20. Elizabeth
— ? —
Elizabeth
Three weeks after the dinner, he finally knocks.
I’ve been watching him circle my life like a moon caught in orbit, pulled by gravity he can’t escape.
The white roses that arrive like clockwork - I’ve kept every one, though I’d never admit it.
They fill the cottage now, their fragrance softening the salt air, reminding me of my mother’s garden and gentler times.
The gallery visits Marguerite reports with raised eyebrows: He stood in front of your new piece for forty minutes. Didn’t buy anything. Just looked.
And the car at the end of my lane in the rain, patient and present and asking nothing.
I watched him that night from the doorway. Saw him sitting there, engine off, just existing in my proximity like being near me was enough. Like he’d drive hours and sit in a storm just to be in the same general space I occupied.
The old Jarec would never have done that. The old Jarec would have shown up demanding things, expecting things, treating my forgiveness as his due rather than something to be earned.
This Jarec waited in the rain for three hours and didn’t knock once.
I left the porch light on for him. I’m not sure what that means, and I’m not ready to examine it too closely.
But when I hear the knock this afternoon - three weeks of roses and gallery visits and patient, wordless presence later - I’m not surprised.
And I’m not entirely sure I’m not ready.
***
He looks different.
I open the door and the first thing I notice is that he’s not wearing armor anymore.
Not the expensive suits that make him look untouchable, not the careful blankness that used to shield his face from any genuine expression.
He’s in a simple sweater and jeans, clothes that might belong to anyone, and his hair is longer than I remember - less ruthlessly controlled, more human.
There are shadows under his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping well.
Neither have I.
“Can I come in?”
His voice is careful, almost hesitant. So different from the man who used to speak to me in clipped sentences, always on his way somewhere else, always making clear that I was an interruption rather than a priority.
I step aside.
***
I make coffee because I need something to do with my hands.
The cottage is small, and he fills it in ways I didn’t expect - not physically, though he’s tall enough to make the low ceilings feel lower, but with his presence.
The weight of him in my space. The reality of Jarec Fairweather sitting at my kitchen table, waiting for me to decide what happens next.
For months, I would have given anything to have him here. To have him pay attention. To have him look at me the way he’s looking at me now - like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s afraid to blink in case I disappear.
Now I have it, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I set a mug in front of him. Take the seat across the table. Keep the distance between us, this small expanse of scarred wood that feels like a negotiating boundary.
“Talk,” I say. “Tell me everything.”
***
He does.
He tells me about his father - the man who was never home, who poured himself into work and other women and anything that wasn’t his family. The man who died of a heart attack in his mistress’s bed, proving every lesson Esther had ever taught about the dangers of attachment.
“I learned early that caring for people was a liability,” Jarec says, staring at his untouched coffee.
“Every time my father showed affection, my mother used it against him. Every time he tried to be present, she made him pay for it. By the time he died, I’d absorbed the message: love makes you weak, and weakness destroys you. ”
“So you decided not to love anyone.”
“I decided not to want anything badly enough to be hurt when it was taken away.” His voice is raw, stripped of the polished confidence I’m used to. “I got very good at it. Kept everyone at arm’s length. Maintained control. Made sure nothing could touch me too deeply.”
He looks up at me.
“And then I met you.”
The words land in the space between us, heavier than they should be.
“You want to know why I was so cold? Why I pushed you away? It wasn’t because I didn’t want you.” He laughs, bitter and broken. “It was because I wanted you too much. From the first moment. Before I even understood what was happening.”
“Jarec-”
“I walked into that room, the day we signed the contract, expecting to fulfill an obligation. A debt my father owed. I told myself it would be simple - marry you, protect you, keep my distance. Everyone would get what they needed, and I wouldn’t have to risk anything real.”
He sets down the mug he’s been holding like a lifeline.
“Then I saw you. And everything I thought I knew about keeping people at arm’s length just… evaporated. You were so alive. So present. You looked at me like you actually wanted to know who I was, not what I could offer or what doors I could open. No one had ever looked at me like that.”
“I remember.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended. “You looked terrified.”
“I was.” He meets my eyes, and the vulnerability in his expression makes something crack open in my chest. “I was terrified because I knew - I knew - that if I let myself want you, I’d never survive losing you.
And I was certain I would lose you. Everyone leaves.
Everyone disappoints. Everyone eventually reveals that their affection was conditional, transactional, something I had to earn and could never take for granted. ”
“So you left first.”
“I pushed you away before you could leave on your own.” His hands curl into fists on the table. “I told myself I was protecting you. Protecting the arrangement. Protecting something. But I was protecting myself. From how much I already felt. From how terrifying it was to need someone.”
“And Victoria?”
The name hangs between us, sharp-edged despite everything that was revealed at the dinner.
“Victoria was easy.” He says it like a confession.
“She never touched anything real inside me. Being with her was like wearing a costume - playing a role, saying the right lines, never having to risk anything that mattered. When you made me feel things I couldn’t control, I ran to her because she felt safe.
Because nothing about her was ever going to reach the parts of me I was trying to protect. ”
“That’s not a compliment to her.”
“No. It’s not.” He exhales slowly. “It’s not a compliment to me either. I used her as a shield against my own feelings. And I let her believe we had a future because it was easier than admitting I’d already chosen someone else.”
The coffee grows cold between us. Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows. The sound of the sea fills the silence.
“What do you want from me, Jarec?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stands, crosses to the window, looks out at the gray water churning under the afternoon sky. When he speaks, his voice is stripped of everything except the truth.
“Nothing you’re not ready to give.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Then-” He takes a breath, turns to face me. “I want the chance to prove I can be different. I want to show you what it looks like when I choose you in the daylight, in front of everyone, without fear. I want to earn back your trust, one day at a time, for as long as it takes.”
“And if I say it takes forever?”
“Then I wait forever.”
The words settle over me like a blanket, heavy and warm. I want to believe them. I want to believe he means it, that he can actually sustain this version of himself - patient, present, willing to put in the work.
But I’ve believed things before that turned out to be lies. Or worse, temporary truths that couldn’t survive real pressure.
“And if I say no?” I stand, needing to match his position, needing to not be looking up at him for this. “If I say I can’t do this, can’t risk being hurt again, can’t trust you not to turn cold the moment things get hard?”
He meets my eyes. His are wet.
“Then I’ll respect that. I’ll give you whatever you need. I’ll let you go.” His voice breaks on the last word. “But I’ll never stop loving you. And I’ll never stop wishing I’d been brave enough to show you sooner.”
***
I walk to the window. Stand beside him but not touching, both of us looking out at the sea instead of at each other.
“I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“You don’t get to touch me until I say.” I feel him go still beside me, but he doesn’t argue. “You don’t get to decide when I’m ready. You beg properly, or you don’t get me at all.”
“I understand.”
“I mean it, Jarec.” I turn to face him, and he turns to meet me, and we’re close now - close enough that I could touch him if I wanted to, close enough that I can see every line of exhaustion and hope on his face.
“This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t you sweeping in with grand gestures and expecting me to fall into your arms. You hurt me.
You made me feel invisible. You let me believe I was nothing while your mother and your ex-girlfriend conspired to drive me away. ”
“I know.”
“So if you want this - if you want me - you do it on my terms. You prove yourself. Every day. For as long as I need.”
“I will.”
“And if you slip - if you go cold, if you pull away, if you start treating me like an obligation instead of a choice - I’m done. For good. No second chances after this one.”
“I understand.”
The certainty in his voice should feel hollow, but it doesn’t. It feels like something solid, something I could maybe, possibly, eventually trust.
I take a step back. Put distance between us, reclaim my space.
“Can you do that?” I ask. “Can you really be patient? Can you really let me lead? Because the man I married couldn’t have done it. The man I married would have found a way to take control, to rush things, to make it about what he needed instead of what I was ready for.”
Jarec holds my gaze. Doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to close the distance I’ve created.
“The man you married was terrified,” he says quietly. “The man standing here now is terrified too. But I’ve decided that losing you is worse than any fear. And I’ve decided that becoming the person you deserve is more important than protecting myself from getting hurt.”
The words hang between us.
I don’t soften. Don’t melt into his arms. Don’t make this easy for either of us.
But something in my chest, something that’s been frozen since I found that scarf on his dresser, begins to thaw.
“Then we’ll see,” I say. “We’ll see.”