Chapter 34 Cody
The following morning, he’s quiet when he wakes up, only leaning up to give me a brief kiss before saying he’s going to take a shower.
Once he’s done, he insists we have breakfast together first, and I agree.
We eat a croissant and drink coffee, mostly in silence, before retreating to the couch for the talking that needs to be done.
I don’t look forward to it, but we must.
“Okay then, let’s talk,” he says, sitting to my left on the couch.
His voice is determined, but his expression gives him away, showing a hint of the uncertainty I know he’s trying to hide.
His stare is hard, yet he looks fragile to me.
I don’t think anyone else would see it, but nobody knows him like I do—loves him like I do.
No matter what, that hasn’t changed.
“Tell me what’s on your mind. Don’t soften it, and use English so I know you won’t use the wrong words.”
I nod, swallowing hard as I look away from him.
My fingers drum softly and swiftly on my legs as I phrase my sentences.
I open my mouth, but no words come out yet, so I take a deep breath instead.
Part of me wants to keep it inside, to tell him it’s all okay, that we should leave it behind us and start planning our wedding, but I know that won’t help us in the long run.
So here goes.
“Yesterday, when you were at the club, I called my brother in Canada. Brian. You’ve met him, sort of.
” Luc nods. “I told him you and I had a fight and that I was upset because you went out during our fight while I wanted to resolve things and . . .” I pause.
This is the hardest part, the message most difficult to deliver, but I have to tell him the truth.
He deserves to know what I told Brian. “I also told him I think we’re entering this marriage at different starting points and that I worry you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.
Because sometimes I think you need me so you can live here and afford a certain lifestyle. ”
When I finish speaking, he presses his lips together and stares hard at the ground. He stays quiet for a long time. “So it’s really true, then?” he eventually says. To my surprise, his eyes turn wet. Crap. “You seriously still don’t trust me?”
The pain shows on his face, and a tear escapes his eye. I follow it with my gaze, feeling my heart break in the process. That tear is my fault; I put it there with my words.
He sighs heavily, as though the world is resting on his shoulders, and he sounds defeated. He shifts forward to sit on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his head. I know how he feels because it’s what I felt last night.
“I’ve been trying so hard lately,” he says, his voice louder and more frustrated.
“And you don’t even notice! Every accomplishment, I tell you about.
When I get a compliment at work or learn something new, I tell you about it, but all you do is hum, and say something like, ‘That’s nice, sweetheart,’ without even looking up from your screen.
Because you don’t care. All that matters to you is the money that comes into our bank account by the end of the month, and not the effort I put in. You don’t notice any of that!”
I bite the inside of my cheek, the accusation hitting me hard. In no way was I aware that I’d done this. Did I really ignore him the way he says I have? Did I make it seem like money is all I care about? I think I may have. Shit.
“And yes, I go to the club,” he continues. “I’m twenty-one and I intend to keep doing it. I don’t expect you to come with me every time, but sometimes I’ll want you there. You knew that about me before we got together.”
I nod slightly. “I don’t mind you going to the club, but I do mind it if we’re in the middle of a fight and you just leave.”
He glares at me, his face wet, his expression still hard, yet vulnerable, almost betrayed, and I wish I could take it all away.
“Going out is my outlet. Yesterday, you basically told me I was a gold-digger, and because of that, I needed to get away. And maybe I was hoping that when I came back, you’d have come to your senses, and we could have a different sort of talk.
That maybe you’d see how distant you’ve been lately. ”
He leans away from me, creating physical distance from me now as well, aside from the mental distance there already was, and it feels like a knife is twisting in my heart.
“I don’t think you’re a gold-digger.”
“So you say.” He shakes his head. “I thought you were the only person in the world who accepts me for who I am, who loves me entirely. That’s why I’m so crazy about you. But if you can’t do that, then . . .”
He lets the silence finish that sentence, then starts lifting himself off the couch and—nope. I will not have him leave like that, thinking it’s not true.
At record speed, I scoot towards him. Before he realizes what’s happening, I wrap my arms around him, press my chest tightly against his back, and nuzzle his neck.
“Of course I do, baby. I love you more than anything. You know that.”
Honestly, I’m not sure if he does, but one thing that works in my favor is that he loves my hugs. He doesn’t want to push me away. I’m his big strong man, and I will always love and protect him. Now it’s up to me to prove that.
“I just got into my own head, that’s all. I . . .”
I swallow my words. I hate that I still can’t tell him why this happened.
That it’s because of his father saying something about Luc being a failure that I saved.
I let my conversation with him get to me much more than I should have, perhaps because his father seems like such a reserved, intelligent man, who thinks before he speaks.
Maybe it would have been easier if he were a mean brute I didn’t have to take seriously.
But he’s a businessman, just like me, and with a successful store, so the practical side of me tells me I should listen to him.
And maybe because of it, I stopped listening to myself . . . and Luc.
But I can’t tell Luc that I saw his father. It’s supposed to be a surprise, though I’m not sure I like it anymore. Now, to Luc, it might seem like I just started questioning him randomly.
Well . . . maybe I did. I definitely didn’t have to take his father’s words so seriously; I did that all on my own. I let someone else determine the nature of our relationship, someone I barely even know, and that’s entirely on me.
“I have no excuse,” I eventually say to Luc.
“Other than work has been crazy, and more difficult to do from this distance, and the wedding was something I may not have had the brain capacity for, even though it’s what I want more than anything.
I just started worrying about everything, and it went from bad to worse. I’m sorry.”
He sits entirely still, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
I can only wait, hoping he won’t pull away from the hug and leave.
It seems to last forever, with my body feeling like a ball of tension, clinging onto him and praying that I didn’t mess up for good.
No matter how tough things may get, I need him.
I’ve known that ever since he left me shortly after we met, back in Brussels.
Then, finally, after what feels like minutes, he starts leaning into my embrace just slightly.
I can’t help groaning into his neck from sheer relief.
I know I almost have him back . . . almost. “After this, will you tell me about your work?” I ask, giving him a squeeze.
“Every silly detail? I want to hear all of it. I want us.”
He nods, puts his arms over mine, and sniffles a few times before I can feel him relaxing.
“I want that too.” He presses the side of his head against mine. “And I know I’ve been a lot lately. What do English-speaking people call it again? Bridezilla?
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Yes, that’s the word. You’re not there yet, though.”
He sighs. “Guess we’re both going through some stuff.”
“I’ll deal with mine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I do worry about it, and I think maybe I have a solution. We could get a . . . how do you call it? Un contrat de mariage.”
I think I know what marriage contract he’s talking about, but I won’t assume, and I’m not sure I agree either. “What kind of marriage contract?”
“The one that says you won’t have to give me everything if we get divorced.”
My mouth falls open. I would never have suggested it, even told his dad I would never get one, and now Luc’s bringing it up himself. “You mean a prenup?”
“Oui, I think so.”
“I don’t want a prenup, Luc! Those things are so nasty!”
He shrugs. “I’d understand, Cody. My parents got divorced, and when they did, my dad lost everything, including his happiness. I was all he had left, and he’s never been the same again. It’s why he dragged me off to Brussels. I don’t like thinking about it; I don’t want to have to blame my mother.”
I sigh, sympathy filling me, paired with a sting of guilt about the fact that I can’t tell him I already know about his father’s divorce. “That must have been hard.”
“It was. I was fourteen, and my parents tried to keep me out of it, but there was no way they could hide that my mother was so angry with him. My dad must have done something bad, but . . . it couldn’t have been so bad that he deserved having the life he’d built ripped from him.
I don’t want to do that to you, or have you do that to me.
No matter what happens or how angry we may be, I don’t want that. So we get a prenup.”
I shake my head. “We really don’t have to, Luc. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
He slides his hand over mine and gives a slight smile. “I know, but the way I see it, I won’t be the one regretting us getting one. Because in a few years, I’ll run a successful cake shop known throughout the country, and you won’t see a dime of it in our divorce.”
I chuckle. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about our divorce—or laughing about it.”
“I think we can, as long as we consider the idea laughable.”
“I definitely do.”
“So let’s get a prenup. I know it’s the only way you’ll be able to turn off that nagging voice inside your head, and I’d feel calmer knowing the same won’t happen as it did with my father. To either of us.”
I sigh, and my resistance starts to fade. Maybe it could be the solution to our problem. “Perhaps we could do it. I mean, people do it all the time, right?”
Luc nods. “I hear it’s even standard in some countries; they integrated the prenup into the law.”
I definitely didn’t know that. “Seriously?”
“Oui. So, in a way, we’re just doing what they’re doing. Nothing else.”
I must say, it helps me to know that, and I can’t help but think that we’ll eventually feel better with it. “Yes, let’s do it then. But not because we don’t trust each other…only because we want to protect each other.”
He nods. “That’s what it will be—only that. Now, can we finally start planning a wedding together?”
I smile and nod. “Let’s do that. We have all day.”
He kisses me on the cheek before he rests his head against mine and becomes serious again. “Just please don’t mess up with the wedding cake. It’s the most important thing to me.”
I let out a soft sigh. On the one hand, I’m beyond relieved he’d leave it to me, but also . . . it comes with a lot of pressure. Still, I keep my voice steady as I say, “I won’t. It’s the most important thing to both of us.”
I wrap my arms around him, holding him tightly, all while desperately hoping that a particular baker in Brussels considers this wedding cake as vital as we do—and that he’ll be there for his son.