"You'll be begging again tonight, too.
I'll go make some coffee."
In the mirror, I watched him turn away and saw the darkening bruise on his side.
It was low on his back, where I hadn't had a chance to see it before.
I spun around.
"Gideon! You're hurt.
Let me see."
"I'm fine."
He was partway down the stairs before I could stop him.
"Don't take too long."
Guilt swamped me, and a terrible urge to cry.
My hand shook as I ran a wide-toothed comb through my damp hair.
The bathroom had been stocked with my usual toiletries, demonstrating once again how thoughtful and attentive Gideon was, which only emphasized my deficits.
I was making his life hell.
After all he'd already suffered, my issues were the last thing he needed to deal with.
I took the stairs down to the first floor and found myself unable to join Gideon in the kitchen.
I needed a minute to pull myself together and put on a happy face.
I didn't want to ruin the weekend for him, too.
I stepped out through the French doors that led to the deck.
The roar of the surf and the biting salt spray hit me at once.
The hem of my robe whipped gently in the ocean breeze, cooling me in a way I found invigorating.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped the railing and closed my eyes, trying to find the peace I needed to keep Gideon from worrying.
My problem was me, and I didn't want to concern him with something he couldn't change.
Only I could make myself a stronger person, and I needed to, if I wanted to make him happy and offer him the security he so desperately wanted from me.
The door opened behind me, and I took a deep breath before turning to face him with a smile.
Gideon came out with two steaming mugs gripped in one hand - one filled with black coffee and the other lightened with half-and- half.
I knew it would be made perfectly to my tastes and delicious, because Gideon knew exactly what I liked.
Not because I'd told him, but because he paid attention to everything about me.
"Stop beating yourself up," he ordered sternly, setting the mugs on the railing.
I sighed.