Chapter 32
Ledgar
Payson is still asleep when I get back to the penthouse.
Exactly as I left her. I stand there for a moment, watching her sleep, contemplating everything that has happened in the last couple of weeks.
She’s perfect. A part of me even wants to say I love her, but if I loved her I would be thinking about leaving her.
Then again, they say if you truly love something, set it free.
Will she be free if I leave? I can have Griffith keep a check on her for me. Protect her from afar.
I have one week to decide and watching her now makes that decision almost impossible to make.
I vow for the next week to give her everything.
To make her believe in love again. I start small, cooking breakfast the next morning, something far better than the room service she’s been ordering.
She notices a change but doesn’t question it.
I lay out fresh fruit, warm bread straight from the oven, and coffee that doesn’t taste like it’s been sitting way too long.
“You’re full of surprises,” she says, eyeing the food.
“I try to be,” I answer.
On the second day, I take her out. Not anywhere too crowded, but somewhere quiet and peaceful.
Somewhere I can have her all to myself without getting caught.
So, I take her to a private island I bought just for her.
Water stretches out around us, and sunlight catches the surface as the sun fades beneath the water.
She laughs when she steps into the freezing cold water.
It’s late October, barely warm enough to be outside without a light jacket, yet she still insists on going swimming. “You didn’t tell me it’d be freezing.”
“It’s October. What did you expect?” She turns, splashing water in my direction at my smart-ass comment. I try to dodge it but fail, tensing the second it touches my skin. Her laughter is infectious as she holds her stomach, laughing as she watches me.
She doesn’t notice the effort I’ve invested behind the scenes, like the phone calls I make while she sleeps or the places that remain open when they shouldn’t be, such as secluded restaurants.
She sees spontaneous adventures and deliberate attempts to make her happy.
A version of me that exists only with her.
By the third day, she stops asking where we are going, or why.
She just goes with the flow allowing me to give her this.
We walk through places she’s never been, her hand in mine where it molds like it was meant to be there.
“You’re different this week,” she tells me, glancing up at me.
“How?”
“Less… distant. Less of an asshole.” I almost smile.
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” she says softly. “I like it.” That makes two of us.
I try not to allow myself to think of what comes on the last day.
Allow myself to be happy with her, enjoy it while it lasts.
We swim again, later than we should, the water slightly warmer this time around.
She clings to me as I hover us both beneath the water.
“You’re staring,” she whispers, running her hands along my chest and behind my neck.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She shakes her head, smiling, and I memorize it.
We eat and talk and talk and eat. We cuddle, and fuck, and cuddle some more. She’s allowed me to explore her body in ways I never thought I would. I know just what she likes, what makes her come in seconds, and what makes her whimper in need.
She shares things she probably shouldn’t about her life, small pieces she thinks are unimportant, like her favorite color being burgundy.
She mentions that her favorite movie involves horse-diving and that her favorite hobby is reading smutty romance novels.
I listen closely, memorizing every detail.
By the fourth day, it starts to feel real, and that’s dangerous.
She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder as we dance to the music playing in the background, her fingers gently touching mine as we sway.
"Tell me this is real.” Her words barely reach me.
I hesitate, unable to answer her. I hold back what I really want to say, partly because I can’t let myself feel what I truly do.
This is real. That’s the problem. And anything I say now either gives her something I can’t promise to keep or takes something from her I never had the right to touch in the first place.
My jaw tenses before I force it to soften.
“It feels real,” is all I manage to say.
Not a lie, but not the truth she is asking for.
Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to decide if it’s enough. It’s not but she lets it be tonight.
By the fifth day, I can feel the change between us.
She’s closer to saying it, and I’m closer to letting her.
I can feel it in the way she looks at me.
In the way her words linger on the edge of something left unsaid.
We lay here watching her favorite movie, her hands tracing the lines of my muscles on my stomach absent-mindedly like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.
She looks at me, then back to the screen.
“I…” she starts, then stops. I look at her, and she hesitates.
For the first time all week, I want to hear the words come from her, even if I can’t repeat them, no matter how much I feel it.
“I think I...” I pull her in, kissing her deeply, fiercely, not letting her finish, but redirecting her attention to somewhere else to stop her from saying them no matter how much I want to hear them.
When I pull back, breaking our kiss, she doesn’t push.
Just rests her forehead against mine, eyes closed.
I’ve never said those words before, not once.
Only to my mama, and occasionally to my siblings, but never to a woman.
The words sit pressing against everything I don’t say, and I hate myself for it.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to tell her I feel the same, to make this real for good, but I can’t.
On the sixth day, I can see the way she thinks this will last in the way she talks about the future, making plans she won’t be able to keep.
She doesn’t hesitate anymore when she speaks, and I’m starting to hear more and more of her smart mouth and feisty attitude.
She looks at me like she’s already decided I’m the one she’s going to be with the rest of her life.
And God do I wish that to be true. We don’t go anywhere today, just stay in, doing nothing but exploring each other so intimately.
After the third time, she falls asleep on my chest, and I can’t bring myself to wake her. Instead, I memorize this very moment.
Seven days will never be enough to show her how I feel about her. She is mine, and she will always be mine. That will never change.