Chapter 24 #2
Grinning, I undo the neat little bow and flip the box open. I gasp quietly. Nestled within the silky satin fabric is a diamond necklace. The heart-shaped gemstone glimmers in the dim light, black as midnight. My hand tightens around the box.
Brandon bought me a diamond necklace.
Everything about it—from the way the dark stone eats the light to the dainty gold chain—is utter perfection.
This isn’t just a necklace, either; it’s a choker.
If ever a necklace were to have my name written on it, this would be the one.
Tears build behind my eyelids, but I blink them away and smile up at him.
A man doesn’t just buy a woman jewelry willy-nilly—not unless she’s special to him. And he certainly wouldn’t buy her diamonds unless he’s in love.
And I know for a fact that Brandon loves me.
His arm tightens around my waist as he drops his chin to my temple. “Do you like it? It’s a black diamond. Since you’re always going on about your cold black heart.”
I laugh. “It’s perfect.”
He grins shyly. “May I put it on you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, reaching up to swipe my hair off the back of my neck.
Carefully, Brandon pulls the necklace out of the box and brings it around my neck.
I brush my hair back when he’s done clasping it up.
A mistake—because the sleeve of my sweater falls down, revealing my marked-up forearm.
Brandon’s eyes catch on my wrist. He grabs my hand and pulls it down onto his lap, forcing my palm up.
“When are we going to talk about this?” he asks, using the pad of his thumb to trace one of the raised scars. The tender flesh throbs under his careful touch. I try to pull away, but he holds on to me.
“Why do you do it?”
“I don’t,” I say, blushing. “I mean, I did. I don’t do it anymore. Those breathing exercises you taught me have helped a lot.”
He raises an eyebrow. “When was the last time?”
“Over a year ago.”
He sees right through my lie and pushes my sleeve back to reveal the most recent mark marring my skin. It was made six months ago, when I last had a moment of weakness. “So you’re telling me that this red welt is more than a year old? I don’t believe you.”
“Brandon . . .”
“Evie, please,” he pleads, shifting to face me on the couch. “Tell me why you do this to yourself. I want to understand.”
Of course he does. “You won’t.”
“Try me.”
“I . . .” Words fail me. Why do I do it? The truth is, I have no idea. All I know is that when my mind is on fire and I’m itching to step out of my body, my mind, my life, my reality—this helps. It dulls the pain. Helps me focus on something else.
Temporarily, of course. The feelings always come back, though. Sometimes with a vengeance . . .
“I don’t know,” I admit.
He doesn’t respond, and his silence says it all: You’re not getting out of this conversation this time. Not unless you leave.
And I would never leave.
He must know that. In fact, he must be using my Achilles heel—my desire to be with him—to his advantage.
It’s the only way I can rationalize how he gets me to spill all of my darkest, most shameful secrets.
Either that, or he’s hypnotized me—because the confession comes tumbling out of me like gravity’s at work, compelling me to tell him by the law of nature itself.
“Because when I’m feeling everything, this helps me feel . . . nothing.”
His thumb strokes the rawest scar. “There are healthier ways to manage your emotions, baby.” He shifts closer to me when I hang my head and nod, because I know he’s right. But this is an old crutch—one I’ve leaned on since I was a teenager. I’ve never tried to stop. “I can help you.”
“How?” I lift my face to look at him.
He pulls my chin forward with his finger and presses a tender kiss to my lips. “We’ll find you a therapist. Someone who’s not me. Someone you can tr—”
“No, thanks,” I spit, turning away.
He frowns. “What have you got against therapists?”
“Nothing.” I laugh at his bemused tone. Hoping to distract him, I shift so I’m facing him again, then throw my leg over his lap and push him back against the couch. “There’s only one shrink I like, and he’s pretty good at numbing the pain.”
He rolls his eyes but smirks when I try to kiss him.
To my dismay, he resists and shifts me off his lap, then rises from the couch.
Pouting, I spring up and follow him to the kitchen.
Sometimes, he sends me home before we can get too carried away, and I wonder if this is going to be one of those times.
I can’t work out a pattern, so it’s confusing and painful, especially when I’m walking home all alone, feeling like a used napkin even when he hasn’t even touched me . . .
Brandon moves to the sink and looks out the window. “It’s getting late,” he says, staring at his own reflection. His signature way of saying, Go home, Evie.
I wrap my arms around him from behind and press my cheek to his shoulder blade. “I love you.”
His shoulders relax, and he spins around.
Taking my face in his hands, we stare into each others’ eyes for a moment, saying everything and nothing at the same time.
He’s giving me that soft, dreamy look he sometimes gets just before kissing me, and my heart jumps like it’s been electrocuted.
Smiling bashfully, I study him, chewing on my lip while I revel in the burning, static energy pulsing between us.
It’s more pronounced now than ever before, while the world is sleeping and the recessed kitchen lighting is illuminating his handsome features.
He smiles back, but there’s an unmistakable, carnal hunger lurking deep within the fathoms of those ocean eyes.
It still baffles me that Brandon wants me in the same way that I want him.
When he looks at me like that—like I’m both the object of his affection and something he wants to devour—everything feels right in the world.
“Let me stay,” I plead, knowing he wants to send me away. He’s in one of those strange, broody, unpredictable moods. I just don’t know why.
His eyes flash with indecision. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
He wipes a hand through his hair. “Because Maggie is waiting up for you, and”—he pauses, then frowns—“because we both know it’s not a good idea.”
“But you want me to stay.”
His expression darkens. “Don’t.”
“Don’t speak the truth?”
“This—” He hesitates and releases me. “It’s already too much for you, and for me.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, crossing my arms. He’s acting like he hasn’t bedded at least a thousand women before me. “You do this all the time.”
He scowls. “Not with you. And I’m trying—”
I wait.
“I don’t want . . .” His face flames bright red. “It’s wrong.”
The fear that he might be getting bored of me and our “arrangement” roars like an angry lion in my chest, desperate for validation and reassurance.
What if I’m not giving him what he needs?
We haven’t actually had sex yet. Maybe he’s getting .
. . bored. Restless. The last thing I want is for him to go find some other blonde nurse practitioner named Jessica who’s willing to give him something I haven’t yet.
“Do you love me?” I whisper, feeling shaky with need and anxiety.
“Immeasurably,” he responds instantly. “More than you know.”
“And I love you,” I insist, rising up onto my tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. “So how can that be wrong? Let me stay.” His hands grab my waist as I kiss his neck, as if he wants to push me away, but his reluctance dissolves the second my lips meet the corner of his jaw.
His mouth comes down on mine with unexpected urgency.
Kissing Brandon is like riding a bike at this point—so natural.
This particular kiss is eager, practiced, searching.
For the first time ever, he’s unapologetic in his pursuit of more.
Clumsily, we stumble into the counter together, and without breaking our kiss, he walks us backwards out of the room.
Somehow, we make it up the stairs and into his bedroom, where we tumble down onto his soft bed that smells like him, laughing together about goodness knows what.
He murmurs the sweetest nothings as he peels my clothes off my body, telling me that he loves me, that I’m so beautiful, that he has wanted me for so long.
As always, he handles me with the most diligent care and consideration, touching me like I’m a delicate parcel filled with the finest china.
While he’s kissing me like I’m his first gasp of air in months, and he’s pressing me into the mattress like he’s about to show me how to make snow angels, I wonder if tonight is the night Brandon and I might finally make love.