“I wish I could go back too, but you can’t turn your back on the choices you willingly make, and in that moment, I chose you.”
“Do you regret that?” I ask on words that ache.
Before he can answer, his cell phone rings, distracting him from me.
“I have to take this,” he says, and I nod as he steps out of the room to answer the call.
I swallow hard past the emotion lodged in my throat. Leaving the tea, I go stand in front of the windows. The chill from the glass makes me shiver as I watch the snow drifting down weightlessly to the ground. Looking over to the left, I can get just a hint of a glimpse of the grotto, and decide to get a better look from another window in the house.
Slipping off my coat, I lay it over one of the kitchen chairs and make my way out into the main hall of the house. I can hear Declan’s voice coming from the library. I wander down the grand hall toward the glass atrium when I pass a set of stairs. With curiosity, I begin to climb the steps that lead to the second floor. With my hand still on the banister, I look up to see the stairs continue to a third floor.
I explore, opening doors and walking down the various corridors that lead to bedrooms, bathrooms, and sitting areas. Everything on this level has been remodeled and finished in greys and stark whites. I then see a massive set of white double doors with intricate carvings in the painted wood. The handles are like ice in my hand when I open the doors to what I discover is Declan’s room.
My loss is overwhelming as I look at the large bed that sits in the center of the room. I’ll never know the feeling of being wrapped up in those sheets. Declan’s right: you can’t turn your back on the choices you make, and sadly, I made all the wrong ones and lost him in the process.
I take a step into what feels like forbidden territory and look around the room. Its many windows brighten the space that’s painted in a hue of dark grey, which contrasts the white crown moldings, and the fluffy, white down that lies atop the large, black leather, chesterfield sleigh bed. There’s a sitting area off to the side with two black armchairs and a chaise, all leather chesterfield as well.
Mindlessly, I walk across the plush carpet and over to the bed. I allow my fingertips to ghost along the white fabric as I mourn the loss of what was once within my reach.
“What are you doing in here?” His words are clipped and irritated.
I look at him over my shoulder before I turn to face him. My mouth opens to speak, but I can’t find my words.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he tells me.
“I just . . . ”
“Just what?” he questions as he starts to slowly make his way over to me in purposeful strides.
“I don’t know. I just needed to see this. Your home, this bed . . . you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Declan. You,” I say. “I miss you.”
“You don’t miss me.”
“Every day. I do. I miss you every single day.”
His jaw ticks, and with darkening eyes, he says, “You miss what I no longer am.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? Too much responsibility for you to bear? You want to ignore the fact that your lies altered my life in the most unforgiving way?” His voice grows coarser with each word spoken. “You want to stand there and be forgiven for what you did? Like you’re some sort of victim in this?”
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“More lies,” he grits through clenched teeth as his hands fist at his sides.
“No.”
“Then why do you keep saying you’re sorry over and over again?”
He grabs ahold of my shoulders, and my voice stutters, “I-I don’t know, b-but I don’t expect for you to forgive me for what I’ve done.”
“Then why say it?”
“M-maybe . . . I don’t know . . . Maybe hope.”
“Hope? For what, Nina? For me? For us?”
“Maybe,” I tremble as my emotions grow with his anger.
“You want hope where hope doesn’t exist.”
Fighting against the sadness is doomed when my chin begins to quiver as I say, “I’ll always hope for you.”
“After all this, you want me?”
I nod.
“Then tell me,” he demands with intent.
My words come easily. “I want you, Declan.”
His hands drop from my shoulders and land on his belt. With punishing, black eyes boring down on me, I hear the light clinking of metal as he undoes the buckle. My pulse explodes in a rush of hammering beats that knock hard against my ribs in anticipation. But at the same time, my panicked heart flutters when he yanks the belt out from the loops of his slacks.
I stand here, unmoving, and simply watch him. He takes the back of his hand and runs it down my cheek to my neck and then my shoulder. In a flash quick move, he jerks me around, crossing his forearm over my chest, and pinning my back to his front. My hands grip the sides of his thighs, balancing myself on shaky legs.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to take my hands off you,” he says with his lips pressed to the shell of my ear.