Page 85 of Golden Burn

“Sorry, I—”

“Did Ford annoy you already?”

Etta laughs. “No. He’s calmed down. I just…” She pauses, fiddling with the material of her dress. If she jumped into my arms right now, I’d take her into the elevator, hit the emergency stop and lift her skirt over my head so I could lick her till she begged for relief while apologizing for everything I’ve ever said to upset her, and plead for her forgiveness.

“I wanted to ask you another question.”

“Yes?”

“Is this something you want?” she asks.

I’m not sure what she means. She shakes her head and rephrases. “Let me try again. Is this fight for the Lombardos—this war for control—is this something you want to do for therestof your life?”

I don’t answer her straight away. I let her words take form inside my brain.

Do I?

Do I want to be this person for the rest of my life?

Two months ago, I would have said yes. It would have turned my soul to ash. But I would have done it purely because I had nothing else to live for.

Now?

No. I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life.

In the last few weeks, my world has been shaken like the white dust in a snow globe. Etta was the tornado I needed to make me take stock of what my life has come to. Of what my life is missing.

Sitting at a fancy table, eating fancy food and trying to keep violence from brimming because of a badly worded comment. Watching people lose themselves in vices that age them beyond repair is not my idea of a fun time. Looking over my shoulder, constantly stressed for my friends’ safety, and now Etta’s.

It’s hell, actually. Pure fucking hell.

I hate appeasing these corrupt people. I hate that Cerbera thinks I’m on his level now that I’ve met at his table. I hate that he forced Etta on me and I’m so fucking grateful for it.

I think back to watching Etta’s face when we reached the cabin in Scotland. Angry, but still awed. The night was freezing and bleak, and yet, she followed me into it without a care. The way she gasped whenshe saw the elephant on the first day of our safari. When she played her favorite album this morning, the early Roman sun sparkling at her back.

I think of every golden ray of joy she has made me see and touch and hear. I think about how much I ache for more. How brilliant it would be to show her more places, to take her by the hand and get on the closest plane and fly to the furthest country. To spend every hour exploring the world and helping those who need it.

If owning property makes me successful, then I think the definition is wrong. Etta—after everything I’ve done—owns nothing. And yet she is more alive than I have been in the last decade. She is more important than the Lombardos and their fucked vendettas.

But… if it’s not me? Then who?

Several minutes go by before I finally have my answer. And I know it’s not what Etta wants to hear. Fuck. I don’t even want to hear it.

“No. It’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. But I’m the only one who can.”

Etta drops her head. “Okay. I understand.”

An apology forms on the tip of my tongue, but never takes flight.

God. She’s too much for me.

I can’t keep her aroundandcontrol the Lombardos. I know this. I have always known this.

Only now does it settle.

Only now does it begin to hurt.

Only now do I realize that’s what I want to do. I want to keep her. I want her to be my wife. But putting her in harm’s way could be the end of me.

---