Page 224 of Reverse

“Know what?”

“We’ll get to it,” he assures again.

I decide to give him honesty. “I’ve spent the last six weeks pulling myself together, Easton. Part of that was forgiving you. I’m still working on me.”

“But you haven’t,” he whispers softly. “Not really.”

“I haven’t heard a word from you since I divorced you and really never expected to again. What is with you fucking Crownes anyway? Is it our surname? Butlers to serve the Crowne? Is that why you people think you can barge into our lives, take what you need from us, and tear us apart before you take off again?”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I think . . . that I remember every second of what I felt from the minute we met and the days, weeks, and months leading up to the last time I saw you and after. So no, I don’t truly believe that it’s intentional. But letting my heart rule my head, I’m fucking done with that, and I have to be for a while. We were idiots,” I whisper in an attempt to keep my voice even. “You know that, right? Both of us. We eloped after a handful of months together and really expected to be some sort of rare exception.” I bite my lip, withholding the comment that I believed we were.

“I still have the same heart I did then, Beauty. It beats the same fucking way. You’re still angry, so stop lying about that.”

“Why do you think that? Because I’m trying to use good judgment?” I retort. “Something you’ve never bothered to try and understand.”

Resting his face against the seat, his eyes float over and sweep me wholly. “Give me the words.”

“The words?”

“A way to get toher,” he says softly. “Something, anything to get back to her. Point me there. Because I really need to talk tohertoday.”

I return his earnest gaze with a frown before I realize what he’s asking. He wants the woman who was open with him, who didn’t hide behind the hurt, the woman who trusted him and handed over her heart. The woman he married. The version of the woman he nicknamed ‘Beauty’ because of his attraction to the raw, unguarded state he drew from within her that had nothing to do with her appearance. The version he left in shambles with his parting words in that bathroom. “Easton—”

“Fuck,” he sighs, “okay, Natalie, just tell me where you want to go, wherever that may be.”

He knocks on the window, and within seconds, we’re being chauffeured through Austin streets.

Knowing I’m being unreasonable and childish, I entertain the idea of hearing him out as I scan his face. This may be our chance to fix what we jaded and sullied and leave each other amicably. Flashes of my life in Austin flit through my mind, of places I’ve felt safe, of places where I know we might be able to make peace with all that’s transpired. Glancing in the rearview, I project my directions to Joel. “Get on 35 South.”

“The middle of fucking nowhere,” Easton muses as I start to walk through the lifeless pasture toward a cluster of oak trees. The sun mildly warms the morning as I turn back to Easton with my explanation.

“My father’s best friend, Marcus, Damon’s dad, owns this land. These are some of my old childhood stomping grounds.” I scour the field and sigh. “I haven’t been here in years. It seemed so much bigger back then. Must admit, it’s lost some of its magic.”

Easton steps up next to me and sweeps the large pasture before I feel his eyes on my profile for long seconds. “Can’t have that.”

He turns on a dime and walks over to the SUV, conversing briefly with Joel. In less than a minute, the SUV is speeding away from us, leaving us alone in the frost-tipped field.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Easton walks toward me with confident strides. “Trust me?”

“Sadly . . . maybe a little.”

“Okay then,” he says, walking further into the field toward a twin cluster of oak trees as I follow, my heels sinking into the dirt.

“Shit, this was a bad idea,” I say, inspecting the bottom of one of my soiled heels, “these are expensive—”

In a blink, I’m swept into Easton’s arms honeymoon-style. Inhaling his intoxicating scent, I glare at him while being forced to wrap around him for support. I don’t miss his satisfied smile.

“You’re going to fuck this place up for me,” I mumble.

“Not intentionally,” he replies, biting away the rest of his smile as he carries me over to the trees. When we get to his designated destination, he gently sets me onto my feet on brownish-green grass. A cool breeze freezes me where I stand just as the smell of cow shit hits us both. Our eyes meet as the putrid stench overtakes us, and we burst into laughter.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I can smell why you thought this place ismagical.”

“Shut up.”

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