How could I be so fucking stupid?
How could I be so blind?
How had I not seen how distraught she’d been the night I went out on that second date with some woman I couldn’t remember? How had I not heard her tears or run back to her to stop her from losing her virginity instead of forcing myself to believe I was doing the right thing by finding comfort in arms I was allowed rather than dying for the ones I wasn’t?
My hands curled around the pages, wanting to wring her neck for years of bullshit, while at the same time, wanting to clutch her close and say I finally understood. Understood the unrequited pining. Understood the burning jealousy at the thought of anyone else having her but me. Understood the epic heights of such sweet agony and the almost addictive properties of loving someone you just can’t have.
The night she lost her virginity, I’d done that. I’d pushed her into doing something final by believing I was the only one hurting. That I was the only one struggling with right and wrong.
Fuck!
I spun around, one hand latched around the pages and another tangled in my hair.
I needed to get the hell out of here before I did something unforgivable.
But…everything locked into place.
My heart stopped beating. My body stopped shaking. I swallowed a groan as Della stood dripping wet in a towel, glowering at me in the doorway.
We stared.
And stared.
And stared.
I didn’t move.
She didn’t move.
I hadn’t heard the shower turn off.
I didn’t feel her arrive.
I’d been too focused on learning the years of pain I’d put her through to focus on the present.
She’d been in love with me. Was she still? When did she know? How long had she lied? How badly had I ruined this?
Slowly, my heart tripped into beating again, wary and worried, quiet and quick.
With blazing blue eyes and wet blonde hair plastered against creamy shoulders, she padded barefoot toward me.
I stumbled backward, my knees giving way at the delirious perfection of seeing her again, of her seeing me, of us being alone together—away from others and judging opinions.
My lips parted to speak, to say something that could delete the years of agony, soothe months of hardship, and have her love me the same way she did before I’d stupidly run.
But my voice no longer worked, my lungs no longer operated. She closed the distance, bringing familiar smells of vanilla and melon until she reached out and snatched the pages dripping with secrets from my hands.
I flinched as if she’d punched me in the gut.
Tears glittered in her gaze as sadness so deep and cloying seemed to blur her before me. “You read them…” Her whisper fissured with soul-breaking disbelief.
And for the first time…I saw her.
Truly saw her.
Not as a baby.
Not as a toddler.
Not as a child.
I saw her as Della.
Herself.
Her own creation.
A creation I’d had no hand in, no part in nurturing or raising. She was no longer mine; she belonged only to herself, and she’d utterly crushed me beneath her written honesty.
“Ribbon,” I breathed. My voice shook. My hands curled into fists as I took in her wild, wet, blonde hair, the sharp wings of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts beneath the towel, and the long willowy strength of her sun-kissed arms and legs.
The first time I’d used her nickname in far too long.
But I had no choice.
The word was torn from my entire being as I stood staring at the most stunning creature I’d ever seen.
How had I prevented my eyes from seeing?
How had I believed she was merely pretty—just my little Della who needed me to survive?
How had I convinced myself that she loved me only as a friend when everything between us flared hot and forbidden with years of pent-up desire?
She was never innocent like I believed.
She was never pure like I hoped.
She was none of those things.
Not anymore.
She was sin and sex and such sizzling chemistry, my entire body burst into flames.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I couldn’t breathe as explosion after explosion hit me, realisation after realisation, acceptance after acceptance that I’d loved this girl since I’d stolen her yet…here now, this very fucking moment, I fell head over heels, madly, desperately, horribly in love with her, and it fucking ruined me.
Her words…her confessions…I didn’t stand a goddamn chance.
I shot forward, grabbing her tight and clutching her to me.
A hug.
Our first hug in so damn long.
Her body was unyielding—no longer open to my touch. She was braver, stronger, sexier, and having her in my arms, my body shook off the shackles I’d always locked tight and fell away.
I hardened, I groaned, I buried my face in her hair and allowed myself to shake with fear of losing her.
She didn’t move in my embrace. Her back bowed as I pulled her closer. Her breath caught as I wedged us tighter, no longer keeping propriety between us, allowing her to feel how affected I was having her in my arms, wanting her to know I was done lying to her and myself.