My sweet girl,
I will never do anything less than worship you. Every time I feel you or touch your soul, it’ll be etched on that beautiful mind of yours forever – and beyond that. I’ve told you all of this before. There aren’t words in existence that could justify my feelings for you. I’ve perused the English dictionary for hours looking for them – nothing. When I try to express myself, nothing seems adequate. Yet I know how profound your feelings are for me. And that makes my reality almost impossible to comprehend.
I don’t need to stand before a priest in God’s house to validate how I feel for you. Anyway, God never anticipated us when he created love.
There’s nothing that could or ever will compare.
If you want to take this letter as my official promise to never leave you, then I’ll have it framed and hung above our bed. If you want me to say these words aloud, then I’ll do it on my knees before you.
You are my soul, Olivia Taylor. You are my light. You are my reason to breathe. Don’t ever doubt that.
Be mine for eternity, I beg you. Because I promise I am yours.
Never stop loving me.
Eternally yours,
Miller Hart
x
I read it again, this time with tears trickling down my cheeks. The words, so elegantly written, hit me harder still, making me truly comprehend Miller Hart’s love for me. So I read it again and again and again, each time my heart warming and my love for him intensifying further until I’m an emotional wreck, sobbing all over the posh desk, my face sore and puffy from my relentless tears. Miller Hart expresses himself perfectly well. I know how he feels about me. Now I just feel silly and guilty for faltering . . . for making such a big deal of it, even if I did it silently to myself. But he saw my internal turmoil. And he’s acknowledged it.
‘Olivia?’
My eyes snap up and see him in the doorway, a distressed look on his face.
‘I’ve made you sad?’
Every aching muscle liquefies, my emotionally exhausted body sinking into the chair. ‘No . . . I . . . it’s just . . . ’ I raise the paper, waving it in the air as I wipe my eyes. ‘I can’t . . . ’ I gather the strength to utter something comprehensible and spit it out. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I rise from the chair, forcing my legs to hold me steady, and approach him. My head’s shaking a little, angry with myself for making him feel the need to explain when I already know how he feels.
When I’m only a few feet away, his arms open, welcoming me into his embrace, and I practically throw myself at him, feeling my feet leave the floor and his nose head straight for its favourite place. ‘Don’t cry,’ he soothes, tightening his hold. ‘Please don’t cry.’
I’m unable to speak through my emotion, so I return his fierce cuddle, soaking up every familiar sharp edge of his body against mine. We remain a tangle of limbs for an age, me working hard to gather myself, Miller patient while I do so. He eventually attempts to detach me from his body, and I let him. Then he drops to his knees and tugs me down to join him. That beautiful smile greets me, his hands pushing my hair from my face and his thumbs collecting the tears still escaping my eyes.
He goes to speak but purses his lips instead, and I see his internal struggle to voice what he wants to say. So I speak instead. ‘I never doubted your love for me, no matter how you chose to say it.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘I didn’t mean to make you feel shitty.’
His smile stretches and his eyes sparkle. ‘I was worried.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . .’ His eyes drop and he sighs. ‘Every woman on my client list is married, Olivia. A blessed ring and a certificate signed by a holy man mean nothing to me.’
His admission doesn’t surprise me. I remember William saying loud and clear that Miller Hart struggles with morality. Sleeping with a married woman in exchange for money probably never cost him a scrap of shame – until he met me. I rest my fingertips on his dark jaw and bring his face to mine. ‘I love you,’ I affirm, and he smiles, but it’s in between sadness and happiness. It’s light and it’s dark. ‘And I know how fascinated you are with me.’
‘You couldn’t possibly know how much.’
‘I beg to differ,’ I whisper, bringing his letter between our bodies.
He looks down at it and silence falls, only very briefly, before he drags lazy eyes to mine. ‘I’ll never do anything less than worship you.’
‘I know.’
‘Every time I feel you or touch your soul, it’ll be etched on that beautiful mind of yours forever.’
I smile. ‘I know that.’
He takes the letter and casts it aside, then holds my hands and my eyes. ‘You make my reality so hard to comprehend.’