Page 199 of The Faking Game
The door opens fully, and there’s West. He’s in the same clothes he wore when he left, but they’re wet now. His jacket is discarded, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his forearms. His eyebrows are drawn low.
“There you are,” he says.
My grip on the steamer tightens. “You were looking for me?”
“Yes,” he says. “First in my bed, then in yours. But you weren’t there.”
“I’m not ready for sleep,” I say. My voice doesn’t waver. “Where have you been?”
“Out,” he says.
“That’s wonderfully descriptive.”
He takes a step forward, and I watch as the cat’s tail twitches in irritation.
“Rafe and I confronted Ben Wilde,” he says. “You’ll be left alone now.”
“Oh… you went together?”
“It wasn’t planned that way. But yes.” His eyes move over the dresses and outfits I have hung on the rack, the two dress forms. “I told him that he’s not allowed to be angry with you.”
“Rafe?”
“Yes. If he needs to be angry at anyone, it should be me, not you. I can’t ruin your relationship with your brother.”
I turn the steamer off and set it down. “If anyone’s going to be responsible for the breakdown in my relationship with my brother, it’s going to be me,” I say, “and my own actions.”
West’s jaw tightens. “I can’t take things from you, Nora. I can’t handle that—you making sacrifices.”
“You don’t take things from me,” I say, “except these last few days. You’ve been… you’ve been like a different version of yourself, ever since we agreed to…” I can’t say the word. It was something beautiful back then, an exciting idea—the prospect of being his wife.
Now it feels dirty, tainted by his reaction and by how he feels about marriage. Outside the windows, another bolt of lightning flashes over the ocean.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is rough. “It wasn’t fair of me. I’ve been struggling with all of it, and… Sweetheart. I can’t let you marry me.”
I look away to blink back the tears that threaten to choke me. “All right.” My voice sounds thin. “It was just a suggestion. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”
“Nora,” he says.
I’m already up and out of the chair. “We can pretend we never spoke about it. It’s fine. You’ll find someone else, someone better suited, and I’ll just move out. Thanks for taking care of the stalker.” My arms wrap around my chest. “I appreciate that.”
His face is pained, like he’s the one being hurt. “No, it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” I ask. “You’ve barely spoken to me the last few days. I thought we were—I thought…” My voice chokes up. “Damn you.”
“Yes. Damn me.” His hands are tense at his sides, like he wants to reach for me but can’t bring himself to. “That’s why I can’t let you agree to this. Not when you’d be giving up so much.”
“Giving up so much?”
“When you offered to marry me…” he says, illuminated by another sharp twinge of lightning outside the window. The thunder follows like clockwork. “Fuck, Nora, when you said you’d be my wife, I got it all. Do you realize that?”
The air between us feels charged. Electric. I take a step back, and my calves brush against the low futon I’ve been using to drape fabric over.
“I got every last thing I could ever ask for, and I’ve hated myself for agreeing.” He takes a deep breath. “You offered because it would help me. You’re kind and loyal and beautifully pragmatic, and I bet you think it’s a great solution. Maybe you even tell yourself that it’s what you want. But Nora, I’m the one who benefits. I’m the one who sacrifices nothing and gains everything. I get youandFairhaven.”
“West,” I say. I sink backward into the futon. Above us, the roof of the manor patters with rain. “That’s not true.”
“It is. I’ve seen it, how you bend and smile and placate, and it wouldkillme to do that to you. That’s what we’ve been trying to work against. And I can’t…” He takes a ragged breath. “I cannot be the one you shackle yourself to and then start to resent. It doesn’t matter how much I want it. I can’t let you. Not when I know you’re only marrying me to do me a favor.”
