Page 104 of About Love and Revenge

"Not even if I wanted to, my Elina. It's not up to me anymore.”

Elina

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Didyou have ulterior motives when you invited me here?”

We're lying on the couch in the office after some delicious sex.

“Always.”

Earlier, he took me to an adjoining room with a dining table and also a bathroom. After we took a quick shower, still not putting on a fresh shirt, he pulled me into his arms.

“Since when do you make jokes?”

“Who said it's a joke? I had intended to have lunch with you earlier, but other than that, all other thoughts were downright lewd.”

“We are sex addicts.”

“No. We are addicted to each other.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re staying or not.”He finally returns to the subject that has been fermenting in my head for weeks.

“What do you want? I don't know if I understood your proposal correctly.”

He turns me around, making me straddle his lap. “Do you want the truth or a soft version of it?”

“The truth, always.”

“Marry me.”

I stare at him, shocked.

I know I asked for the truth, but I can't close my mouth, I'm so amazed.

Since my entire life has been a sham, spending these months being myself almost all the time has done wonders for my insecurity. I still wasn't ready for what he just said, though.

I stare at him, and I'm sure I’m still gaping. “We don't love each other.” I make the first excuse that comes to mind and watch his jaw twitch.

Deep down, I know I'm lying to myself all over again. Maybe what I feel is not yet that solid love that comes from living together for years, but I've known for some time that I'm in love with him.

“Is that so important? Loving each other, I mean.”

I don’t know what to answer.

Is it important that he loves me? Or can this mix of intense physical attraction with companionship, respect, and the way he seems to want me at his side all the time replace the fact that he's not in love with me?

What about the secrets that we keep from each other? How can we build a life together without absolute trust?

“I'm dyslexic,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve, and it's as if the pressure I've carried all my life is lifted from my chest.

I watch his face closely, looking for any expression of disgust or pity, but all I see is confusion.

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