Page 78 of The Wexley Inn
He turned to face her. “But you know, Robert Henderson asked me a question that I couldn’t stop thinking about. He asked me what I was terrified of. And I’m afraid that if I don’t control the outcome, people I love will be destroyed by circumstances that I could have prevented. I’m afraid of watching you struggle when I have the power to make it easier. And most of all,” his voice dropped to barely audible. “I’m afraid that if I’m just honest and vulnerable and not in control, you’ll see that I’m not strong enough, that I’m just a man who’s terrified all the time and trying desperately to hide it.”
The admission hung in the air between them. It was the most honest thing she’d ever heard him say before.
“You hurt me,” she said, her voice shaking, “and not because you helped. I understand you were trying to help, but because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, you made decisions about my business, my loan, and my professional reputation without even including me. You treated me like I was too fragile or too incapable to handle it.”
“I know.”
“And it felt exactly like when you left me all those years ago, when you decided for both of us that that was the best thing without giving me any say, when you decided because you assumed you knew better.”
“You’re right. I did the same thing, and I can’t promise I won’t struggle with the same instincts again, because apparently they’re deeply ingrained. But I can promise to fight them, to catch myself when I start trying to control instead of support you, to ask instead of deciding for you, and to be honest instead of protective.”
“How do I know you mean it?” Isabella asked. “How do I know you won’t just do this again the next time things get difficult?”
“You don’t.” The words were simple. “You can’t know. All I can do is show you through my actions over time. If you’re not willing to take that risk, if you can’t trust me after what I’ve done, then I understand. I’ll finish the work here as soon as possible, turn over all the documentation, and step away so you can run your inn without me undermining your authority.”
But the thought of Thomas leaving - of never seeing him in the halls of the inn again - made Isabella’s chest constrict painfully.
“I canceled the Paris interview,” she said abruptly.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Tuesday, after our fight, I sent an email declining the position.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Because I don’t want it. I never really wanted it. I wanted an escape route in case this” - she gestured between them - “in case we didn’t work out. In case you hurt me again. In case I needed to run.”
She moved to the window, staring out over the grounds. “Luella told me I’ve been running my whole life - through multiple corporate positions, through different cities, through different relationships - never staying anywhere long enough to build real roots because roots make you vulnerable.” She turned to face him. “And you were right about me, too, in that fight. I do create exit strategies instead of committing completely. I keep one foot out the door so nobody can abandon me because I’m already halfway gone. It’s my pattern. My way of protecting myself.”
“Isabella…”
“Listen. I interviewed for that job on the phone because–”
“It was your dream.”
“Not because it was my dream,” she interrupted, “but because Grayson’s threats terrified me. Because I realized just how vulnerable I actually am here - financially, professionally, and emotionally. Because I’ve put everything into this inn, into this community, and now into you. And that level of commitment is terrifying when you’ve spent your whole life protecting yourself. My biggest fear was that I did need you to help me fix this, and I don’t like to need other people.” She met his eyes. “I kept it a secret because I was ashamed. Because I knew it meant I wasn’t fully committed to us, and I wasn’t fully trusting you. I was already planning my escape before you could hurt me first. And when you confronted me about it, I used it as a weapon. Threw it at you to hurt you the same way you had hurt me.”
“We both hurt each other,” Thomas said quietly.
“Yes, we did. Badly. And I don’t know if we can come back from this. I don’t know if two people with our particular damage can manage to build something healthy together, or if we’re going to keep triggering each other’s worst patterns.”
He crossed the room slowly and stopped a few feet from her. “I love you, Isabella. I’ve loved you for thirty years. Even when I was married to someone else, I am embarrassed to say. Even when I tried to convince myself I had moved on. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “And that’s what makes this so terrifying. Because loving you means trusting that you’re not going to make decisions for me. And trusting you means risking that you’ll hurt me again.”
“And loving you means trusting that you’re not going to run when things get hard. It means believing that you’ll stay even when you’re scared and that you won’t keep one foot out the door waiting for an excuse to leave.”
They looked at each other across that small distance, both of them afraid, both of them hurting, but both wanting desperately to bridge that gap.
“What if we can’t change?” she asked. “What if these patterns are too deep? What if we try and fail and hurt each other even more?”
“Well, then at least we tried,” Thomas said, his voice full of emotion. “At least we gave it everything we had. At least we were honest with each other. And which one would hurt more - to walk away now or to try and fail?”
She took a shaky breath. “I want to try. I want to do the work of learning to stay and trusting you. But I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me that if you start falling into old patterns or thinking you need to decide for me, that you’ll catch yourself. That you’ll tell me what you’re thinking before acting on it.”
“I promise.”
“And I need you to promise that you’ll start telling me if you feel the need to run—that you’re scared.”
