Chapter 62
Harper
I sensed his struggle as he tried to tell me that he loves me but couldn’t.
What he feels for me isn’t strong enough to overcome his restraint. He’s still holding back his feelings. And I deserve more.
My stomach bottoms out.
The sorrow that moves through me is like an anchor that settles in my soul and drags me down.
He can insist the marriage is more. But if he cannot say the words, if he cannot meet me where I'm standing, then it’s not enough.
I know the wounds he carries.
The family that gave him up for adoption. The men he lost. The control he built so carefully around himself that he forgot it was supposed to come off sometimes. I understand all of it.
But understanding why he can’t express what he feels for me aloud does not make up for the silence filling my ears.
Sorrow squeezes my chest. My heart feels like it’s breaking.
I deserve the words. I deserve to be chosen the way I am choosing him.
So I will give him one last thing. I will step off the edge completely. Leave nothing back. Not because I think it will save us.
But because I need to know I tried everything before I let go.
Maybe, if I’m completely vulnerable with him, it will help him be honest with me?
"I love you, James Hamilton.” I tip up my chin and let him see the depth of my feelings in my eyes.
“I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you glowering at me in that nightclub."
A feeling of lightness pours into my chest. Something inside me unravels. I wondered how it would feel to say it aloud, if it would be terrifying to share my innermost feelings. But now that I have, I feel happy.
A rush of warmth spreads through me. Joy trembles under my skin, and for a second, I understand what it means to be weightless. As if loving him and saying it out loud has untethered me from the ground.
James, on the other hand, looks like someone punched him in the chest.
Some of the buoyancy inside me fades.
"Is it that much of a surprise?"
"It’s…" He shakes his head as if to clear it. "It’s something I wasn’t expecting."
"But you sensed it?”
He runs his fingers over his face.
"I did.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “But it’s not the same as hearing it."
"No, it isn’t."
I allow a small, knowing smile to curve my features.
He understands I’m hinting at the fact that I can sense he has feelings for me too, but I don’t expect him to come out with it anytime soon.
There’s a lot in his life which has damaged him. Circumstances that made him not very capable of trusting others or opening himself up.
Perhaps, subconsciously, I hoped I might be able to get him to open up to me, but now I know, I was wrong. He's not ready. He might never be.
I told him aloud that I love him. I stood on the precipice and bared myself to him, but he's refusing to join me.
A numbness moves through me, slow and total, like cold water rising.
I thought if he saw me fall, he would fall with me. I was wrong.
And now, I'm standing here with nothing left to give and nowhere left to go. The worst part is, I do not even regret it.
I would rather have said it and lost than spent the rest of my life wondering. But God, the losing hurts.
I square my shoulders and, taking a leaf out of the Ice Commander’s playbook, I wipe all emotion from my face.
"Which is why I think we should get divorced."
His jaw drops. His breath comes in quick puffs.
"You still want a divorce?" he croaks.
He seems so agonized that I almost retract my words. But I don’t give in to my weakness.
"It’s the best thing for both of us."
"No, it’s not," he snaps.
I raise my hands. "Every time you act like a husband, I wonder if you really mean it. It’s confusing me. Especially when the more time I spend with you, the deeper the feelings I develop for you. And that's against the contract."
"Fuck the contract." The tendons stand out at his throat.
Veins pop at his temples. He seems very agitated. When really, all I’m doing is stating the basis on which our fake relationship was built.
Again, I try to reason with him.
"Once I leave, the online chatter will quiet down. People will forget the fake marriage and come back for the food. You'll get your empire back. You'll have everything you ever wanted."
"Fuck my business and my restaurant!" he roars.
I blink. I didn’t think James Hamilton could ever put anything or anyone before his restaurant. That must mean something, right? But he hasn’t yet said that he loves me. And he might never; I remind myself. I’m doing the right thing. I am.
"I’ve delivered my part of the bargain; it’s best we move on."
His eyes bore into mine, two shards of frozen flint. Then, the mask doesn’t just crease; it shatters. A low growl vibrates in his chest as he lunges forward.
He snatches the agreement from the desk and rips it up.
The sound of tearing paper is like a gunshot in the silent room.
He carefully pockets the torn pieces. Then he invades my space, and all thoughts disappear from my mind.
"The agreement is dead,” he growls.
I can feel the frantic heat radiating off his skin. I don’t move. I'm mesmerized by the wreckage of his composure, watching the man I thought was made of stone finally bleed.
"Stay." He reaches out, his hand hovering near my face, trembling. "Please, stay, Ember. We can talk things over. We can come to a space that works for both of us."
Him using my nickname is almost my undoing.
A sharp pain twists my chest. My insides feel like they’re caught in a blender. I want to stay. More than anything. But right now, he’s caught in the throes of all these feelings which are strange to him.
He’s experiencing emotions which must confuse him. What happens when it wears off? Will he regret it? Will he hate that he showed me the passion seething under that perfect mask he likes to wear to the world?
How strange that I wanted him to show me his emotions, and now that he has, I feel that it might be impairing his judgment.
"I’m not sure I can."
His features tighten.
"I can’t let you walk out of here."
"I think you’re a better man than you give yourself credit for. I think you’ll let me decide for myself what I want."
The realization in his eyes tells me I’m right. He’s changed so much. Not that I can take credit for that. He’s been open to wanting to be more than that unfeeling man, a tyrant with his brigade who was known as the Ice Commander.
"I realize, all of this is sudden. But it doesn’t change the fact that you can’t tell me how you feel about me. And until you share that, I can’t let myself be near you and fall deeper for you. I need some level of self-protection here."
His body language grows just a tad less tense. "So, this isn’t over."
"No, you’re right. We need to talk things over. But not tonight."
"Not tonight," he agrees.
I look away, then back at him. "But I also can’t stay at your place with you."
He reels back.
"What do you mean?"
"I think I should move back in with my sister and niece, just until…we figure things out."
The expression on his face is agonizing.
I shouldn’t feel so much, but oh God, it almost breaks my heart in two to realize how much I’m hurting him. I close the inches between us and throw myself in his arms.
"Please, don’t make this more difficult.
" I rub my cheek against his chest. "If I stay with you at the penthouse tonight, we’re going to end up in bed, and by tomorrow morning, nothing will be fixed.
You'll still be silent, and I'll still be waiting for words you can't say.
I have to leave so I can actually think, instead of just feeling you everywhere.
" I sniffle. "So please, let me walk away…for now. Until we figure things out. So we can do what’s best for both of us. "
He wraps his big arms around me and holds me so close; I feel engulfed. Enveloped. We stay that way for a few seconds.
I feel his heart galloping under my cheek. Sense the rigidity straining his chest. It feels so good. I feel cherished and secure.
I also know it’s a trap.
Then he runs his fingers through my hair, dislodging the hair tie. My hair cascades around my face. I shake back the strands and look up at him. "What is it with you and my hair ties? I always lose them around you."
A funny look crosses his face, then he half smiles. "I like you with your hair down."
"I can’t do that in the kitchen," I remind him.
"Yeah." He rubs a strand of hair between his thumb and fingertip. "You sure you want to do it this way?"
I nod. "It’s just to give us some breathing space."
"I don’t need breathing space. I need you."
My heart lurches in my chest. He’s being so sweet. But I need to do what’s right for me.
"I still think it’ll help if I leave the restaurant."
He places his fingers on my mouth. "I won’t hear of that."
I search his features and realize he won’t be swayed from this.
"What’s right for the business may not be what’s right for the both of us,” I warn.
His expression turns stubborn. "I only care about what’s right for you."
Warmth coils in my chest. It feels significant that he’s not putting his business first. For the first time.
I feel emotionally closer to him now than I did a few hours. Maybe, being open with him about my feelings is helping him slowly come to terms with what he feels for me?
My deciding to move out is the right decision… It’s making him realize that he can’t take me for granted.
It’s giving me hope that, with time, he'll be able to share his emotions more openly.
“We need to get back to the kitchen for the dinner service.”
He nods slowly. “And after?”
“And after, I’ll ride home with you. I’ll pack a few things, and I’ll move to my sister’s place.”
His face falls. “I’ll miss you, Ember.”
The way his utters my nickname undoes me.
It always does. Heat moves under my skin. I hate how easily he can still reach me, even now, with my mind made up, and my heart already grieving that I won’t be physically close to him. It already feels like that’s where I belong.
He must feel the same, for he pulls me closer.
Like he is trying to solve this with his body, since his words keep failing him. And I feel it—the wanting, the need in his hold, everything he cannot say pressing through his hands instead.
I know he feels it. I have always known. Oh God. It makes me feel awful that I’m stepping away from him, because I want to hear him say it too.
But it’s important that he acknowledges what he feels.
That gives me the courage to take a step back.
Panic crosses his face, quick and unguarded, before he controls it.
He releases me.
When I take another step back, something raw and lost fills his eyes. He drags his fingers through his hair, a gesture I know as well as my own heartbeat.
He's trying. I can see it. More than he has ever tried before. And that small, stubborn flicker of hope in my chest almost destroys me.
Almost.
"I love you," I whisper.
A muscle moves at his jaw. Something breaks open behind his eyes. But he says nothing.
I turn before he can see what that costs me and leave the office.