Page 79 of The Genius
I stared at the electronic pad, wanting to put down at least ten things but all that came to me were reasons that made staying apart the most logical solution.
1: He wants children, I don’t think I do.
2: He wants marriage, I don’t see the need.
3: He is materialistic, I’m not.
4: He wants to live in the Northlands. I prefer the Motherlands.
5: He has never been in love with me. I’ve been in love with him since I was fifteen.
6: Northmen are possessive and controlling by nature. I’m too independent and need my freedom.
More things were on my mind, but I put down my pad and pushed it away. Curling up in a fetal position, I admitted defeat. If I truly loved Marco, I would have to let him marry Louisa, who could give him marriage, children, money, and the obedient wife he was born to dream of.
Telling him about my love for him would only confuse him and make things awkward between us. My time with Marco was running out. In three days he would leave. In six days Louisa would choose her husband and Marco might share his wedding night with her.
The same imagination that helped me come up with ideas for inventions now tortured me with images of Marco making love to another woman. In my mind Louisa was perfect and he would whisper all the little things that he had practiced on me – telling her that she was his and that he would never get enough of making love to her.
The heaviness in my chest felt like I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean, pressure building to a painful sense of suffocation that had me struggling to breathe. I couldn’t see, what with all the tears filling my eyes, and pulled in oxygen in little gasps of hyperventilation. Suddenly, unable to release the air in my lungs, my chest was cramping and my eyes opening wide with fear that my body was literally shutting down in grief.
I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe. All there was left was a heartbeat loud enough to hear it in my ears, dark spots in front of my eyes, and gut-wrenching pain in my chest at the realization that soon I would never touch Marco again.
Grateful… be grateful.It was my mother’s mantra that saved me as I began thinking about all the other things in my life I had to live for. I saw my sister hugging me, my mother laughing in her kitchen, Tristan teasing me about the CBC or the troll machine as he called it, Charlie wrinkling his nose at the talk of sex, and Willow kissing me on my cheek. I wasn’t alone – there were people who needed me to breathe.
As if I were pushing burning lava through my nostrils, I exhaled a little, forcing my cramped lungs to relax. It felt like a desperate need for survival, but one small breath at a time my lungs began to cooperate and breathe again. Scared from my anxiety attack, I curled up in a fetal position and sobbed for hours, reminding myself over and over again that I should be grateful for the time I’d spent with Marco, and that I’d always have the memories.
By four in the morning, I still hadn’t slept, but I’d come to terms with my decision to sacrifice my own happiness for his. Wasn’t that the true essence of love anyway? I would act as normal as possible and find it in me to be happy for him when he left. In three days it would all be over. That was seventy-two hours of hiding my feelings from the man I loved.
When Marco called me in the morning, I was confused and sleep-deprived.
“What time is it?” I asked with a large yawn.
“Nine. How’s your head feeling? Do you have a hangover?”
I yawned again and stretched my arms. “I feel like I’ve been doing intense fight training for a week. My body is sore all over.”
“Everyone has a different reaction to alcohol.”
I tried to move but moaned from the pain in my stomach muscles. This wasn’t alcohol. This was the result of sobbing for hours. My body was exhausted and I could hardly lift my arms.
“Can I see you?”
“You are seeing me.”
“In person.” He sounded more eager than normal.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I just thought we could spend some time together today. I have a training session at twelve, but it should only take about two hours. We could meet up for a late lunch.”
“You want to take me out for lunch?” My tone was incredulous, since that had never happened.
Marco hesitated. “If you want… or I could bring some takeout to your office like the other times.”
“Right.” I rubbed my eyes, remembering his words: that he didn’t want to be seen in public with me. I was his dirty secret who could ruin his chances with Louisa.
“What do you say, your office around two thirty?”
