To Have and to Hold

“He kissed another woman?” my mother asks, looking… shocked. Is she actually going to defend me, protect me like a mother should, and tell him to leave?

“Yes. His young receptionist who made it clear she wanted him, and obviously he wanted her just as much.”

“Bullshit, baby, and you know it,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides.

Shaking my head, I look at him then my mother, waiting for her to tell him to leave and not let the door hit him on his way out.

But no. It’s worse. A burning pain like nothing before.

“What have I told you all these years? Beauty is everything, Scarlett, and you have not been the best wife lately. Half the time I come see you, you’re without makeup and in some sort of lazily put together outfit. What did you expect a man like him to do?”

My stomach turns, these slices of pain cutting me like glass, splintering off and penetrating the part of my heart that was barely hanging on by a string.

“I don’t blame him for not wanting you. You’ve let yourself go, honey.” She goes to cup my face, trying to soften her brutal insult with a term of endearment, thinking it will make it okay to say.

“Excuse me? Get your goddamn hands off my wife. Now,” Gideon seethes, stepping up to me and coming between my mother and me, his back to me. Even broken by what happened tonight, I feel safe for a moment.

“This is my house, Gideon, and I’m just telling her what you are clearly too afraid to. I’m trying to save your marriage,” Mother says with exasperation, attempting to play savior—her signature move.

“Bullshit. It’s you. You have been the problem all along. You have always treated my wife like she was never good enough. As if she was a damn Barbie doll you could mold and keep perfect all the fucking time. You’re the reason Scarlett doesn’t see what I see when I look at her,” Gideon accuses, the tone of his voice making the hairs rise on my arms.

Lifting my head, I look at the back of his taut body as he defends me. His words surprise me, and suddenly I’m hooked on each one.

No one has ever talked to my mother this way.

“Excuse me, son—”

“My name is Dr. Pierce to you, and you’ll do better to remember that,” he growls, and I touch his arm, wanting to calm the situation. It’s a habit—defending my mother in all things.

“Gideon, please.”

He doesn’t pull away or push my hand off of him. No, instead, he places his hand over mine and tells me gently, barely looking back at me, “No, baby. This needs to be said.”

“Scar has been obsessed with this idea of being perfect, fighting against everything I’ve ever tried to tell her. How perfect she already is. There is not one damn flaw on my woman, yet you still have your hands so tight around her throat that she believes you and not me.”

“Gideon,” I repeat, this time a soft cry leaving me. I put my front completely against his back, knowing what his temper can turn into if it’s not controlled or at least calmed. “Please, baby. Let’s leave.”

He turns to me, my vulnerable tone finally pulling him back to me. “You listen to me. Now, Scarlett.” It’s a threatening tone he takes, but it doesn’t scare me, because it’s one I’m used to. He’s the alpha, and I’ve always loved it and responded to it.

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper out of habit.

“You are so fucking beautiful. Irresistible. Breathtaking. Whatever you seem to believe I think about you is completely fucking wrong. And that’s not the part that hurts the most, baby.” Moving his hands from my cheeks to around my neck in his classic possessive move, I can’t help but fall weak for him. “It’s the fact that you really think I wanted someone else, anyone else who’s not you, which means you don’t know me at all.” Gideon searches my eyes, and I mimic the action.

“You are it for me,” he continues, “and I don’t want anyone else. I can’t even look at another woman. I make women into art every fucking day, and you’ve never been touched by a sculpting blade, yet you look as if you were carved by my hands with the vision of the perfect woman in mind.”

Sucking in a deep breath at his statement, I bite at my lip and try my damnedest not to let those tears welling in my eyes fall.

“You are my masterpiece, and I’m sorry that scheming bitch got a hand on me. But it wasn’t welcome, and it sure as hell didn’t change what I feel or steer my wants away from you. You’re the mother to our beautiful children. You’re my wife. My best friend. My fucking obsession. What can I do to make you believe me?”