Page 87 of Better Off Wed
“That I’d think about it. The deal was contingent on us filing the wedding certificate, so I’m guessing it’s a nonissue now.”
Gideon flinched. Frowned. “Is that”—he cleared his throat—“Is that what this has been about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why you’ve been acting like you’re into me?”
I threw my hands up like I was Tim Gunn seeing a horrifying creation in the workroom on Project Runway. “First of all,acting like I’m into you?”
“You just wanted to get your business off the ground again. This had nothing to do with me.” His lips curled, disgusted,as his right hand slid over his scarred left forearm. The signet ring glinted on his pinky finger.
“Okay, now I’m offended,” I snapped. “Iaminto you. I have been into you since the moment I saw you. I…I?—”
Even now, I couldn’t say it. Why couldn’t I say it? Why couldn’t I tell this man that I loved him, that I saw a life with him, that I wanted everything with him?
He scoffed, disgusted.
I changed tack. “And I didn’t even want to take your grandma’s deal!”
“Because you didn’t want to be tied to this place. You want ‘options.’”
“Of course I want fucking options! I’m not stupid!”
“So go to Manhattan and make dresses for that bride.” He looked at me like none of the past six weeks had happened. “See if you feel like coming back when you’re done.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Suddenly, the enormity of this fight felt like it sat in the middle of my chest. I couldn’t breathe. “Do you…” I sucked in a wheezy breath. “Do youwantme to come back?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Ever since that night last week, you’ve been pulling away.” The words burst out of me, and tears quickly followed. I brushed them aside as I said, “When I couldn’t—when we couldn’t have sex. You realized what it means to be with me. What you’re giving up by being with me. I’ve been a burden and an inconvenience to you since I got here.”
His fury was a physical thing. It pressed against my skin, choked me as I tried to inhale. “If that’s what you think, then it’s probably a good thing you’re leaving town.”
“Tell me you want me to stay,” I begged, choking on the words.
“You need to do what’s best for you, Sadie,” he replied, then slipped out of the car and slammed the door.
I watched his retreat, and something tore in my chest. I felt it rip wide open, felt the pain of the tear and the jagged edges it left behind.
He was just another person who was ready to walk away from me. Another person who rejected me once they knew the real me. Another person who reminded me that I just didn’t measure up. I wouldn’t ever be good enough as I was.
I’d always been an outcast in my family. I’d felt like I had to make up for my flaws with my previous partners. And now, when I thought I’d finally found somewhere safe—someonesafe—Gideon had pushed me away.
It was all well and good to be angry at me. But he couldn’t just say he wanted me to stay? He couldn’t tell me that he cared about me? Not even once?
Suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed up to the apartment and started tossing things in my bag. My vision blurred with tears. If I stopped moving, I’d collapse. Once I’d cleared all my stuff out of the apartment, I got my car from the lot and went to the cottage. I needed to get out. Needed to run.
All my life, I’d been made to feel small. I was worthless and broken. Undeserving.
Maybe that was how things would always be. Maybe this was the reality of my life, and wishing for more was just a recipe for heartbreak. A sob tore out of me as I hauled my big suitcase out of the closet in the bedroom, keeping my eyes off the bed where Gideon and I had sharedso much.
I’d actually thought he cared about me. I’d actually believed that he would see past my physical shortcomings and loveme. Actually thought he’d make me feel safe and loved and cherished. How naive. How foolish. How fucking stupid. Why would he be any different from any man who came before?
With my arm, I scooped all my toiletries off the vanity into a bag, then tossed it into my suitcase. I grabbed my laundry from the hamper and stuffed it in a plastic bag, then struggled with the zipper as I tried to close it up. Frustrated when it wouldn’t close, I opened the bag and wrenched out the sketchbook that had been catching on the zipper. Stupid thing. I didn’t need this anyway. It wasn’t like I’d be able to save my business after all this, new client or no.
Marching to the kitchen, I opened the cupboard under the sink to pull out the garbage, and my gaze snagged on the multitude of takeaway cups from Knead More Bread.
My matcha lattes.
