had ever known. Or ever could know. And he wanted something from her. And he would never, ever leave her. He was in it for real. Because that was who he was.
Even if it made him miserable. Even if he never...
He had said to her that he had to be romantic because if it wasn’t him it wouldn’t be anyone else, because he was marrying her and they were forever. And it was the same for him. He wouldn’t have anyone else. Because she was his wife. And if she couldn’t give him the words then no one would.
She would make him miserable for the rest of his life. She already had. She had burst in a tangle of complication that a man like Ryder would have never found on his own. Because he was far too good, far too organized, and the universe had dealt its blow to him already. The way that it had treated him taking his parents away...
And that she had just heaped chaos on top of it.
And he was good. He took care of people. It was what he did.
And he thought he was in love with her. Because that was who he was.
He had married her, so now he thought he was in love with her. But he wasn’t. And he would go on thinking that for as long as she was his wife, because of course he was a man who would endeavor to love his wife. Of course he was. Because he was good down to his soul. And she was a creature whose own father had been enraged by the sight of her. Whose mother had never once defended her.
She had stitched herself into the quilt of this family, and they had opened their arms and accepted her, but she wasn’t one of them. They were united by a common tragedy and she had simply come and covered herself in the protective layer they had created for their own selves.
She was selfish.
Selfish and needy, and she didn’t think there would ever be an end to it.
Someday she would look at him. She would look at him and she would ask if he loved her. It brought her to the edge of terror. Because he thought he meant it, he truly did, but someday he would realize that he was in a prison. A prison he hadn’t chosen, but one he had been locked in by his own good intentions. And she wouldn’t be able to bear that. When he looked at her with disgust, too. She would never be able to weather that.
And she knew then that he could see all of that, that mess of terror, that mess of need, that endless well that would never be filled. That he saw the sad, wounded creature that she was underneath it all.
That girl who couldn’t control anything, not at all. Who was helpless and frightened and sad. She hid that girl from everyone.
And she was so confident and sure with her smiles, with her attitude, with the way that she acted around him, and she pretended it was honest. The most honest. That she just said whatever came into her mind; she pretended for him, for everyone, and most especially for herself.
Now that she was the least able to hide, she saw just how much she did. Only when she had become aware of needing to conceal things from him did she realize that she’d been doing it all along.
Because that girl...
How could that girl take what he was offering?
“Sammy,” he said gruffly.
She opened her eyes again, and he thrust deep, a spear of pleasure coursing through her. And she gave herself up to him, because she had no other choice. Because when this was over, it would all be over. She had come out here to reclaim something and had found the end.
Because she had found the center of herself.
Selfish and needy and small. She wanted to weep with it.
Because she had been so sure that she would find something glorious and brilliant in all her revelation. In her seeking after a new piece to who she was.
But she didn’t. Instead, she looked inside herself and found something contemptible.
A woman who had attached herself to a man who had already been through enough.
And she knew that it would be up to her to set them both free.
But she pushed that away for now. Pushed it to the side. Because she could only feel now. And he was in her. He