Page 72 of Shattered Fate

I drop to my haunches. “Zarah. What is it?”

She shrugs.

It’s going to be like that then. I’m going to have to pry it out of her.

“Can you tell me what it is? It can’t be that bad.” I clutch the edge of the table and rest my head against the side of my arm.

“Zane talked to me today, and I saw my therapist this morning.”

“Okay. They said something you didn’t like? Don’t agree with? About me.”

Excuse my language, but it fucking sucks shit that there are so many people involved in our relationship. A mentally healthy woman, maybe I’d have to impress her parents, but that’s a given, you know? Zarah, she’s got her brother, Stella, her therapist. Probably Lucille, and I’m sure her driver is a trained assassin and can kick my ass before I can even say “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “The problem is, I guess I do agree. That’s what hurts. I can’t dismiss what they told me because it makes sense.”

I know what they told her, and I gnash my teeth together. I’m not going to let her off easy. She’s going to say it, and I won’t dry her tears after it’s done.

“Gonna share with me?” I ask.

“They want me to see other people. They think since I’m just starting to date, I shouldn’t attach myself to you. That I should keep my choices open.”

She’s in a situation where sheshoulddate other men. If I had a sister, I would want her to do the same. It can only help her to realize not every man out there is an abusive prick. Zane and her therapist wouldn’t have suggested it if they didn’t have Zarah’s recovery at heart.

Do I want Zarah for the rest of her life? For the rest of mine? I don’t feel like Max did. At least, not yet. She’s doing me a favor by breaking it off now, and that’s another story I’ll take to my grave.

“Okay.” I straighten and shove the lasagna pan into the oven. We’ll eat, and then I guess maybe I’ll see her again someday.

She scrambles out from beneath the table, her eyes wild. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to say? It’s a good plan. If you feel safe, you should date and get to know other men. Hell, you might find someone you like spending time with.”

“I like spending time with you.”

“I’m glad you do, but did you really think this was going to be it?” I wave my arms around my kitchen. “That you and I would hook up and that would be it? For the rest of your life? Zarah, you have years of recovery ahead of you.”

“And you don’t want to be with me while I go through it, is that it?”

“No, that’snotit. Your recovery should involve dating. Learning not to be afraid of other men. Not every guy on the planet is an asshole, and you need to learn that for yourself. Zane understood it, and so did your therapist. Besides,” I add to hit the ball home, “the last thing I want is to be your rebound guy after Max.”

Her lips pop open. “You think that’s what this is?”

“I know it’sexactlywhat this is. Max wanted to marry you. Did you know that? Did he ask? Did you say yes?”

She freezes. “He what? How do you know?”

“He left me his diary and I’ve been reading bits and pieces. Last night I got to a part where he said he wanted to marry you.Did you say yes?”

“He didn’t . . . he didn’t ask.”

“Okay.” He didn’t ask, so it doesn’t matter to me what her answer would have been had he lived. It’s a moot point and torturing myself over it won’t do any good.

“So, that’s it then?” she asks, inching toward the door. Can’t get away from me fast enough.

“Yep, I guess it is. Go date your rich guys. I’m sure Tate’s just dying to take you out again. You’ve had some pretty shitty years, Zarah. I hope you can find some happiness.” I turn away and brace my hands against the sink. The scents of oregano and basil fill the kitchen from the pan warming in the oven. And to think I had our evening all planned out. Ha. It’s just like a woman to shoot a man’s plans all to shit.

Crap. “Wait.”

She looks up, hopeful. “Yeah?”

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