Page 144 of Trying Sophie

“Fucking asshole fucking anyone with a pair of fake tits,” she responded bitterly. “Sorry,” she murmured when she calmed down. “Come on Soph. Woman up.”

“It’s just …” I began, trying to sort out how to explain myself. My fear wasn’t just about Declan and my feelings for him, and it wasn’t that I was opposed to being in a long distance relationship if he did take me back. The truth was, there were obstacles I wasn’t sure we could get past. I wasn’t convinced that if he decided to give me another chance we wouldn’t find ourselves here eventually for one reason or another. It was bad enough trying to get over him after only a couple of months; I didn’t want to know how it’d feel if he left me after a couple of years.

“… it’s just really fucking complicated,” I said eventually.

“You’ve been using that word a lot today. Things don’t have to be complicated, Sophie. If you’re in love with him, tell him. It’s really quite simple.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I argued.

“Really? You think so? You think it was easy for me to swallow my pride and tell Jackson I loved him when I knew there was a very good chance he’d wind up breaking my heart?”

“No, that must have been terrifying,” I admitted. “But if you knew it was risky, why’d you agree to marry him?”

She paused and her eyes took on a faraway, dreamy look before clearing. “I suppose I thought I could change him. Isn’t that what every woman wants to believe when they fall in love with someone all wrong for them?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

The truth was, I wouldn’t know. I’d never tried to change a man, Declan included. To that point, none had tried to change me either.

“I have to hand it to you,” I added. “You put yourself out there and even though it didn’t work out, you would do it all over again, wouldn’t you?”

“Every. Single. Time.” She placed her hand over mine and squeezed. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you and Declan. I know you thought you loved Stephen but you were never this torn up over him, not even after you found out he was married. When you talk about Declan, I can see in your eyes how much you care for him. I really think you’ll regret it if you don’t tell him how you feel.”

“He knows how I feel,” I said.

She eyed me for a few moments then said, sympathetically, “I don’t think he did. I hate to break it to you, but you’re a tough nut to crack, m’dear. My guess is he spent your whole relationship wondering.”

“Maybe, I dunno,” I answered churlishly. “Besides, it’s not like he ever told me how he felt.”

The half-truth caught in my throat as our conversations flashed through my mind—every laugh, every sigh, every moment of warmth and tenderness. He may not have used the words, but he’d told me. Time and time again.

“I’ll say it one more time: you need to tell him how you feel.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t understand what the issue is,” she probed. “If it works out, great. But if it doesn’t, at least you know and can move on.”

“That’s the issue right there,” I blurted, pointing angrily at her. “I don’t want him moving on. I’m tired of men moving on.” I inhaled and calmed my voice. More gently, I said, “I don’t want to be disappointed. What’s more, I don’t want my grandparents to be disappointed. They love Declan like a grandson and if they saw us as something permanent and he broke my heart again … he’d break their hearts too.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I just don’t want them thinking I’ll stay because of him. I can’t stay and he can’t leave, so I don’t see how this plays out.”

“And you’re truly set on leaving here in a couple of weeks?” she asked.

“Yes,” I responded, emphatically. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She bit her thumb and considered her response. “Well, it’s just that it sounded to me like you were trying to save your grandparents’ business and I guess I assumed that meant you were here until that happened.”

I couldn’t be mad at her assumption because it made sense, but after weeks of trying to cajole them into seeing things from my point of view, I’d given up. “I think that’s a lost cause,” I admitted.

“Anyhow, back to you and Cian,” I remarked brightly in order to change the subject since I was tired of talking about my depressing state of affairs. “If you’re into him, I can put in a good word.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “I might be out of practice, but I haven’t forgotten how to fish,” Katie said as she slid off her stool. “And I’m hoping that one’s a Moby Dick.”

She winked and sauntered off toward the other side of the pub where Cian was deep in conversation with the butcher’s nephew.

I watched in awe as she ambled up to them, her hips swaying seductively, and interrupted whatever they’d been discussing. She rested her hand on Cian’s shoulder and leaned in to say something that focused both men’s attention on her mouth. Within seconds they were hanging on her every word. Cian tried to keep his eyes trained on Katie’s face, but every so often he’d let them wander the expanse of her body, coming to rest on her ample chest, before traveling back up to her lips.

Yup, she’d landed her whale.

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