36. The Inevitable
EVA
Room 402 looms ahead, and even though my palms are clammy and I’m jittery, I still can’t wait to be in his arms—and bed—one more night. I’m rushing when I lift my hand and knock.
“Who is it?” His voice sounds weird. Or am I just hearing things?
And why is he asking that? Is he okay? “Uh, room service?”
The door swings open, and there he stands—looking tortured, like he stepped out of a GQ photoshoot gone wrong with his suit still on, but his tie loose and his hair wild. My eyes go wide. “What happened?”
“Come in,” he offers, but his eyes are hard, guarded.
“Thanks.” I fidget with the hem of my dress, my growing nerves showing. “So, I guess it wasn’t a kid.”
“Huh?”
I bite my lip. “The other night—who caught us in the hall.”
“Oh yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Definitely not a kid. I’m so sorry about that.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Again, thank you for coming to my parents’ defense,” he says, but his tone’s deflated.
“Of course.”
“No really. I know you did that at the expense of everything you’re fighting for.” This time there’s a bit more energy to his words, but not much.
“I couldn’t sit back and watch that happen to anyone, let alone your wonderful parents.”
“I know you couldn’t.”
The exchange we’re having is nice, but there’s nothing nice about this moment.
I study him, the man who shed his glasses and got fit yet still wears his heart awkwardly on his sleeve. It’s infuriating and endearing all at once. I walk over and cup a hand over his cheek, wanting this night to go the same as last night. Needing it to because this is the last one we’ll ever have.
But he steps back, bracing himself against more than just my awkwardness.
“West?” I say, hurt. “What is going on?”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t smile, doesn’t move—just watches me with eyes that’re splintered and shadowed with hurt.
I back away. “It’s our last night together.”
“I can’t, Eva.”
“Why?” I study his pained face in the dim glow of the room’s lamp.
“It’s too much.” He crosses his arms, a barrier.
“What brought this on? Your parents or my dad?” The words taste bitter, but they need saying.
“Reality did, Eva.” He shrugs, defeated. “My family, your family—it’s a mess. That doesn’t end with a neat little bow.”
“Life doesn’t come with bows, West.” My heart clenches. “It comes with knots to untie. And we’ve known this.”
His jaw clenches, and I know he’s fighting something, but whatever it is remains hidden behind his fortress walls. “Sorry, Eva. I really am. But this—us—has to end. Tonight.” His voice is soft now, and I can hear the hurt breaking through the indifference.
And here it is—the moment I’ve been dreading since I met West—and it came a night too soon. A lifetime too soon, really. I step backward, my own armor cracking. “God, West.” I press my fingers to my temples. “And what about what we want?”
“We can’t always get what we want,” he says, and I can tell he doesn’t even believe that.
“Right.” My breath catches in my throat. “So this is it,” I say, and it sounds like I swallowed a lemon whole. My mind flips through images of West surrounded by bikini-clad hopefuls, all vying for the Groomsman to Groom tiara. The reality I’ve been ignoring, or fighting to.
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a heartbeat, I see the old West—the one who’d eat cereal straight from the box while we binged Battlestar Galactica reruns. But then it’s gone, replaced by the polished fa?ade of a man about to trade his soul for a chance at love and a shot at saving his family’s livelihood. Then he says, “I think it has to be.”
We fall into silence, the space between us stretched taut with unspoken words and what-ifs. Affection and anger do the tango in my chest.
This is so not fixable, and everything is not fine.
But I get why he’s got to do what he’s got to do, so I finally say, “Okay.”