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“He’s my first love and sadly the only man you’ll ever have to compete with for my affection . . . and it may not seem like it right now, but he’s a good and typically more reasonable man. He’s just unimaginably hurt.” She shakes her head. “It’s not just who you are. It’s the culmination of everything. The extent of my deception. I did this in an unforgivable way.”

“Wedid this. Which he will also hold against me.”

Are you going to choose him?

Irony of the worst kind strikes me as I realize Dad’s right. History is repeating itself to an extent. Her love and loyalty for Nate is our biggest threat. It’s been our only real issue from the start. What’s worse is that I can’t ask or force her to choose.

“I’ll get through to him,” she declares, despite a shaky conviction.

But will she feel the same conviction she did two days ago when the dust settles? In a week, a month from now?

Even as my heart demands an answer, I have to believe the ring on my finger is all the assurance I need. I keep the question brimming beneath the surface because if I do ask it right now, it may sharpen the point of a wedge capable of separating us.

“Let me go home. Let me try and figure out a way to get through to him.”

I shake my head, unable to let it go yet. “He’s not going to let you find one—”

“I love you,” she burrows further into me. “I love you. I belong to you. I meant every word I said.”

“Then remain my wife,” I plea, unable to help myself. “Keep your promises, your vows to me.”

“Don’t do that,” she whispers.

“Okay.” I relent easily and pull her to me, and we cling to each other, her tears coming freely as she cries into my shoulder. Even with her close, there’s not an ounce of solace to be found. There’s no solution, and it irks me that I can’t find one. I can’t see one, either—at least, not in the near future. The overwhelming feeling hits that in her mind, she might no longer see a future for us on the other side of that door. The thought starts to eat at my resolve to give her the decision to fight alone as we break in each other’s arms. Preparing myself for war, I pull back and firmly cradle her face. “It’s up to us. It’s our fucking choice.”

“I know.”

“Please don’t let go.”

“Stop! Easton, please,” she cries, “I’m paralyzed!”

My throat burns as my head begins to pound. Every tear gliding down her beautiful face eating me alive. In our shared silence, we fruitlessly search for a potential solution and find none. She’s right. For the moment, we’re completely gridlocked. If we continue like this—the way things are—we’ll destroy our relationships with our parents, eventually destroying us. We can’t allow it. Dad’s warning and our vows reverberate through me.

Love isn’t selfish.

The crux is that I have to share her with a man determined to make that feat impossible. Despite needing her, despite wanting her, despite the pact we made to remain unified, we were just divided by an atom bomb. I have to be the man she needs me to be right now, even as it rips me apart.

With a lump lodged in my throat, I’m reluctant to let her go. Heart splintering in my chest, I tip her chin with gentle fingers. “Okay, baby. Go. We will work this out.”

She looks up at me, a glimmer of hope reflecting back. Cupping her face, I dip and kiss her, our tongues tangling in desperation as I infuse it with all I feel for her. I shake my head when her sobs interrupt it and manage a smile, wiping her tears with my thumbs.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.” Even as I say the words, the ominous premonition threatens again. This time, I can’t shake it, even as the fight continues to build inside me.

Jagged, cutting bitterness takes hold for everything that just went down in the same place we made some of our most significant memories. We tear ourselves apart before she grips her suitcase and shoulders her purse. Our red eyes hold when she glances back at me from the open door of our villa. I fist my hands, forcing myself to remain idle while trying not to let her see what’s raging beneath the surface. She does anyway.

“I love you, Easton,” she declares vehemently. “And despite what just happened, I don’t regret it, and I won’t, no matter what,” she re-grips the handle of her suitcase while gliding her thumb over her ring, a new habit that strengthens my pulse just before she turns and walks out of the door.

FIFTY-TWO

“We Belong”

Pat Benatar

Natalie

Dad slams the garage door behind him as I stalk toward the patio, anxious to escape him, if only for a bit of reprieve. I’m halfway to the sliding back door when he sounds up behind me from the kitchen. “You’re suspended fromSpeakuntil further notice.”

My gasp is audible as I turn back to see him bracing himself on our island.

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