Page 34 of Valentine's Day Proposal

“Hell, if I can’t.” I turned around and glared at him. He couldn’t make me stay. I’d upheld my obligations. The election was over. “Try to stop me.”

“I mean, you can be serious. Why are you so upset over this? I had a dead battery and I had to wait on the tow truck. It was a busy night for folks or something. I—”

“Shut it, Charles.” I could have spat in his face. I didn’t know what to even believe anymore. It was like he was two different people. “I have a flight leaving in an hour and a half. I have to get to the airport.” I turned and started back to the door again, but I felt his hand on mine, stopping the suitcase from rolling.

“You can’t leave, Willow. We have things we need to talk about.”

“Let go of my hand.” The same electrical charge that tingled my skin every time we argued and he touched me was there, coursing through my veins, drawing me like a magnet to him. I didn’t want to look at him because if I did, I’d want to kiss him. “I am leaving.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not going to run away from me.”

“What do you care?” I shouted, peering up at his face. His intoxicating scent drew me in faster than the arm that shot around my waist and pulled me against his body.

“I do care. I care more than you know. I cared enough to buy you that anniversary gift. Why can’t you see that?”

I struggled, trying to squeeze my way out of his embrace. I felt the tears welling up again. He didn’t care. If he cared he’d have said something months ago. He’d have told me he was sorry for leaving me, made me believe that he could be different now.

“You don’t care. You never cared.” I pushed at his chest, my hand leaving the suitcase behind in my effort to push him away. “If you cared so much, why the hell didn’t you tell me at least one time this past nine months?”

He could have asked me the same question, but he didn’t. He stared at me, intense eyes clawing through my mind like he could read my thoughts. “Say something!” I screamed, but he didn’t.

He pressed his lips to mine, an intoxicating kiss. The type of kiss that said more than any words could say, but it was too late. I would not take Nina’s leftovers. And how would I ever trust that he wouldn’t do that with her again? I swooned, my knees going weak, my hands gripping his shirt. My mouth locked with his in a fitful embrace. My body wanted him, but my heart and mind were done.

I forced him away, slapping him hard across the face. “Keep your filthy hands off of me, you bastard!” Sobbing, I grabbed the suitcase and charged out of the room before he could say another word. He followed me to the door pleading.

“Willow, please. Let me explain. Nothing happened with Nina; I swear it. Please.”

I refused to listen to him anymore. I didn’t even turn around. He thought this time would be like the last several. Where our arguments turned to the passion we had for each other and we fucked like nothing had ever separated us. He was wrong.

The Uber I had scheduled was on time, waiting for me when I reached the parking lot, and he had my bag loaded before Charles even got down the stairs. As we pulled out, I watched him exit the building, running after us. He had a panicked look on his face, like he never believed I’d actually leave. I should have reminded him about the check, but maybe Peter would be a better person to speak with about this.

At the airport a throng of cameramen and news reporters hovered at the drop-off line as if someone had tipped them off that I was leaving town. It was likely they just happened to be covering some of the other congressmen coming to town for the hype of post-election bliss, but I weaved through them without a care. I wasn’t playing Charles’s game anymore. It was time to go home and tell my parents everything, the arrangement, the way he broke my heart seven years ago, the way he broke my heart this time, and even the baby. It was just one short 30-minute commuter flight, and I would be taking a cab home for the holidays.

The reporters swarmed me, asking dozens of questions. I didn’t care that I had no makeup on and that my face looked like I’d been crying. I had. It was all Charles’s fault too. Let them report that shit. I hoped his face was plastered next to mine on every fucking tabloid in the city. I hoped he was hurt by it. It served him right for dragging me back into this mess. My heart never had a chance in hell.

When I crossed through security where the cameras were not allowed to go, I breathed a sigh of relief. I sank into a seat in the terminal at my gate, waiting for boarding to begin and an elderly lady sat next to me. The place was packed, standing room only, and her sweet little smile made me sadder than I’d been in weeks. She was probably somebody’s great-grandmother, flying home to see them for Christmas and Thanksgiving. Probably had her own incredible story of how love carried her through her whole life. Probably had a man she was married to for 50 years who made her smile.

I burst out crying and that little old lady offered me a tissue. She smiled as I took it, saying nothing, and I bawled harder. When the plane boarded, she hobbled in line beside me, my silent companion. And when we took our seats, and she found hers three rows ahead of me, I felt a little lonely. Funny how a stranger could make me feel more welcome without any words than the man I loved made me feel for the past nine months with all the hubbub we’d been through.

Going home to Mom and Dad’s was the best thing I could do right now. Mel promised to visit me, which encouraged me a lot, and I knew I’d see my little guy Mr. Boots soon too. If nothing more than to find a quiet place to sort out my feelings, I would enjoy the family home, the holidays, and a few family traditions.

I buckled my seatbelt and pulled my phone off, but instead of just turning it off, I took the battery out and decided it wouldn’t be put back in. Charles had ways to find me—he’d done it before. If he wanted me, he’d have to work for it, but something told me he wouldn’t put in the effort.

And that was okay with me. Or at least that’s what I was telling myself.

31

CHARLES

“Pass the turkey, Charles.” Dad held his hand out, waiting for me to hand over the beloved main course. Thanksgiving with my family was never the same once I became an adult. It used to be this magical time when the entire extended family got together, and my cousins became my best friends for the week. We’d play board games and hang out, and when it was time to say goodbye, we’d all get moody and bicker, swearing we hated each other but deep down we just didn’t want to be separated again.

Now I was lucky if even one of my cousins came around. I could always count on Aunt Martha to show up. Her caramel cake with maple butter icing was my favorite, and she knew it. There was always a little plate with one slice saved back for me before anyone else got a chance to have their piece. And she’d make sure I knew right where she hid it so I could enjoy a slice with everyone else, then save that slice plated ahead of time for my midnight snack.

“Charles, stop daydreaming and give your father the turkey before he has a heart attack.” Mom’s nagging never helped. I sighed, picking up the plate and handing it over. It was just the three of us this year. Aunt Martha and Uncle John were getting too old to travel. My cousins were all married off, having dinners with their own families, and I was there alone with my parents, waiting on the uncomfortable discussions to start.

Mom tried to start in on me last night when I arrived, but I’d use the excuse of the long drive and being exhausted to find my way to my old bedroom and crash. I stayed up well past midnight, I’d just been hiding so they didn’t bother me.

“Where is Willow?” Mom was direct as usual, not beating around the bush. She’d been too buried in the kitchen cooking and prepping the meal to badger me any sooner. I rolled my eyes at her, sighing. “Well, she’s your wife. Don’t you think the press will wonder why she’s not with you on a national holiday?”

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