Page 103 of The Fake Dating War

“That’s not your fault.”

“No? I think you don’t understand how desperate I was to keep it all together. Being picture perfect was all that mattered. Because there’s never been a divorce in the family. Happy or not, generations of marriages have stayed together except mine. I was the first one who broke that streak.”

He shifts his hold on me, so we’re looking at each other again. There’s nothing in his expression I can read. It’s as if he’s forced himself to stay as neutral as he can. “How can your family be mad you left him?” he asks.

My laugh is brittle. “But I didn’t leave him. He left me.”

Jake stares. A flicker of something crosses his eyes.

“He said I enabled him.” Shame burns a straight line down my gut. “And I did, because I was scared and weak, and I didn’t want him to leave me. So when he brought up divorce, I told him it couldn’t be over. That we could still be good together. How I believed in him… ”

When I don’t continue, he says my name. “Reema?”

I’m covering my eyes and groaning. “I should stop. Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t stop.”

“You’re horrified, aren’t you? It’s like listening to a car crash.”

“Heartbroken,” he says softly. “For you. And… pissed.”

I drop my hands and get off his lap. We’re no longer touching. “At me?”

“At a man who places his addiction at the fucking feet of his wife.”

“Did he?” I’ve wrung my hands together, and I’m shifting weight between my feet, practically shaking with tension. “Because I thought I could control it. I thought poker was his job. That maybe if he had a big win, we could get back to normal. That he wasn’t swindling other businesses but helping them. That’s why I didn’t let him do any chores or worry about responsibilities. I took care of everything so he could spend time studying and practicing.”

“You loved him.”

“If that’s love, I don’t want it.” I step backwards. “That kind of love twists you. It mademethe gambler, not him. It was me, trying for some lucky combination of things to fix it all. Could I dress up differently for him? Compliment him more? Be at his side through everything? Trust him with all my savings? Withdraw money on a credit line and max it out? Drive him to the casinos? Push him to keep going? Book us a trip to Vegas together?”

He blinks. “You took him to Vegas…”

“Yup.” I lift my hands into the air, then dropped them. “And he started winning, so I thought maybe this was it. We’d be okay, and he’d stop wanting to leave me, but then it all went to crap. He lost everything. All of it. More than all of it.” Slumping down on the bed, I stare at the flower picture again. “Most of the debt was in my name, co-signed by me, and that hole I dug for myself is the worst mistake of my life—and I can’t believe I just told you about it.”

The bed sinks with the weight of him coming to sit beside me.

“I’m so sorry—” he starts.

“No, don’t say that,” I rush out. “I’m not ready to hear what you think.”

As soon as I say the words to gag him, I feel shame. That’s old Reema behavior and what got me into this mess in the first place. Hiding from hard truths. Not facing reality. After everything I’ve been through, I should know that pretending everything is peachy isn’t the right way.

“I know we have to talk about it,” I say, “but give me a minute. Please.”

His hand shows up on my knee, upturned. I look down at how it waits. Slowly my fingers touch his as if unsure if he wants this. Jake immediately and rather fiercely interlaces us together. Well, fuck. I’m actually close to tears, I realize. If I let them out, this will be the second time I’ll have blubbered on him. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to make him feel guilty and pressured to manage my emotions. No, I told him all this so he could know what kind of person I was capable of turning into. That love once made me utterly spineless.

“I know you have a lot to say,” I tell him. “Many questions. Or a need to cross-examine the situation. Don’t worry, I understand. It’s a lot, and I can give you facts and more facts about it. And if you could give me an opportunity, I’ll tell you I’m trying to be different now. That I’ve spent all this time trying to build myself stronger. And maybe, hopefully, I can convince you I’m not the same person I used to be because taking ownership is how I want to move forward.” My shoulders square themselves. “Either way, I’m ready. Ask what you need. Grill me.”

I have a feeling he’s gathering himself. As he does, I brace myself and concentrate on being internally strong, which is why his palm on my cheek startles me. A soft, barely there kiss presses on my mouth.

Before it can deepen, he pulls back.

“My mother used to do this thing,” he says.

“W-what?”

“My brothers and I messed up pretty badly over the years, getting into trouble. Any time we got caught, she made us talk about it at the dining room table. But when it got too heavy or one of us got really upset, she’d put the whole thing on pause.”

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