Page 42 of Snowed In with Benefits

“It did hurt,” I admit. “I tried to brush it off, but it hurt.”

I didn’t even notice how much it hurt until now, frankly. It’s like the picture of me and my fake smile; I’ve got a new perspective now, and everything feels fresh and new. The sting of Preston’s gentle and repeated rejections still burns hot in my chest, in a way I never let it burn before.

I can see it now. Just like I can see my fake smile. I can see how I was settling, whittling myself down to fit Preston’s life, in so many different ways.

“Is that why you left your wedding? Because you were hurting, and you weren’t letting yourself feel it?”

His perception shocks me. I look at him, really look, and I see something more than sympathy in his eyes. He seems like he really knows what he’s talking about.

“I think that might be part of it,” I tell him honestly. “But only part.”

“So what was it, really?”

I have to think about that for a minute.

“I still don’t have a good answer for that question,” I confess. “And that’s a problem, because there are a load of people who want answers, and at least one person who deserves an answer.”

“Preston?” He raises an eyebrow.

I nod. “Preston.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’ve told me a little bit about Preston, and I have to admit, I’m not impressed. What was it about him that got you walking down the aisle in the first place?”

“He was perfect,” I say, shifting slightly.

“He wouldn’t let you hang your pictures.”

“Right. If he was perfect, and he wouldn’t let me hang my pictures, that means that my pictures weren’t perfect, which meant that I wasn’t perfect, which meant that marrying him would be the closest thing I could be to perfect, and that’s all my mother ever wanted me to be, was perfect.” It all comes out in a rush, connections I didn’t even know I’d made rising to the surface all at once.

“Wow,” Hunter says. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” I say miserably.

“No, not Preston. I’m still not impressed with him. What’s impressive is how thoroughly you convinced yourself that he was perfect, even twisting his imperfections into reflections of your own imperfections. You must have really wanted him to be perfect.”

I chew on that for a minute. “It wasn’t so much that I wanted him to be perfect… it was more that he already was, in my mom’s eyes. He was everything she ever told me to shoot for. Everything she never really seemed to believe I could get.”

“What did he do to convince her that he was perfect?”

“Lots of things,” I admit with a sigh. “How he handled his money, for one thing. Did I tell you he convinced me to quit my job?”

He nods, but doesn’t cut me off, so I continue.

“He made it seem like a gift. Like something I should be grateful for. Look babe, now you don’t have to work those long hours or deal with those people, I’ll take care of everything, I’ll take care of you. That’s all my mom ever wanted for me, and I felt like I should want it too.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“So, how did you feel once you actually quit your job? Was it as much of a gift as he promised it would be? Did you like your life afterward?”

I sit with that for a moment and finally come to terms with the truth.

I shake my head. “I hated it. It wasn’t a gift, it was a strategic move. Now that my life wasn’t revolving around work hours, it left a gravity well that he fell into. Everything I did was about Preston. Go to this gym because that’s where Preston’s buddies’ wives went. Shop at this store because that’s where all the cool people were shopping. Dress up, dress down, stay in, go out, all on his schedule.”

I take a shuddering breath.

“The worst part was, I couldn’t even complain about it,” I continue. “Everybody thought it was the greatest thing in the world. They acted like I’d won something, when I felt like I’d slowly been losing everything.”