfume. The way—"

"Ann, what do you love about me?" I repeated because what she was telling me was not love; it was not even like.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"What is it about my personality that appeals to you?"

She looked baffled. "Everything, Amias."

"I like that you're successful in your career. I like how smart you are. I like how sexy you are both in and out of bed. I like how you give head," I listed. "I don't like how you're bitchy to those you think are beneath you. You give something only if you know you'll get something in return. I dislike how you can be cruel to some people; that you care more about how much money someone has rather than who they are."

Tears were flowing down her cheeks.

"You don't mean that."

"I do, Ann."

"Who have I been cruel to?"

"Lots of people in the years we've known each other."

She got up again, her eyes going from sad to angry faster than a Porsche 911 Turbo S.

---