“And?” I press.
“When I found out I couldn’t have kids with him, he didn’t want to get married anymore.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes may be dry, but the look in them haunts me. “We’re not compatible.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“The prenup required me to take a genetic screening test with him. I thought it was a normal request—”
“That should be a choice, not a contingency for marriage.” I seethe.
“I realize that now.” She lets out a heavy sigh.
“Why?”
“Because I wish I hadn’t found out what I did. I know it makes me sound so damn selfish and awful—”
“You’re not.” My hold on her tightens.
“You don’t know enough to make that call.”
“I know you, which is all that matters.”
Her eyes swim with unshed tears.
“What did you find out?” I push.
“I shouldn’t have a child with Oliver—or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Because of some genetic test?”
Her face twists in agony as she nods. “I’m not…compatible… with anybody. I carry recessive genes that shouldn’t be passed down unless I want my child to suffer.”
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dahlia
I’m not sure how long Julian holds me while I process everything, but I’m grateful for his company.
Slowly, the grief I felt before fades until I’m left with something I didn’t expect.
Relief.
It feels good to talk to someone about everything, even if that someone is Julian. And maybe—just maybe—it was meant to be that way.
He isn’t overly emotional and anxious like my mother, who would probably break down crying with me, and he isn’t like Lily, who would go into graphic detail about the ways she plans on murdering Oliver. Neither one of them would truly understand me and what I need.
I don’t want crying or revenge. I want this.
At some point, Julian carries me to one of the booths in the back of the bar. After spending the last twenty minutes using his shirt as a tissue and his chest as my personal punching bag over the subject, I’m emotionally and physically spent.
Julian brushes my hair out of my face. “Aren’t those tests a bunch of probabilities? There’s no way they can be one hundred percent accurate.”
“Yes, but the risk...I can’t consciously bring a child into this world who might spend most of their short life in agony.” My voice sounds so small and uncertain.
“I understand.”
We stay quiet for a few minutes until Julian breaks the silence.
“Oliver and his family are obviously still stuck in the 1700s, but you know there are plenty of ways to have a child.”
My shoulders slump. “I know.”
Oliver said the same thing countless times, but his story eventually changed once the terms of his inheritance became clear. He stopped making an effort while gaslighting me into believing I was the problem.
Everything about our relationship imploded, along with my mental health.
“Then, what’s the matter?” Julian asks.
I twist one of my rings. “He made me feel…”
He crushes my body against his. “What?”
“Defective.” I choke up.
“Did he say that specifically?” The way Julian’s voice quickly shifts into something dark and menacing has the hair on my arms rising.
I don’t answer—not out of fear for Oliver’s safety but because I don’t want Julian’s pity.
“I’m going to kill him.” Julian’s expression sends a shiver down my back.
“When did we go from wanting to murder each other to wanting to murder for one another?” I tease in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“Since I found out how much he hurt you.”
I bat my tear-soaked lashes. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“He never deserved you.”
My next confession rushes out of me. “I’m not torn up about him or his marriage.”
“No?”
“No. It might not seem like it, but I’m relieved. I know all of this is for the best, although I wish my breakup and life weren’t so publicized.”
“Then, why are you crying?”
“For myself, mainly. And for the show I was promised.”
“What happened?”
“The network pulled out of the contract this afternoon after the news broke.”
His jaw ticks. “If a network doesn’t stand by you for something like this, you’re better off without them.”
I sniffle. “What if another opportunity doesn’t come around?”
“It will.”
“You sound awfully confident about that.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m surprised you’re not.”
My gaze drops.
He lifts my chin. “You can tell me anything. I won’t hold it against you or think any less of you.”
My shoulders slump. “I let Oliver redefine my self-worth. I doubted everything that made me feel like me because I thought that was part of growing up. That love was about compromise.”
“If you have to change yourself to fit someone’s ideal version of you, then that’s not love.”
I stare down at my clasped hands. “I realize that now.”
“What took you so long?”
“Honestly? I forgot who I was before. But then coming back here by myself…it’s given me time to think.”
We share a knowing look before Julian motions for me to exit the booth.
“What?” I stand on shaky legs.
“How do you feel about getting out of here?”
“And going where?”
“To do something fun.”
I don’t realize where Julian is taking us until I see the litup Ferris wheel slowing to a stop as Harvest Festival attendees hop on and off.
“No way.” I dig my boots into the ground.
“Why not?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
His head tilts. “About what?”
“All the stories being posted about me.”
“People around here barely read the news, let alone gossip columns.”
“But I look like a hot mess.” I point at my swollen face.
He closes the gap between us and gently brushes his thumb beneath my right eye, wiping away a spot of mascara I must have missed during my visit to the bar’s bathroom. “You look beautiful.”
My head spins faster than the teacups in the distance. “You’re only saying that so I go along with your plan.”
“If I wanted you to go along with my plan, I would have told you about the competition I have planned.”
My ears perk up. “Did you say competition?”
His laugh acts like a shock to the system. “Told you.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’d rather show you.” Julian places his hand on the small of my back and pushes me in the direction of the entrance to the festival. I try to shake him off a few times and remind him of our established rules, but he chooses to ignore me while leading me toward the food area.
“Please tell me you’re not suggesting a food-eating competition.”
“No, but we should get you fed and hydrated.”
“I only had two shots of tequila before Henry cut me off.”
He shoots me a look.