Page 47 of Friends With Benedicts

“It’s not that simple. You know it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

I leaned back so I could see him. “I can’t just say yes or no because neither would be true.”

His dark brows drew together. “Then what is true?”

And there it was, the corner I’d been slowly backing into for weeks. My back hit the metaphorical wall, and I searched his eyes for understanding when I spoke.

“The truth is that I can’t tell you what I want because no matter what I say, whatever you do next will come as a direct result.” He didn’t look convinced. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

His lips parted with the draw of a shallow breath, but he closed his mouth again.

“Right. So you can’t ask me that question, Bas. You can’t, because you have to decide on your own. Not because of what I want.”

“I didn’t say you were right.”

“No, you didn’t say anything.”

“Because maybe that’s not a question I can answer without thinking about it for a second.”

I didn’t have an argument for that.

“What you think and what you want is part of my decision whether you like it or not. I quit thinking for myself the second you told me about Priscilla.”

Quiet recognition fell over me. I knew that feeling all too well.

“So I guess I get it,” he continued. “It’s not black and white for me either. But what you want is vital to me. What do you want, Pres? Do you want me to stay, or do you want me to go?”

“I want what’s best for you. I want what will make you—”

“Happy, yeah, I know. But that’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know.”

“Why are you afraid to tell me? I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”

“Guess you’ve found my weakness.”

He gave me a look.

I sighed again, this time to vent the pressure in my chest. And then I met his eyes. “I’m afraid because if you stay for me and Cilla, you’ll resent us. It would be hard enough to lose you like that. But it would be a million times harder for her.”

Sebastian cupped my jaw, his eyes dark. “How could I ever resent you for a decision I made?”

“What if one day, you realize what you gave up to stay?” Tears threatened my eyes. I bit down on my bottom lip to stop them. “We’ve never done this, not really. So what if, once all the shine wears off, Priscilla and I aren’t enough? What if it’s too hard, harder than you imagined, and you end up miserable and stuck?”

I could tell by the look on his face he couldn’t even fathom it. And that was exactly why this was so dangerous.

“We agreed for this to be the summer, just like always. We agreed to be casual,” I said.

“And we both knew that was bullshit.”

I tried to look down—I was going to cry if I didn’t. But he held my face in place, tilted it so I couldn’t avoid his eyes. There was no stopping a tear that slid down my cheek.

“What if I told you I wanted to stay?” he asked. “And not just for you, though I probably would have wanted to with or without Priscilla. But how could I leave a little girl—my little girl—behind? I’ve missed four years already. I don’t know if I can stomach losing two more.”

In my chest raged a war of hope and warning. “Then I would say that you need to be a hundred percent sure. Because if you decide to stay, you can’t change your mind. You can’t leave Cilla like that.” You can’t leave me like that. “Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep. Think about it some more. Think about it until you’re absolutely positive. That’s the only promise I want from you right now.”

He didn’t want to agree, didn’t want to concede—I could see it all over his face. But he schooled himself, his features softening as he gave in to my request.

“Then that’s what I’ll promise you.”

I nodded, relieved, though an undercurrent of misery slithered beneath, leaving dark ripples in every good feeling I had.

But then he kissed me, and after a moment, his magic wiped all thought away. When he wielded that magic, there was nothing else in the world but him and me and lips and hands. There was just us. Here, things were simple. Here, we were free of everything but how we felt about each other.

Here, that was all we needed.

I craved the feel of his skin, bare against mine. Slid his open button-down over his shoulders. Admired the curves and shadows his body made in the dusky light. Watched him as he gathered me up in his arms, stroked my face as I traced the lines of his with my gaze in adoration.

The skim of his fingertips along my collarbone was worship. The tug of my bathing suit string was possession. When he bared my chest to cup my breast, it was with reverent devotion. And when he descended, it was to devour me.

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