Page 46 of Savage Love

Above all else, I want to make her happy. I’ve never known how to cook, but I make an effort for breakfast at least—the only meal I know how to even begin to manage—because the first morning that she walked in to see my attempt at pancakes and eggs, she smiled in a way that I hadn’t seen her smile in days. I bring her flowers when I come back from meetings. I’ve tried to figure out the things she likes—the type of coffee she has in the morning or the snacks she’s started to crave and keep them in the house for her. Anything that I can think of to see her smile or brighten her day.

The fact that she told me she loved me, that first night in the new house, hasn’t come up. She hasn’t mentioned it again, and I’m sure as hell not going to.

Not when I know I can’t say it back.

But with every day that passes, it feels more and more muddled. I’ve told myself that I can’t love her—that I can’t ever give her the love she deserves, but every time I do some small thing for her…bring her ice cream or flowers, try to cook a meal or clean up before she comes back from visiting Isabella, every time I take her out to dinner or a movie or a museum or anything else I can think of to show her in the city, a small nagging voice in my head askswhat exactly is this, if not loving someone?

If someone asked me why I like spending time with her, why it’s not a hardship to be married to her or share a life with her, I could list off reasons without missing a beat.She’s funny, intelligent, kind, and sweet, and she has more nerve than some men I’ve run jobs with. The last part no one would understand unless they’d spent time in Rio with us, but after what Elena did there, I’d rather have her watching my back than some guys I’ve worked with—not that I’d ever tell her that. I want her to be able to put all of that behind her. I want her to be able to forget about it.

I tell myself, every time that thought comes up, that I’m doing these things to make the marriage tolerable for her—to make sure that she isn’t miserable because I got us both into this situation. That I’m trying my best to be a decent husband, and that it has nothing to do with the way my chest clenches every time I see her smile, the way I look forward to hearing her voice when I walk through the door, the way I feel a sense of crashing relief every time I convince myself that I’ve waited long enough, and that I should take her to bed.

I told her I’d keep her satisfied. We didn’t put a metric on what that meant. For Elena, I think it’s a lot more than what I allow myself–us–because I know if I took her to bed every time I wanted her, we’d stay there for longer than I know we should…and I’d lose the ability to keep that distance that I know I need.

As the days pass, though, it’s harder and harder to rememberwhyI need it. Why I’ve held myself for so long to the idea that I’m not allowed to find happiness or peace in anything ever again. And the thing is—the thing I keep forcing myself not to look too closely at—I can’t seem to help it. When I’m with Elena, I’m happy. There’s no way around it.Shemakes me feel that way, in every single moment I spend with her.

As for peace, I know the only thing keeping me from that is me. Something that Max and Liam are all too quick to point out to me the next time I get drinks with them, when Max is in town again.

“You’re putting yourself through hell for nothing, man,” Liam tells me flatly, over pints at the bar we normally frequent with Niall. “I don’t know why you hesitated to marry her at all in the first place.”

“We both know,” Max cautions, his glass of whiskey sitting in front of him. “Give the man a break.”

“I’m sitting right here.” I glare at both of them. “And you do both know. I can’t—fuck, you know I can’t make her happy.”

“You know my wife spends time with her, right? And her sister?” Liam narrows his eyes at me. “I hear what they talk about secondhand. Youdomake her happy, when you’re not living with your head so far up your ass that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. You’re going to spend the rest of your life living half in and half out of a marriage that is clearly a good fit–”

“I’m nearly twenty fucking years older than her–”

“Who the fuck cares?” Liam takes a deep draught of his beer. “You’re already married, so that’s a null point. You can’t change it now. The time for that was way back when you first took her to bed.”

“I fucking know that,” I growl at him, and Max waves a hand at us both.

“You’re being too hard on him,” he tells Liam. “I’m well aware of what it means to be so devoted to an idea of something that you miss out on what’s right in front of you—or nearly so. But,” he adds, looking at me, “I’m also going to say, in a kinder manner, that youaremissing out on what’s right in front of you.” He clears his throat, taking a sip of his whiskey. “You might not have lived a life as a priest, the way I did, Levin. But you’re doing penance all the same, and you’ve carried it out long past when you should have put a stop to it.”

“I’m just going to hurt her—or get her hurt. She shouldn’t be with me at all.” I nudge my own beer aside. I’ve lost the taste for it.

“But she is,” Max points out. “There’s no changing that. You’ve married her, and rightfully so. All you’re doing is making it harder on both of you.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s not unhappy to be married to you,” Liam interjects. “You’ve got a gorgeous wife who wants you and adores you, a child on the way—you should be enjoying this, man. Not constantly fighting it like it’s a fuckin’ punishment.” His accent thickens as he speaks, and he takes another deep drink. “Keeping her at arm’s length isn’t going to make anything better.”

“There’s got to be a statute of limitations on how long you punish yourself for something,” Max says quietly. “Whether it was or wasn’t your fault—I know what you believe it was, and we’re not debating that—it’s been a long time. Priest or no priest, eternal punishment isn’t something I believe in.”

I can’t help but snort a little at that. “You clung to your celibacy with your fingernails, long past when Sasha made it clear she wanted you, and you wanted her back. And nowyou’retellingmenot to stick by something I’d decided for myself? I said I wouldn’t fall in love or get married again. Just like you made vows not to kill or fuck. You couldn’t help killing, and I couldn’t help getting married. But I can do my damndest not to fall in love.”

“And how’s that going for you?” Liam asks, his expression impatient. Max throws him another glare.

“I made vows,” Max says, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“So did I. A vow to myself isn’t less important than one made in church.”

Max drains the remainder of his whiskey, an expression on his face that suggests he’s struggling for patience. “I’m not saying that it’s not. What Iamsaying is that I realized clinging to that vow wasn’t in my best interest. That it served a version of myself that I no longer was. And you’re repeating the same error. You’ll hurt Elena with it, just as I nearly hurt Sasha with it—and do the exact opposite of what you’ve said so often that you’re trying to do. Protect her.”

It’s a convincing argument, and it settles in the back of my mind, long after we’ve finished up at the bar and I’m on my way home. It only serves to make the question I’ve been asking myself for a while now press harder—whether or not, after so long, I should allow myself a second chance at happiness.

What’s done is done. Max and Liam are both right about that. I married Elena, and there’s no undoing it—and the truth that I’ve struggled with admitting to myself is that if given a chance, Iwouldn’tundo it. I didn’t want to leave her when I brought her to Boston, and now, having learned what it’s like to share the beginning of a life with her, I don’t want to walk away from it, even if I could.

I’ve told myself that I was doing enough, trying to be a decent husband. Trying to do the smaller things that could make her happy, even if I couldn’t give her everything. But the question keeps creeping in—am I being unfair to her still, by only giving her that?

It would be one thing if I didn’t care about her. If I didn’t want her, like her—if I didn’t—

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