Page 74 of Miss Understood

“You’ll get rid of it.” I pause, knowing the words just lit a fuse that’s about to destroy everything.

“I will, will I?” She’s calm. Too calm. Her eyes are narrowed and her breathing steady. “That’s what this is for you, right? Convenient? We’re married, so you move me into your place, make me fit into your life, tell me to get rid of my things, and dictate the future of my job?”

I take a step toward her, but she moves back with an upturned lip.

“No.” She holds out her hand, her stare freezing my feet in place. “This right here is why I don’t do relationships. I’m not giving up my life to fit into yours.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth; I didn’t say that,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “You didn’t have to. We’ve been playing pretend. Wrapped up in the euphoria of this whole thing and ignoring what we actually need to deal with in order to make this work. But we can’t do that forever.”

I feel it in the air, the distance, her letting go with each word. There’s a goodbye on the tip of her tongue that’s fighting to break free, and I want to stop it. I want to stop her from unraveling everything.

But, like Luce always is, she’s right.

We might have gotten married on accident, and it might have led to us dating, but nothing ever changed. We didn’t talk about what it meant long term, what we would do permanently about our living arrangements, what our expectations were. The impact it would have if we stayed together once the Marchetto case was closed.

Working in the same office.

Me her boss.

Us fucking.

“We’re good together,” I say. The words barely get out.

She walks over, so close I have to tip my head down to look at her. But even when she places her hands on my chest, I feel the distance.

“We are. And I want this.Us. But I can’t give up my career in the process,” she says. “Leaving the firm is the only way. If you want to make this work,reallymake this work, say that you care about my career enough to support me no matter what. Say this isn’t just a place card that feels good for now. Say you understand that I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for just to be in this relationship.”

I open my mouth to tell her all of those things, but the space between her eyebrows crinkles, and I see something I don’t think I’ve ever seen on her face before: hurt. And I realize what her being with me has done to her.

The rumors that circulate, the doubt when she’s commanding a room. Glances that weren’t there two months ago.

I could support her now, in this step. We could ignore the facts a little while longer. I could pretend that her being with me doesn’t hurt her reputation. But I’d be wrong. And that’s not fair to the woman I love.

Did I just think that—that I love her?

My head spins, and the hurt in her eyes shoots straight through me. There’s a reason I’ve never cared about relationships. My job, my money, my time—that’s all that’s ever been important to me.

Until her.

Until Luce.

But just because I can’t get enough doesn’t mean it’s right to drain her in the process.

I take a step back, and Luce’s face tightens. We both know what comes next. The dance we’ve seen more times than is healthy. The splitting in half, the two sides standing on either side of the room. Fragments of what was and what could have been playing just beneath the surface. Things that should be said and not said.

If I care about her—love her—I need to let this be what it was meant to be from the beginning. A mistake, a stupid game we played when we were drunk, a temporary fix to something—I don’t even know what we were trying to repair anymore.

But I need to let it go.

“Jesse.”

A question or a plea or an answer.

My name on her lips says everything.

“I can’t,” I tell her, even if every bone in my body grates against itself as I do.

---