Page 39 of The Billionaire's Bride
"What-bloody-ever." I rub the back of my neck, begin to pace.Of course, I do, so why is it so difficult to admit it aloud? Why hadn’t I told her so earlier when I had a chance? So, it has only been two and a-half weeks since I met her. So what? When you know, you know, right?
Something inside me insists that she’s the one for me.So why the hell can’t I say what I am feeling aloud? Argh!I dig my fingers in my hair and tug.Jesus H Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?
"Well?" Saint prompts, "Do you?"
I turn around and face them. "And if I do?"
"So, you do?"
I fold my arms across my chest. "What’s it to you, assholes?"
"I understand how difficult this seems," Sinner says in a low voice. "Trust me, when I met Summer I was confused as fuck. I had no idea why whenever I saw her, I wanted to run away yet simultaneously, shove her behind me and hide her away from the world."
"Whoa." I blink, "Did you just wax almost-poetic…about a woman?"
"My wife and soon-to-be mother of my child." He half-quirks a smile, "Who’d have thought, eh?"
"Not me," I mutter. "Mr. Ruthless Billionaire Bastard with hearts in his eyes... Fuck me dead."
"Right?" Sinclair smirks. "And you know what the starting point was?"
"No," I frown, "what was it?"
"It began with accepting that I was a piece of shit who didn’t deserve her."
"Hear, hear," Damian agrees.
"It began with being very honest with myself about who I am."
"A fucktard?" I offer.
"That too." His smile grows lopsided. "But also, that I was a selfish bugger in everything, and even more so when it came to her. Only, when it came to doing things for her, I discovered I could be the most selfless person."
"You’re not making any sense."
"My point, exactly." He widens his stance. "What I am trying to say, you piss-tard, is that it began with me facing myself. It began with me accepting what I felt for her."
"Which was—?"
Weston ambles over to me, "You just obtuse, or did your stint in the army addle your brains and other parts of you completely?"
"My parts are all in fine working condition," I mutter, "which is more than I can say for many of you."
"Afraid most of us here have proven our manhood, ol’ chap," Weston drawls.
I open my mouth, and he shakes his head. "And I don’t mean fucking or getting our women pregnant."
I tilt my head and he pauses next to me, "Every one of us had to bare our soul, lay our heart on our sleeve, and swallow some very hard lessons."
"Not to mention, coming clean and admitting our feelings for them," Damian interjects.
"You mean groveling, don't you?" Arpad mutters.
"Lots of groveling," Weston concurs.
"A whole lotta groveling." Saint winces.
"That doesn’t seem like the recipe for a happy relationship." I frown.
