Page 56 of Vance

“Nothing.” Her throat bobs on a swallow. “I just… I need air. And I’m hungry. We haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

She’s lying; I can hear it in the pitch of her voice and see it in the way she refuses to meet my eyes, but I don’t push.

“I know a place.” I take the next exit without consulting her. “Right up the road. Good food. Private.”

The restaurant is small, tucked inside a converted farmhouse at the end of a narrow country road. The parking lot is nearly empty, exactly what I was looking for: privacy. A place where I can sit across from her without strangers watching. Somewhere we can be alone without the constant performance of who we are supposed to be.

The hostess greets us with a polite smile as we step inside. “Good afternoon. Table for two?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Right this way.”

“Excuse me,” Sophia cuts in before the hostess can take more than a step. “Could you tell me where the restroom is?”

“Of course.” She gestures toward the hallway behind us. “It’s just down there, on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Sophia disappears, and the hostess turns back to me. “This way, sir.”

I follow her to a corner booth, overlooking a field where the last light of the evening is fading into gray. She sets two menus on the table, and as she walks away, I glance toward the hallway. Sophia has been gone less than a minute, but something in my gut tells me she isn’t simply looking for the restroom.

When she finally returns, her eyes are glassy, and she looks pale beneath the flush on her cheeks. She slides into the booth across from me, her hands trembling slightly as she smooths them over her lap, trying to compose herself.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

She looks up at me, staring at me for a moment before answering, “No.”

The lone word hangs between us as she waits for me to press, and I wait for her to continue.

She draws in a shaky breath, her fingers twisting together as her gaze falls from mine. “I love you.”

For a moment, I don’t understand what she’s saying. Or maybe I understand it too well, the words hitting somewhere I’ve spent my entire life making sure nothing could reach.

“I don’t know what you want me to do with that information, Sophia.” I keep my voice low and controlled, as something inside my chest begins to unravel. “I don’t know how to…” I stop, searching for words that have never existed in my vocabulary. “I’m not built for this. For love. For whatever it is you think you’re feeling.”

I watch the emotions flicker across her face. First hurt. Followed by a flash of anger. Then resignation. “Vance⁠—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, sharper than I intend. “Don’t. Let me finish.”

Her eyes shine, and suddenly I hate myself for whatever thoughts are warring in her mind.

“You’re my wife. You’re…” I stop, my hands clenching the tablecloth. I force myself to look at her, deserving every bit of the pain in her eyes. “I don’t want your love,” I say finally, truthfully. It might be the most honest words I have to offer. “I don’t want you to love me because I’m not capable of returning it in the way you deserve.”

She stares at me, her lips parted, her eyes bright with tears she refuses to shed. My jaw tightens as I lean forward, fighting the instinct to retreat behind the walls I’ve spent a lifetime building. To deny myself this moment of softness before it becomes something I can’t take back. But I’m tired of denying myself where she’s concerned.

“But I want you, Sophia.” Her breath catches at my confession. “Choosing a bride wasn’t a choice; my father made sure of that.” I hold her gaze. “But you weren’t chosen from a list of names or because you were convenient. I wanted you long before marriage was something I had to consider.”

My phone buzzes against the table, and I mute it before continuing, “When my father forced me to choose a bride, I already knew exactly who I wanted.”

Her brow furrows as I let the silence settle between us.

The waitress approaches, hesitates, and quickly retreats when she sees our expressions. We sit wordlessly for a moment, two people who married for all the wrong reasons, finding themselves with something that looks dangerously like the right thing.

“You were never an obligation, sweetheart.” I reach across the table, wrapping my hand around hers. “I chose you because I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else. Now that you’re mine, the mere thought of you with anyone but me fills me with a dark jealousy I can barely put into words. That’s not love. I know it’s not, but it’s the closest fucking thing I’ve got.”

“Is this the most you’ll ever be able to give me?”