“How I can earn your forgiveness.”
His lips purse in a smug, fuck you kind of way. “You can hop in a time machine to the night you fucked Camille and not do it.”
I dip my chin, glancing at my menu, but keeping him in my peripheral. “I can make it so my son was never born,” I clarify.
His jaw ticks as she continues to pretend he’s reading the menu. “You betrayed my trust. And I don’t know how you can earn it back.”
Hope churns, like nervous butterflies in my stomach. “But you think that I can, right?”
Slamming the menu shut, he finally meets my gaze. “I think you have a lot to do before we get there, sweetheart. But every ounce of my soul wants to believe you’re sorry and that you won’t do it again.”
I nod, forcing away the smile that’s threatening its way to the surface. Biting the inside of my lip, I reach for his hand. “Callum knows.”
“He knows what?”
“Everything. He knows that I love you.”
“That bitch,” Griffin mumbles. He reaches for my hand, squeezing while he holds it. “I’m so sorry. She promised me she wouldn’t say anything about us to him.”
I flinch in confusion. “What?”
“Haley told Callum about us, right?” Griffin asks. “That’s how he found out?”
My eyes widen. “No. I told him. Haley knew?”
“You told Callum? You outed yourself?” His mouth drops, confusion splattered across his face. He clutches his chest, as if he can’t believe I’d do such a thing.
I nod. “I had to, Griff. He came to the same conclusion that I did months ago. It’s the only way to get our fathers on board with not marrying Camille.”
Griffin remains silent, putting the pieces together. He’s always been smart, and good at reading between the lines. I wait patiently while he does it now, his eyes working as he calculates what this means.
The moment it clicks, he pulls his hand from mine. “Jesus Christ, Patrick.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks, then disappears again.
“I’m not marrying you,” he says, sipping his wine.
“I didn’t ask you to.” I offer a half assed shrug, pretending not to be hurt by his statement. I’m shooting for reverse psychology here.
“No. But Callum is demanding it. Am I wrong?”
“He isn’t demanding it,” I say. I pause, letting that digest. “Yet.”
“What do you mean ‘yet’?” Griffin tosses air quotes around the word, a dramatic flare. I don’t miss the hint of irritation in his eyes.
“I mean he’s not going to give us a choice.”
“This is really fucking romantic. Really, Patrick. I’m loving this marriage proposal.”
I sigh as I lean forward. Brushing my glasses to my forehead, I rub my temples with both hands. “I’m fucking sorry, Griffin. I’m so God damned sorry. I cheated on you, and I’ll never forgive myself. What’s even worse is I cheated on you, and I don’t even remember it. Every day I wake up and I feel like the biggest piece of shit there is. I hate that I’ve done this. I’ve broken us, and I’ll spend forever making up for it. I’ll spend every day of my life showing you how much you mean to me.”
“I’m not marrying you.” He repeats as if he’s stunned. Or maybe he’s just forcing himself to be numb to this so that I don’t hurt him again.
“Callum thinks if we’re married before we announce Camille is pregnant with my son, it’ll lessen the blow on Camille’s father. He’ll be more likely to accept that I’m not willing to marry her.”
“The Italians hate same-sex couples, Patrick. All it will do is piss him off even more that his daughter got knocked up by a man who fucks other men.Andwho’s unwilling to marry her.”
“Man. I fuck one man. I’ve only ever been with you, Griffin.”
