“I’m not hiding,” he said firmly. “I love you, and I love what we have. I just don’t see why we have to complicate things.”
“Complicate?” I pulled my hand away. “Is that what I am to you? A complication?”
“Clara, no, I didn’t mean—”
I pushed away from the table, the roar of my chair against the linoleum interrupting him. “Are you ever going to want everything with me, Luke? Or is this all there is for us? Because if this is it—dinners and rare dates, coming over in the middle of the night for sex—then I need to know now.”
“Don’t make it seem like you’re some…” He groaned. “Like I’m using you. I’ve been good to you, Clara. I take care of you. I love you as much as I can right now. I’ve got so much on my plate, and—”
“Is this all there is for us? This?” I repeated, fighting back bitter tears as they filled my eyes. “I just need a yes or a no.”
He cocked his head to the side, staring at me strangely. “Things have always been so good with us. Why are you pushing for more now?”
“Because, Luke, I’m not getting any younger. So much of my life has been wasted on the wrong men and the wrong careers, and I’m finally figuring it all out. I’ve given you so many years of my life, and we’re no closer to commitment than we were back then, are we?”
“I’m committed to you, Clara. What will it take to show you that? I love you. I’m in love with you. I tell you that every day.”
I stood up and he did the same, though I wasn’t trying to get past him, only closer to him. “I need you to do more than tell me. I need you to prove it. I need you to take the next step.”
His face went ashen. “Marry you?”
“God. Is that such a scary thing?” I brushed a tear from my cheek. Please say no. Please say you will.
“I can’t marry you, Clara.”
I let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “What do you mean you can’t?”
His eyes darted between mine, his lips parting. “I…” He hung his head, breaking eye contact. “I should’ve told you sooner. I was just so afraid to lose you.”
“Told me what, Luke? What are you talking about?” Ice-cold fear filled my intestines.
“I don’t believe in marriage. As much as I love you, I’ll never be able to marry you.”
I sucked in a sob. “W-what? How could we have gone this long and that never came up?”
“Because I was a coward,” he said, placing a hand on his forehead. “Because I never wanted to lose you or hurt you or break your heart. I didn’t want to disappoint you—I don’t.”
I backed away from him. “I can’t believe this.”
He stepped toward me, reaching for my hands. “I don’t want to fight—”
“I just need some space,” I said, turning away from him and making my way around the table. “I’m sorry, I think you should go.”
He took hold of my arm and spun me around, his eyes swimming with tears of his own. “I won’t survive losing you. Tell me what I can do. Please, Clara. I’ll do anything. Anything except that.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I want a husband, Luke. Maybe not today, but someday. You knew that. You’ve always known that. I want to build a life together. To live together.”
“I’ll do it,” he blurted out. “I’ll move in with you. Will that help? Will that prove how committed I am?”
I shook my head with disbelief. Could he truly mean it? “I don’t want to force you…”
“You aren’t. I swear you aren’t. I’ve been holding back for so long because I knew you’d expect me to marry you. I never wanted to have this conversation, but I should’ve so long ago… Let’s move in together.”
I batted back tears of a new kind, my heart swelling with hope. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. I didn’t fight back, the food and fight forgotten as he scooped me up, pressing me against the wall in a tender kiss.
I ran my hands through his hair, my tears landing on his cheeks. “I love you, Lucas Martin.”
“I love you, too, Clara. More than you’ll ever know.”
His heart thudded against mine as he kissed me again, then he pulled away. His eyes were lost and cold, a stunning contradiction to his words.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, staring at him as he lowered me to the ground.
He nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Everything’s perfect.” He swallowed, unable to meet my gaze as he ran a finger over his lips, a telltale sign he was lying about something, as he wiped away my kiss.
He kept hold of my hand with his opposite hand, though he seemed to have forgotten he had it.
He was lying to me. About something, maybe about everything. Either way, I had to learn the truth.
His phone rang, interrupting my thoughts, and he pulled it from his pocket. I noticed the name, or rather letter on the screen, though he tried to hide it from me. A.
Who is A?
“Hello?” He answered the phone, walking away from me, though I kept up with him, pretending to be oblivious to his sudden need for privacy. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—” He spun back around, noticing my presence. “Hold on. Hold on, okay? I’ll be there in a half hour.” He nodded, then hung up the phone and stared at me.
“What was that about?”
“It was the hospital. I got called in for a surgery. Can I take a rain check?”
I swallowed. “Who’s A?”
He shook his head. “What?”
“On your phone, it showed A.”
“H,” he corrected, “for the hospital. I’ve got to go.” He was lying. I knew what I’d seen…didn’t I?
“Will you come back after? I can save you some food.”
“I’ll just crash there,” he said dismissively as he made his way toward the door and stopped to slip on his shoes. “It’ll be a late one. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He kissed my lips, brushing my hair from my eyes as he darted away. To my surprise, he looked the most relieved he’d looked all night, to be leaving me.
Again, he was lying, and it was obvious there was so much I didn’t know.
Of course, the most pressing question continued to repeat in my head: Who is A?
Chapter Eighteen
Alaina
I could hear him panting through the phone as he rushed out the door. I wasn’t sure if he was at work or at home, but he made no effort to stall. When I called, he came running. I heard his car door shut before he spoke again, his voice slightly muffled by the engine starting.
“Now,” he said, his voice going quiet for a moment as the car switched to Bluetooth, “what are you talking about? What painting?”
“The painting I sent you the other night. Don’t act like you didn’t get it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alaina. You had a painting sent to my house?” His voice was strained, and I could tell he was stressed. What was he so worried about? How would I have sent anything to his apartment when I didn’t have the address?