Page 77 of Mr. Charming

After that, there wasn’t a lot of talking as we fumbled our way to the bed. I should’ve known, should’ve been prepared—sex was never our issue. We’d always been able to connect on a physical, intimate level regardless of what was going on in our relationship.

I woke up the next morning, and it felt like old times. I was so full of hope and expectation, ever the fool.

Tweetie was sprawled out on his stomach, and I inched my way over to him, laying my head on his shoulder blade, running my fingers over his skin like I used to, over the ink that marked me as his, but my fingers stopped when I saw what lay underneath them.

I picked up my head, and my body chilled seconds before my blood boiled.

I blinked to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. There was no fucking tattoo on his shoulder blade. He’d gotten it removed.

My mind cast back to when he told me what the tattoo symbolized for him, how it meant that no matter what, I would always have a piece of his heart and soul. The visual reminder that those words hadn’t meant what I thought they did to him was a crushing weight on my soul. He clearly regretted me, regretted us.

I slid out of the bed and grabbed my things, tiptoeing to leave without having to deal with him. This was a very bad mistake. One I knew I’d feel the sting from for a very long time.

I slid on my dress and was zipping it up when he peeked one eye open. “Where are you going?” He held out his arms, wanting me to get back in bed with him.

“You’re an asshole.” I couldn’t help the words from escaping my mouth. I finished zipping up my dress and went to find my shoes.

“What?” he asked, either not fully awake or not remembering that he might have wanted to tell me something. Before we slept together.

“Nice back. So clean and unmarked.” I searched the room for my purse once I slid on my shoes.

His face paled, and I actually took pleasure in his reaction. “Shit. Let me explain.”

“I don’t need an explanation.” My voice was getting louder. Shit. Why was I giving him the satisfaction of seeing my reaction? “I’m not surprised, I guess. You never could really commit. Go the distance.”

He sprang out of bed, grabbed his boxer briefs, and put them on. “You’re going to throw stones at me for not committing? I asked you to marry me.” Anger and hurt laced his voice.

Was he serious?

“When you had nothing else good in your life! When you were at your lowest point! That’s when you suddenly decided you were all for marriage. After how many years together? You just woke up with the epiphany that you wanted me to be your wife?”

He inhaled a breath and released it, as though maybe he was trying to control his anger. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

I probably gave him a look. I don’t know, but whatever my reaction was, he continued, throwing his arms out at his side.

“You wouldn’t. So fine. Believe whatever you want, Tedi. You always did.”

I let the dig slide. “Come on, Tweetie. I’m not an idiot. You didn’t even have a ring.”

He ran his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated growl. “You want to know the truth? Fine. I wasn’t planning on proposing to you that day.”

“I knew it!” I pointed at him, feeling justified that I’d been right to turn him down and end things.

He rolled his eyes. “But I also wasn’t planning on you breaking up with me. You just gave up on us. After all those years and everything we shared, you just gave up. And so I was a desperate man. A desperate man who only wanted to hold on to the one thing he hadn’t lost.”

“That’s not why you ask someone to marry you. I don’t want someone to ask me just because they’re afraid to lose me.”

“That’s the entire reason why someone asks someone to marry them, Tedi.” His tone made it clear that he thought I was the idiot for not seeing the truth of his words.

I quieted and stared at him. He just didn’t get it. Probably never would. I understood his past and his issues with his dad and abandonment. Hell, I had issues too.

My voice was a mere whisper when I said, “No, Tweetie, that’s not why you marry someone.”

I picked up my purse and stood at the end of the bed.

“Enlighten me then, oh wise one.” The anger was still pouring off of him.

I shook my head. “That’s something you need to figure out yourself.”

---