Page 115 of A Forgotten Promise

“Is it, though?” I look at him, and I startle at the change in his countenance.

Gone is the indifferent, latent hatred. His features are softer now. Is he pitying me? Or is he just relieved his information is incorrect?

“Yes.” He nods.

I step away. I need to think, and I can’t do that when he holds me, regardless of how lulling it is.

“Your informant led you to believe I’m a gambler, so forgive me if I doubt the source.”

“My source didn’t dig deep enough because they had no reason to assume someone exploited you.”

“Why did you even look into it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You treated me like a nuisance already. I didn’t need to give you more reasons.”

He lowers his head, nodding slightly. “Fair enough. I’m not very good at trusting people.”

The rare moment of honesty shocks me. I blink a few times, unsure how to take it. His admission hangs between us, a deepening intimacy that scares me and appeals to me.

“But do you trust me now?” I want to specify that I’m talking about this instance, but I don’t. I’m surprised at how much I want him to say yes.

“I do.” He doesn’t think about it, and the finality of it is clear. Indisputable. Rewarding.

“Why?”

“I don’t know why?” He shakes his head. “Goddammit, Saar, perhaps I just really fucking want your words to be true, because I’m tired of our constant fights, of trying to one-up each other. I trust you, not because you gave me any reasons to trust you, but because somewhere, deep down, I feel like you’re the answer.” He searches my face, bewildered, like he can’t believe his own words.

“The answer?” I rasp, the lump in my throat swelling.

“The answer to everything that’s missing from my life.”

An entire kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my stomach. I’m cold and hot at the same time—just purely overwhelmed.

I’m his answer?

“You’re refreshing. You’re beautiful, brave, and smart.” He steps closer.

“Okay, I’ll give you beautiful.” I try to lighten the mood, but it’s flat even to my ears. His honesty scares me more than his wrath.

He flaps his arms in exasperation and starts pacing. I don’t want him away from me. But can I allow him closer?

“Stop constantly questioning yourself, The Morrigan. You started taking care of yourself when you were a teenager. You stand up to me daily. I saw you interact with Livia and people at the shelter and many others… You care, you listen, you encourage. You spread compassion, and you stand up for yourself. Point in case, the fucker downstairs. Just because you’re a bit lost right now, it doesn’t mean you’re less.”

Oh, my poor heart.

“You’re a survivor, and I admire the shit out of you for that. That fucking post? It wasn’t a cry for help; it was your new beginning. To inspire. To shake. To provoke.”

I don’t know what to say. My lungs constrict; my heart races. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

“You bewitched me. You fucking stripped me of my control. You infiltrated my life, and despite my best efforts, my mind wanders to you all the time.”

He crowds me again. The intensity of his declaration moves my legs backward, even though, on some very deep level, I want his closeness more than anything. My back hits the wall.

“I’m done fighting, Saar. Tomorrow, you get your fucking marriage certificate, but we’re done pretending, and we’re giving this thing between us a real try.”

Again, my poor heart.

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