Arrogance personified is a man who thinks he understands the workings of a woman’s mind. But I’d hedge a bet it’s because I left her teetering on the precipice of oblivion and left her there to fend for herself while I took what I wanted. Well, almost.
Or it could be the fact she’s finally realized this shouldn’t have happened. We shouldn’t have got this far.
Even making her promise me she’ll leave and have a big, beautiful life doesn’t seem like enough. I won’t believe I’ve done the right thing by her until she leaves and doesn’t come back. I know how it sounds—McCreary, the martyr.
Perhaps it makes me that.
Or it allows her to not have to choose something she will regret down the line. It’s not like I’ll ever leave this floating rock. Another life for me wasn’t available when the fates wereassigned. Sometimes I think about it, leaving. Traveling to the motherland. Finding my family. Seeing the world.
The promise I made her give me is my gift to her.
Freedom.
You know what they say about love something, set it free and all that damn bullshit. I see the merit in it now. And am acutely aware that I do.
Love her, that is.
I shouldn’t.
I don’t want to.
I don’t want her to carry that burden.
There is a sliver of selfishness that wishes she would stay. Where Evie decides the rest of the world isn’t worth the hassle and stays put here with me.
I’m hopeless when it comes to the quiet little woman who showed up at my slip, carry-on in hand, confusion written all over her beautiful fucking face.
I tried to stay away. Truly, I did.
Slamming the book closed, I run my hands through my hair.
The knife that’s been chopping furiously stops. I swing my gaze to the kitchen to find her chewing that damn bottom lip like she already holds all the worries of the world.
Another reminder she should be living her life, happy and free. Her best life is not on this island. I push out of the sofa and toss the book to the coffee table. “Going to the lantern room.”
I tread the stairs, needing to be anywhere but looking at her pretty face, wanting to envelop her in my hold if only to erase the worry that’s gnawing at her lush bottom lip.
By the time I reach the top of the house, I’m goddamn hard.
It’s too much.
She’s too much.
I fling the maintenance cupboard open and pull out the polishing cloths and the glass cleaner and get to work. The softcloth works the glass panes over, not leaving any streaks. I let the rhythmic, methodical pattern of the polishing take me out of my head.
The sun is lowering as I give the lantern room a third round of arm-aching, completely unnecessary finishing touches.
A knock taps on the door to the room.
I suck in a breath before letting out a sigh. “Yeah?”
Without a word, Evie pushes through the door. She’s in her sundress, her once pale skin is now sun-kissed, her cheeks blushing with color. She’s stunning.
The way she looks at me . . .
A tangle of desperation and determination.
Nothing like the meek girl who stepped onto my boat almost nine months ago.
