Page 63 of Journey to You

“I’ve done a lot of soul-searching this last week and the only thing I regret in leaving Melbourne is not being completelyhonest with you,” she said, her heart pounding at the thought of baring her innermost thoughts to him.

“I’m listening.”

She stretched out her legs, which were cramping as badly as her stomach.

“When I ran out ofAmbrosiathat day, I didn’t correct your wrong assumptions. I was too disappointed, too caught up in the moment, I wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t until later, much later, that I realised how it must’ve looked.”

“You still love Richard, I know—”

Her gaze snapped to his, beseeching him to understand. “No, you don’t know. I don’t love him, I probably never loved him.”

She bit her bottom lip, knowing she sounded callous but needing to get this out of her system. “I’d barely dated before I met him, then suddenly this brash, famous guy is all over me. I was flattered, in awe he’d paid attention to a nobody like me, probably a tad in love, and the next thing I know we’re married.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I always thought you were happy?”

“We were, for the first few months. I loved being married, loved how safe I felt having a husband who adored me. But then his lies started. And the rest.”

Her heart twisted at the memories of what she’d endured all in the name of ‘for better or worse’.

“Did you know he was passive-aggressive? I started walking around on eggshells, doing the right things, saying the right things, in an effort to avoid the inevitable explosion if things didn’t go his way.”

The first time she’d been privy to Richard’s vile temper, she’d accidentally eaten a few chocolate cannoli he’d prepared to impress a potential investor. He’d been livid, slamming pots on the bench top and flinging a baking tray at her head. If shehadn’t ducked, she would’ve ended up in hospital, and from that moment on she knew she’d made a mistake in marrying him.

She tiptoed around him, agreeing with everything he said, presenting a poised front, being the good wife he expected. While on the inside, she died a little more every day.

Ethan reached out and placed his hand over hers lying on the grass. “I saw that side of him professionally, the short fuse, but I had no idea he was like that with you.”

“No one did.” She blinked back tears, swallowing the bitterness. “How could you, when Richard Downey, Australia’s favourite celebrity chef, was all smiles for everyone who fawned over him, the life of every party?”

He squeezed her hand, pity shimmering in his eyes. “Why did you stay?”

She’d asked herself the same question a million times, and came up with different answers each time. How could she verbalise her craving for love, for security, for the perfect happily ever after scenario her parents had until her dad died?

It sounded soppy and stupid, especially after she realised Richard could never be that man for her.

“I stayed because I wanted the family I never had after my dad died. I craved it, which is probably half the reason I married him in the first place.” She shook her head. “As misguided as it sounds, at the time I thought if I could be a good wife, our marriage would stand a fighting chance.”

She wriggled her hand out from under his on the pretext of re-twisting her hair into a loose chignon, his touch too painful, too poignant, with what she had to say next.

“To avoid incurring his wrath, I became invisible. I lost my identity, my dignity, and my self-respect, for a man who didn’t care about me no matter what I did. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

He swore under his breath and bundled her into his arms, and she slowly relaxed as he stroked her back in long, comforting caresses. “The nightmare is over, Tam. You’re not that person anymore.”

But she was the same person, with the same fears dogging her.

Drawing back, he cradled her face in his hands. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

In response, he lowered his head and kissed her, a slow, tender kiss on her lips, a kiss of affirmation and optimism and faith, a kiss filled with promise and hope.

The hope was the clincher.

She had to tell him, all of it.

Reaching up, she trailed her fingertips down his cheek, the familiar rasp of stubble making her palm tingle.

“I know you care about me and you’re nothing like Richard. But I’ve finally found myself again, I’m finally comfortable in my own skin, and I don’t want to risk losing that.” She eyeballed him, imploring him to understand. “For anyone.”

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