"What the fuck are you talking about?"
She shakes her head, looking at me with a disdain I feel down to my soul. She steps forward and jabs her finger in my chest. I imagine she wishes it were a knife.
"I've been patient and understanding. Even when I overheard you talking about the woman you really love, Meghan. Even when you left me alone on our wedding night. Even when you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me, I’ve been here, trying to make this work."
My chest tightens at Meghan's name. At the pain in Hannah's voice. For a moment, I consider that I’m not a man who should care for a woman. Meghan is dead because of me. Hannah is living in misery because of me. I only hurt people.
"I’ll make myself small and hidden for you while you use me to get what you want from my father. But attacking my art teacher? Making me feel ashamed for pursuing the only thing in my life that brings me joy?" She swipes angrily at her tears as if she doesn’t want me to see them. "You don't get to do that."
Everything she’s saying is true. I have no right to act possessively. I've barely touched Hannah myself, haven't claimed her body the way a husband should, haven't given her the attention she deserves. Yet here I am, ready to break another man's arms for a simple teaching demonstration.
I’m again reminded that I’m a selfish asshole, only thinking of myself. Like the world revolves around me.
“Just leave me alone.” She pushes past me and hurries up the stairs. A moment later, the door to the bedroom closes.
I stand in the foyer, feeling like I’m at a crossroads or maybe on the edge of a cliff. There’s the step I can take to save myself or the one that is the right and decent thing to do.
Hannah has mentioned Meghan or a mistress before and I’ve not corrected her. I figured it would be easier. She’d avoid me if she thought there was someone else. And it worked. Hannah has been MIA from my life until it’s making me crazy. It’swhat brought me home early today, what had me walking in on another man’s hands on her.
She’s mine.
It’s been running like a mantra in my head since I walked into her art room. But how can I want Hannah this badly when I failed Meghan? How can I let myself feel anything when losing someone destroys the soul?
But fuck, do I want her. The way she stands up to me, that fire in her eyes when she's angry. How she tries to make this cold house a home despite my distance. The soft curves of her body that I ache to touch…
A growl of frustration escapes me. I'm so tired of fighting this attraction, this growing need to make her mine in every way possible.
But making her mine means risking her life. Everyone I love dies. I won’t survive losing another woman.
In the end, I’m still at that crossroads, that precipice. I can’t be the man she wants or needs me to be. But I can do better. I have to do better.
I start up the stairs, hoping I can make things right with Hannah. Enough so that she’ll be happy, but not so much that I risk losing myself.
13
HANNAH
He has some nerve!I slam the bedroom door and collapse onto the bed, hot tears streaming down my face. I can’t decide whether I’m more angry or humiliated.
I go with angry. Angry that Ash is a cruel jerk. Angry that he made me afraid. Angry that he made me cry.
Here I am, trying my best to be the wife he wants, to give him the space he wanted. And he has the nerve to suggest I was trying to seduce my art teacher. To say I’m his when he doesn’t even want me.
I pound my fist on the mattress wishing it were Ash’s face. I’m such a stupid woman. Why did I think I could make this work? Ash said he wouldn’t hurt me. He said I could do what I wanted. The art lesson was the one thing that was mine, the one piece of my old life I got to keep. But he lied. He hurts me all the time. And my art, the one thing I could do for me, he's ruined that.
My teacher will probably quit, and I'll be left with nothing but empty rooms… an empty life. The unfairness of it all makes me want to break something, preferably something expensive that Ash paid for.
I bury my face deeper into the pillow, letting the tears flow freely now. My whole body shakes with sobs I can no longer contain. A week of keeping my chin up, of being a supportive wife, was for nothing. I've smiled through breakfast alone, decorated this massive house like it's my dream home, kept my distance when I’d have liked to connect with him. And for what? To watch him explode with jealousy over an innocent art lesson while he’s probably on his way to see Meghan after humiliating me?
I'm so tired of being strong, of pretending this arrangement doesn't tear me apart inside. I'm eighteen. I should be in college, hanging out with my friends, falling in love with someone I choose, who chooses me back.
The worst part of this situation is that I care for him. Despite his coldness, despite knowing his heart belongs to another woman, I find myself wanting his approval, his touch, his love. At the very least, his respect.
Well, I did want those things, but no more. It’s time for me to face the truth. I’m nothing to him. I have no value except as a commodity in the deal between our families.
I hear the door open softly. The mattress dips beside me. The scent of Ash’s cologne identifies who has invaded my space. He can’t even give me this.
He lets out a long sigh. “I’ve done it again.”
