You Know I Love You (You Are Mine #3) - Willow Winters Page 0,4
desire. I can’t help but to imagine how his rough stubble would feel against my palm as I caressed his cheek, how his lips would taste as he leaned down to kiss me. A very large part of me wants to savor it. Our last goodbye kiss. It’s funny how the goodbye kisses are the ones I value most, but I won’t let him kiss me before he leaves this time. Not when the last things that came from his lips were lies.
My deep inhales are silent, although the heavy rise and fall of my chest betrays me. If he notices, he doesn’t let on as he places his luggage by the front door. My own hands turn numb watching his.
Even if he is only wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt, he’s still devilishly handsome. It’s his muscular physique and tanned, tattooed skin that let you know he’s a classic bad boy regardless of what he’s wearing. My heart beats slower as the seconds pass between us; it’s calming just to look at him. That’s how he got me in the beginning. The desire and attraction are undeniable despite what he’s done.
He’s the first to break our gaze as he runs his fingers through his dark brown hair and lets out an uneasy sigh. In response my lips curl into a sarcastic smile, mocking both me and my thoughts. I’m not the only one to fall for his charm and allure, but I should have learned my lesson by now. My fingers slip down the thin stem of the wineglass as I smile weakly and force back the sting in my eyes, pretending I’m not going to cry, pretending that I’ve made my decision final. Like I don’t already regret it.
“I have to go,” Evan states after a moment of uncomfortable silence, apart from the constant background hum of traffic.
My blood rushes and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. I focus on the wine, the dark red liquid pooling in the base of the glass. I try to swirl it, but it doesn’t move; there’s so little left.
“Is she going to be there?” I ask him, staring straight ahead at a black and white photo of the two of us taken years ago on vacation in Mexico.
Why? Why even bother? Why did I let it slip out? I’d planned to just say goodbye. Just end this suffering already.
As he answers, I continue to stare at the genuine smile on my face and then to where his arm is wrapped possessively around my waist in the photograph.
I hate that I asked. It’s my insecurity, my hate. My envy even.
“No, she’s not. And I already told you it doesn’t matter.” Any trace of a smile or even of disinterest leaves me. I can’t hide what it does to me, what his lie has done to me.
It doesn’t matter. Let it go. They’re all nonanswers. They’re words to hide the truth and we both know it.
My elbow is planted on the table as I rest my chin in my hand and try to cover up how much it hurts. To keep it from him just like he’s keeping the truth from me, even if I sniff a little too loud. I speak low as I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. “You told me it’s not true, but you didn’t deny it to the press,” I tell him and finally look him in the eye. “You didn’t deny it to anyone but me, and I know you’re lying.” My words crack at the end and I have to tear my gaze away. “It’s been different since you came home.” My last statement is drawn out and practically a whisper. It’s been difficult between us over the past year, but the last two weeks … The tension between us changed the second he came home. I knew something bad had happened. I knew it.
Everyone told me to be careful and warned me about Evan six years ago when I first started seeing him. I knew what I was doing when I first said yes to a date with him, when I gave myself to him and let myself fall for someone like him. I’m a fool.
“I told you, Kat, it’s not what it looks like,” he says and his voice is soft, like he’s afraid to say the words louder.
“Then why not tell them?” I ask, staring into his pleading expression. “Why let the world