Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Her lashes drop, covering whatever is in her eyes, and she takes a long gulp of wine, setting the glass down carefully.
“Yasmen?” she asks.
At her question, so stark and straightforward, I want to be the same, but it’s more complicated than that.
“Yes,” I reply. “And no.”
At her lifted brow, I press on.
“Yes, I have some unresolved issues from my marriage. No, nothing’s going on between Yasmen and me. I don’t plan for there to be.”
“Then why can’t we just—”
“Because it’s not fair. You don’t want a guy who’s thinking about someone else when they’re with you.”
“Oh.” She blinks rapidly and bites her bottom lip. “So she’s been in your head this whole time?”
“It’s not like that.”
“But you think about her and you feel about her.” Vashti seems to be holding her breath waiting for my response, tension across her shoulders and in the fingers gripping the fragile stem of her wineglass.
“If I waited until I don’t have feelings for Yasmen before I moved on,” I tell Vashti as gently as I can, “I never would.”
The truth of my words sinks in for both of us. There it is. As much as I don’t want it to be the case, getting over Yasmen is not a thing I may ever be able to do. That doesn’t mean I can trust her or even be with her again. I’m not sure I can do either of those things, but I can’t root these emotions out of my heart. They’re woven into the fiber of who I am. It’s an emotional impasse I need to resolve for myself, and until I have, I can’t involve anyone else.
“I know you care about me,” Vashti says, tears glittering in her eyes. “I can give you time. We can keep trying to make this work.”
That sounds exhausting. Fighting what I feel for Yasmen has become a full-time job. Moonlighting to make sure I’m giving Vashti what she needs is not fair to her, to me, not even to Yasmen.
“You deserve everything from the man in your life, Vash,” I say, reaching over to hold her hand. “I hoped that could be me. I really did, but I don’t want you to settle for less.”
A tear slides down her cheek and plops onto the back of my hand, and I feel like an asshole. I wanted so desperately to move on, to eradicate Yasmen from my system, that I entangled someone else in our quagmire. Guilt gnaws at my insides, and I want nothing more than to bring this to the kindest close possible, so I sit in the uncomfortable silence, giving her space to process it.
“We never said this was love, right?” she murmurs with a choked little laugh.
I’ve never told her I loved her. I’ve always known that wasn’t true. I’ve given those words and my heart to exactly one woman ever, and that backfired on me in a shit bomb of pain and regret. The next time I say those words, it will be because I’ve somehow managed to tear Yasmen out and, by some miracle, let someone else in. But that time is not now.
I clear my throat. “At work we—”
“I’ll be fine,” she cuts in, eyes going harder and chin set to a defiant angle. “I’ve worked too hard for too long to let a relationship derail my career. Grits is one of the hottest spots in the city. I’m not giving it up.”
“Good. Then we agree.”
“I think we just tell people if they ask. Don’t make it a big deal.” She huffs out a tiny breath of a laugh. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Hey.” I wait for her to look up. “I wasn’t toying with you. I legitimately wanted to move on. I hoped I was ready for something with someone I cared about. That’s what this was. I hope you believe that, and that I never wanted to lead you to think it was something else.”
“You never did, no.” She offers a teary smile. “But you’re right. I deserve a man who is as wild about me as you are about her.”
“I’m not…” I cut off my words at the disbelieving look she aims at me. “I hope you get everything you deserve.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Yasmen
Yasmen!” Mama yells from downstairs. “The driver’s outside to take you to the airport.”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I shout back.
I inventory the room. A few minutes seems pretty ambitious since my clothes are scattered on the bed, beside the suitcase instead of in it. I’ve showered, but am in my robe, a scarf still tied over my braids.
“Of all mornings to oversleep,” I mutter, trying to organize my thoughts and figure out what to do first.
I tiptoe over to the window and peer through the curtains. A black Suburban idles in my driveway. Maybe I could send the driver to get Josiah if he hasn’t picked him up yet, and then come back for me. There’s a firm tap at the door before I have time to execute this excellent plan.