Page 103 of Accidental Groom
His jaw twitches. “You genuinely thought I’d call the contract into question?”
“I didn’t know you back then,” I say again. “You were rigid and cold, and I knew you cared at least enough to marry me, but I didn’t know what you were capable of doing if you thought I’d lied.”
“But you kept going, Elena. You knew who I was and still said nothing.”
I wipe at my cheeks, my breathing shaky. “I know,” I rasp. “I know I should have said something. I should have trusted you tounderstand and believe me. But then there was the pregnancy, and George, and everything got somessy,and I kept telling myself that I’d bring it up when the time was right, but then the time neverfeltright.”
A choked sob breaks free, and I try to stuff it down.
“The night we talked, when I found you in Geraldine’s room, I’d come to talk to you about it. About everything. I wanted to talk about the Ross thing, the things I was worried about, and the… the way I feel for you. I wanted to talk about it all. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it when it could potentially hurt you, when you were already crying, when you’d laid yourself bare for me. It felt wrong. I didn’t want to make that any harder for you.”
He’s still watching me, his eyes boring holes into me, and it carves me open from the inside. I can’t tell if he believes me or if he’s trying to decide whether or not to.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wobbling violently. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to keep it from you, I really didn’t. I just didn’t know how to say it anymore once it had gone too far.”
Still, nothing. No response. Just his eyes.
I keep going, not knowing if I’m digging my own grave. “I’ve spent my whole life being moved around like a chess piece,” I rasp. “From my dad’s business strategies to George’s insanity to the contract. I’ve never had something that was just mine. Not until you, andher.”
He flinches.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted for myself,” I add. I take a wet, shuddering breath in. “Not because someone told me to, not because it made sense on paper, but because I—because being with you makes me feel like I’m not surviving anymore. Even with the chaos of the last few months, you make me feel like I’m living, and you gave meher.”
The wind whips again, cold and dry and biting across my cheeks. But I barely feel it over the thundering silence between us.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Just lets it hang.
“Please say something,” I choke.
“Do you love me?”
It’s so soft, so sudden, that I almost miss it. He hasn’t moved.
My lips part, my throat closing. His eyes are locked on mine, waiting, shockingly calm.
I nod, once. Then again. I force the word through my aching throat. “Yes.”
He’s on me before I can prepare for it.
He crosses the chasm between us, his hands coming up to cup my face, tilting my face up toward him as his mouth crashes down on mine with a ferocity that draws out another wet sob from my chest. It’s not gentle, it’s not delicate — it’s desperate and raw and real. He kisses me like he needs this more than he’s needed anything in his life.
“I’m sorry,” I say against his lips, struggling to breathe through the kiss with my nose stuffed from the tears and my mouth occupied. He pulls back enough to give me air, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, wiping the tears. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think about how it would look, I didn’t want to scare you?—”
“Stop, Elena,” he murmurs. “Stop apologizing.”
“I ran away,” I croak. “I fucking ran?—”
“Come here, darling.” He tucks me in against his chest, his hand moving to the back of my head, tangling in my hair. He presses a kiss to my temple, hard, lingering there as if he can imprint it into my skin. “You’re okay. We’re okay. I believe you.”
“I’m just sorry.” The words come out muffled against his coat.
“I am too,” he whispers. “I should have just talked to you the other morning. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. I shouldn’t have gone through your phone in the first place. We both fucked up a little, yeah?”
I nod and press myself into him harder.
————
By the time we reach the front door of Ross’s apartment, I feel like I’ve shed something — anger, fear, the pit of dread I’ve been holding on to since I left Highcourt Hall. It’s not gone completely, but it’s not swallowing me whole anymore. Harry walks beside me, his hand resting at the small of my back, guiding without pushing me. I don’t look at him. I’m too afraid that if I do, I’ll start crying again.
