Page 132 of Point of Contention
She’d self-medicated herself to death, lonely and miserable because of the man she loved. I desperately wished that I could take that pain out of his dark eyes and carry it so he never had to feel the anguish of losing her again.
“Marriage isn’t supposed to be like that,” he whispered.
My spine straightened at the mention of marriage and I gave my head a subtle shake, both in agreement and…
And because I didn’t want him to stray down that path.
Marriage wasn’t for me. If anything, his parents were just one more example as to why I felt the way I did.
“Since before I even left for college,” Cabot went on, “she trained me to run the publishing side of things. That was her dream for me, all she ever wanted. She’d created this beautiful thing, and envisioned me at the head of it all someday.”
It was a beautiful story, a life well lived. A mother creating a future for her beloved son.
But something struck me as I considered his words, and my heart cracked from the weight of my realization.
I knew what his father wanted. Money. Power. A line of Reed men to carry on what he’d built.
And I understood now, even if minimally, what his mother wanted: to combine the things she loved—her son and literature—to create a future where both were intertwined and thriving.
Only one part of this puzzle was missing…
“What doyouwant?” I whispered.
Cabot’s gaze flicked up to mine and he opened his mouth, then closed it. His brows furrowed above his dark eyes.
A second passed. Two. Then three…
They stretched out into a heavy silence as my question hung between us.
Had no one really asked him that before? Had he never stopped to consider?
This was a man who saw what he wanted and went for it—I was a prime example of that—but had he really not considered long term?
After a moment, I stood, then walked around the breakfast bar, stopping in front of him. He slid his hands over my hips, and when he finally lifted his gaze to meet mine, he said, “No one has ever asked me that before.”
I sighed, then ran my hands through his dark hair as sadness gripped my chest. Not even his mother had asked him, and she was a woman he loved and respected quite tremendously. “Well,” I said quietly, “I’m asking you now.” I cupped his cheeks and kept his face tilted up toward mine. “What doyouwant, Cabot?”
“I want you.”
“You have me.”
He nodded, breathing deeply. “I want you… always.”
“I know.” I smiled sadly as I said, “I’m still not sure about marriage.”
He nodded, taking a moment to accept that even though it was obviously not what he wanted to hear. “I intend to change that.”
With a sigh I ignored that statement and said, “Take me out of the equation.” I stroked his cheek with my thumb. Brushing my fingertips over the chocolate diamond at the nape of my neck, the delicate and rare necklace he’d used to collar me, I promised, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He swallowed and his eyes closed on a long blink as he let that sink in.
“What do you want?”
His shoulders rose on a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he said, “I just want to publish books.” His eyes widened as the words left his mouth, the admission surprising him even as he spoke the truth. “I don’t want to run an empire.” He sighed and his body shook with the release of pressure, the weight of finally acknowledging something he’d tried to ignore.
As he held my gaze, his mind worked on overdrive, the gears turning rapidly as he accepted this truth. Then, in front of my eyes, Cabot Reed released decades of other people’s expectations of him, and the raw relief in his eyes was a thing of beauty.
Chapter Forty-Five
