Chapter 56
fifty-six
I spend most of the night in Graham’s arms, staring at his chiseled, gorgeous face.
How did I end up here?
When I went to him earlier, I had no intention of leaving, but doubts filled my mind to the brim while I tossed and turned alone. Finally, I went out to him, unable to think of any other way to banish the fear gathering inside of me.
I didn’t know what I wanted, only that I needed him to give it to me.
But Graham understood. Even when he confessed his love and I started tearing into him, he understood. He always does. The same way I understand him.
I get why he has to tell Grayson, but there are so many practical reasons for me to end things before I let that happen.
Reasons that benefit him, too. He’ll need all his focus to fight his father and the feds. Grayson is more than just his personal lifeline; he’s the only client who will stand by Graham through this.
If he never has to admit to our fling, he won’t jeopardize his one true friendship—and the only hope he has of getting through the mess his father has caused.
Not to mention—I’ll get to keep my job, and Marco will, too.
And yet, despite all of those sound rationales, my main reason isn’t logical at all. In fact, it veers dangerously close to irrational .
Fear .
Terror that seized my heart every time he said he loved me. Dread from the very idea of the word “forever.” And downright desperation at the concept of winding up like my parents.
Amado .
I murmured the word to him in a moment of sheer insanity, with his body inside of mine and his loving outpour filling my heart to a painful burst. In Spanish, it means “beloved.”
It’s the exact term I heard my father call Lucia last week.
The same one he used to say to my mother.
And everything I swore I would avoid.
So I sneak out of Graham’s bed when dawn rises. I slip out of his room. Once the coffee finishes brewing, I set two mugs on the corner of his island and wait there, with his borrowed spare key sitting in the middle of the snowy granite.
He appears much sooner than I expect. From my place at the counter, I watch him shuffle out of his room in a new pair of boxers.
He looks pretty beat. Dark circles hang under his eyes. His hair seems more disheveled than usual. And his bearing is all wrong—completely devoid of his usual elegance or cockiness.
My stomach lurches while his midnight gaze runs over me warily, then falls to the key on his countertop. He stands utterly still for the longest moment, staring at it. When Graham finally moves, he keeps his eyes downcast and plucks the coffee mug off the counter before retreating all the way to the far side of the island.
Without looking up, he speaks. “So you’re going.”
Why lie to him? What’s the point?
“Yes.”
I hear him breathe out of his nose while he stares at the granite expanse between us. His face stays as stony as his voice. “All right, then. I assume from the key that you won’t be back?”
Tears prick my eyes. “No. I’ll shred your check.”
A slight nod. “I should pay you for the work you did, at least. I plan to use it.”
The thought of looking at his money in my bank account sends a wave of nausea spiraling through my core. “Please don’t,” I whisper. “I don’t want it. Just use the contracts and research we did; they were a team effort anyway.”
Graham nods again. “I’ll have your clothes messengered to Abuelita’s. Most are designer. Non-refundable. We can consider that an even trade.”
Thrown, I watch him avoid my gaze. I didn’t know what I expected when I told him I was leaving, but it wasn’t this. I figured he’d fight me. Try to seduce me or charm me the way he always does.
Throughout our time together, I thought I’d seen every side of him. But this weary, detached man feels like a stranger.
“Look at me,” I snap, unable to bear it.
He keeps his eyes down. His lips tighten. “If you’re going, then just leave, okay? I can’t do this.”
His coolness goads me. “Do what ?” I shout. “All you’ve done is stare at the damned counter. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, Graham.”
A bleak smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “No, you’re not. You’ve made up your mind. I don’t need to hear all of your excuses. I know the truth. You’re running scared. And nothing I say will change that. So, go.”
My heart hammers into my ribs. “I’m not running scared .”
The lie finally spurs him into action. His head snaps up, pinning me with dark, turbulent eyes.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he thunders. “You’re terrified because I told you I love you. I’m sure you’ve convinced yourself there are other reasons to leave; but you didn’t care about any of those yesterday. As far as you know, the only thing that’s changed is what I said to you.”
He has me so squarely pegged, it prickles my guts. But still, I have to fight back. “ As far as I know , huh? Whose fault is that? I asked you over and over what changed yesterday and you wouldn’t tell me.”
Rage twists Graham’s expression. “You want to hear how I found out that the broker number on all the fraudulent accounts is Christian’s? That my father pinned all this shit on him? So now I have to turn my dad in to save my brother? Does that fucking help somehow?”
My insides heave. “Graham?—”
“Spare me your goddamn pity, Juliet!” he yells. “You were leaving, anyway. Because you’re too damn scared to stay!”
Unable to bear the look on his face, I rush, “That’s not the reason. It’s?—”
“ Enough! ” he roars. “I don’t need the list . I’m stupid for saying what I said to you last night. I shouldn’t have thought you could handle it.”
His lack of faith in me feels like an insult, even as I prove him completely correct. Outraged and without a single way to defend myself, I hurl out the first reason I can think of.
“I’m not leaving because you think you love me,” I shout. “I’m leaving because you’re about to lose everything and I don’t want to get stuck in the middle while your life blows up!”
The horrible, selfish statement dangles between us, sucking all the oxygen from the room. I spat it out, thinking it was another lie, but as I stand there with my chest throbbing, unable to call back the words, I wonder… are they really untrue? Now that I know just how messed up his situation is… does part of me feel relieved to escape this?
Graham goes eerily silent, staring at me. His midnight gaze loops over my face, as if seeing me for the first time. And hating what he sees.
“If that’s really what you think,” he finally says, his voice dead, “then you’re not the person I thought you were.”
The practical part of me sneers. See? He doesn’t love me. I should just take what little dignity I have and get out.
But my feet feel planted to the wood floor. Panic slices through my center. I’m so upset, my thoughts come out half in Spanish.
“I don’t— no quiero — tú —you don’t love me , Graham,” I eventually cry. “This is all just some insane— something . I don’t even know what ! I bet if I walk out right now, you’ll forget about me in a week.”
He stares right at me for an endless second, weighing my words. I watch the moment a new wave of certainty takes hold of him.
“You’re wrong,” he says finally. “I do love you. I love you so goddamn much, I have no idea how I’m going to stand here and watch you leave me. But I’ll do it if that’s what you need.”
It shames me how much I need to leave. Call it fear or stubbornness or pride. All I know is that every cell in my body vibrates with the need to flee .
“It is.”
I say the words—admitting it to myself as much as him—and suddenly feel nothing. A chasm opens inside my chest. Everything falls in, leaving a cold, hollow place where my heart should be. And, in its place, dread.
“Then go, bijou ,” he murmurs. “And I’ll watch.”
True to his word, he stands there, ashen, as I take a step back. Then another. And one more. He doesn’t flinch or turn away, even when I wish he would. I finally spin for the door, fearing he’ll catch the tears stinging my eyes.
Graham says my name so softly I barely hear it.
But I’m already gone.