Page 47 of Falling for the Forbidden
Even with the warmth of the water and the relaxing scent filling the room, Ben’s muscles are still pulled tight. I can only imagine how he’s feeling.
“I can’t stop seeing him hitting you,” he whispers once we’re curled up in bed. He pulls me even tighter to him. “Every time I close my eyes, his fist is flying to your face. No man should ever hit a woman.Ever.”
“I was trying to stop him from hitting you. He didn’t mean to hit me,” I argue, but I know it’s weak at best.
“It doesn’t matter. He still hit you. I was meant to be protecting you. IpromisedI’d protect you, and yet that arsehole hit you. In front of me.”
Running my hand up his chest, I wrap my fingers around his neck and make him look at me.
“None of what happened tonight was your fault, Ben. You need to stop blaming yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”
“I never should have allowed myself to touch you. Your dad’s right. I’m bad news.”
“Shut up, right now. Do not believe a word that comes from his mouth. He doesn’t know you. You’re incredible, Ben.”
He makes an unintelligible noise and tries to push me away.
“No. I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you pull away from me.” Wrapping my arm around his waist and throwing my leg over his, I hold him as tightly as I possibly can. No more words are said between us—we’re too lost in our own heads—but eventually we must drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.
Chapter Twelve
No words needto be exchanged the next morning. Just one look at each other and we know everything’s about to change. I can’t imagine a situation where Dad allows us to be together, but I’m not letting Ben go. Screw the business and the education I’ve been promised.
Other things in life are more important.
“I’m not ready,” I admit when Ben comes back from the bathroom and begins pulling his clothes on.
“What’s the point in putting off the inevitable? We need to go and face the music.”
“Just a little longer?” I plead, hoping to live in this little bubble we’ve created for just a few more hours.
“We’ll have lunch, then we’re going back.” If I couldn’t see Ben’s face, I would think the words he’s saying aren’t affecting him. He seems so strong and sure of what we’ve got to do, but in reality, I can feel the fear the uncertainty radiating off him. It breaks my heart to know he’s hurting because of my dad again. But what can I do?
I stand to the side while Ben hands the key over to the receptionist, fighting to keep in the tears stinging my eyes. I just want to curl up in a ball and cry. Through hazy eyes, I take him in, head to toe. I’m not ready for this to be over yet. We’ve got so much more to get to know about each other. We deserve more time.
His eyes widen when he turns and finds me staring at him, but he doesn’t say anything. Nothing he can say can make this any better.
I get a bit of déjà vu when he pulls up in front of the same shop we stopped at last night and tells me to stay put.
I will my brain to stop, but it continues to race. It feels like no time has passed at all when he pulls the door open and climbs back in. The more I pray for our time together to last just a little bit longer, the faster it seems to go.
I expect him to take us to a café or restaurant for lunch, so I’m a little surprised when he pulls up in the same car park he brought me the first day we really spent any time together. That day feels like a million years ago, now.
“This is where it all started,” he says sadly. “It seemed like a perfect place to—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” If he says the words I fear are coming, I’m going to lose it. Instead he nods, grabs the bag of food he bought, and climbs out of the car. His shoulders hang like he’s got the weight of the world on them. With a sigh, I follow his lead.
After retrieving a blanket from the boot, we walk hand in hand over to the oak tree and set up our little picnic. The sun might be shining, but it feels like we’ve got a giant black rain cloud hanging over us, and I realise that as much as I want to put off going home, right now is torture. Looking at Ben, knowing this could be the end is just too much to bear.
“Fancy a sausage roll?” A weak laugh passes my lips at his attempt at a joke. “Lauren, you need to eat something.”
“I can’t. I feel sick.”
I expect him to argue, but once again he just nods.
* * *
“I guesswe should get this over with, then?” I ask after we’ve been sitting on the blanket in silence for well over an hour.
