Page 61 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

“I cannot believe you did this. If you thought this was giving me space, you fail to understand the concept.”

He exhales and leans against the edge of his desk. His knuckles turn white gripping the blonde-wood ledge identical to my new office addition.

“I am trying, Annie. I truly am. Do you have any idea how hard it is not to charge into your office every single morning when you get here? I’d set up mine in yours and make you sit on my lap while we work if I thought you’d let me get away with it.”

That sounds nice.

Wait . . . No. No, it does not.

“What are you trying to accomplish here?” I ask. “I need you to back off.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to,” I reply.

His face breaks, but he slides the neutral mask back in place the moment the guard comes down.

“No, you don’t understand. I can’t. Being away from you is painful. Physically. It was bad enough when you spent so many weeks on the run, but we still talked. We had time together. I knew where you were and could watch you. I can’t do that anymore.”

“You mean to tell me you aren’t tailing me anymore? I believe that about as much as I believe the sky is purple.”

“They update me, but I don’t let them give me more than that. I can’t leave you out in the world alone. You’re too important. Watching you work all day is the closest I can get and it’s torture.”

He crosses his arms and hunches in before he continues.

“I’ve never felt this kind of acute agony. You’re there, in your office, but I can’t touch you.”

I have never seen this man, or any man, sink in on himself like this. It’s like he’s been stabbed in the gut. He hugs himself and cradles his body like his heart will fall from his chest if he doesn’t hold it in place.

“It’s that bad?” I ask.

“Yes. But I do it. For you.”

“I don’t want you to hurt, but that’s not a reason to be with you.”

“Then be with me for yourself. You feel nothing?”

Conflicting thoughts rampage in my mind. I can’t decide how to respond, so my mouth rambles with the questions I’ve been subconsciously avoiding for weeks.

“How do I know it isn’t magical mojo driving it all? What happens if it ever fades, or if I can’t live in the basement, or something shinier comes along? How can I know it’s genuine?”

The words spill out in a rush.

“Oh, Annie,” he says. He takes a cautious step forward, then another. When he’s close enough, he wraps his arms around me so my head rests on his chest.

“Do you hear that? My heart is for you and you alone. Yes, there’s a magic tie, but it’s not a guarantee. If it was, we wouldn’t need to bond. We could choose to reject it. You could choose to reject me.”

A keening, wailing objection sings in my bones.

I can never reject this man.

Wickham Barrett is unbearable, jealous, and unacceptably controlling.

But the idea of looking up from my laptop and not seeing him every day spurs tears to form in the corners of my eyes.

And he’s right. It’s not just the magic tying us together.

Magic is apathetic to how he takes care of me. It doesn’t connect us because he spent weeks understanding my needs and acting on them. It doesn’t tie us together based on how that smirk makes my blood rush in my veins.

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