Chapter 37 #2
‘Sweetheart,’ I say desperately, sliding my hands around her waist so I can pin her in place.
‘I know I’m a major blagger. It’s what I do.
We’re both fantastic performers, in our own way.
But this is real. This is just you and me.
I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the woman I fall asleep with and the woman I wake up next to.
I’m in love with every single version of you.
Did I burst with pride when I went to your PR showcase?
Yes, of course I did, but that’s not why I love you.
You’re gorgeous and smart and successful, and I love all those things about you, but I’ll say it again, they’re not why I love you.
And even if every single dipshit out there on fucking Reddit and TikTok hates your guts, I’ll still love you. And frankly, that’s all that matters.’
She stares down at me, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, and I stare back, watching for some glimmer, some sign that she’s hearing and understanding and believing my words in that soft, fragile place where it truly counts. ‘But—’ she says finally.
‘But what, sweetheart?’
She frowns. ‘Hang on. I’m thinking.’
Despite my terror, I have to hide a smile. If my wife’s mighty brain is scrambling and failing to come up with a counterargument to my declaration of unconditional love, surely that’s a good sign?
I have no intention of letting her carry on with this thinking malarkey a moment longer—it’s caused far too much damage already—so I press my advantage. ‘Want to know what my most treasured memory is of us so far?’
She eyes me with thinly veiled suspicion as I clamber painfully to my feet. Kneeling on a stone slab is not to be recommended. ‘What?’
‘Remember the night I pissed you off by trying to jump on you when your head wasn’t in the game?’ I say gently, sliding my hands over her jaw again.
‘Yeess?’ It still reeks of suspicion.
‘That was the night I knew for sure I was in love with you.’ I smile down at her unguarded expression of shock.
‘Why?’ She looks genuinely staggered. ‘I was all stroppy and weird.’
‘I love you all stroppy and weird. And the reason I knew was because you finally let me see you, and I thought she trusts me. And it felt incredible. So, you see, I do know the real you. You’re kidding yourself if you don’t think so.
And every single time you allow me to know you better,’ I whisper, lowering my face to hers, ‘I fall a little bit more in love with you.’ I press a slow, tender kiss to her forehead, because I don’t want to push her any further right now.
‘And I kind of hoped you were falling for me, too,’ I murmur against her skin before kissing it again.
Beneath my lips, against my hands, she begins to shake, tiny tremors that swell into real sobs, her narrow shoulders shaking.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I say, pulling back in horror.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I didn’t— You don’t have to say anything, obviously.
I’m an idiot. The important thing is that you know I love you.
I love you so much. I’m so fucking ecstatic to be your husband, and the rest of the world can go fuck itself up the arse with a toilet brush, for all I care. ’
A little whine of what I think is amused horror escapes her, but she’s still sobbing, wiping her tears away furiously and refusing to look at me.
‘Of course I love you, you idiot,’ she manages to get out.
‘Why the hell do you think I’m offering you a get-out-of-jail-free card?
I can’t bear losing you, but knowing you feel trapped would be even worse. ’
The stark vulnerability on her face may be killing me, but relief is a sweet, sharp hit to my system. I can work with this. As long as she loves me, I can work at unravelling all the other toxic shit in her head.
‘Well, I can’t bear losing you,’ I tell her. ‘And trapped, my arse. There’s no fucking way you’re getting out of this marriage unless it’s in a body bag.’ I backtrack rapidly. ‘That sounded dodgy. You know what I mean.’
She’s looking at me not like I might be an axe murderer, but with the first tentative green shoots of hope in her watery eyes. I like that. I want to see more of it. I want to cultivate those fragile little shoots.
‘Yeah,’ she says as if she’s ceding a point contested and lost. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘Good.’ I hesitate. ‘Nothing’s changed for me, you know.
I realise this has all been really hard on you, but for me it’s an external crisis, and that’s it.
I don’t really give a shit what people say about me, and I don’t feel like I owe anyone an explanation.
And it certainly hasn’t made me feel differently about you, sweetheart. ’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ She nods weakly, and I cock my head. She still looks emotionally beaten up beyond all measure.
‘What do you think it will take,’ I ask as gently as I can, ‘for you to believe me? I’m getting the sense that you’re not really buying it.’
She lets her head drop forward. ‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s okay, that’s okay. I just—I understand that you can’t help worrying about all the publicity.
I get that. But I need you to know that you and I are okay.
In fact, we’re great. I love you, and I won’t let you make up stories where I don’t.
No one is trapped. You want rid of me, you’ll have to put me in a body bag. All right?’
That gets me some eye contact and a tiny smile. ‘All right.’
‘Good. Now, please have another stab at telling me you love me, because frankly that effort was underwhelming.’
Her eyes roam over me, questioning. It feels as if she’s trying to get a read on my sincerity before she puts herself out there any further. I raise an eyebrow—I’m waiting—and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
‘I love you, Ben.’ Her voice is soft but clear, and I grin broadly at the sweetness of her words and the sincerity on her beautiful face.
‘That’s more like it. I love you too.’ I help her to her feet and envelop her in a tight hug.
Maybe if I hold her for long enough, her body will understand what her mind seems determined not to hear.
Maybe I just need to keep on showing her, hour after hour, day after day, until she comprehends it viscerally.
But as I lead her out of the orangery by the hand and we wander out into the jubilantly green gardens once again, I have the distinct feeling that Slinky’s particular brand of demons is beyond my pay grade.
I can love her, sure. I can tell her I love her.
But loving someone and being able to help them aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Before now, I’d have liked to think I could charm my way through anything, but I’d be doing Slinks a disservice if I didn’t call in the cavalry.
She needs to hear, from someone who’s not me and whom she can’t possibly accuse of acting out of loyalty or guilt or pity, that this narrative she’s attached herself to is utter bullshit.
I’m as faithful as a golden retriever, but in this instance, she needs her very own pit bull.
And I know just the person for the job.