Bending down, James reaches for a shirt I left on the ottoman this morning and throws it to me. It falls into a soft heap right in front of me. I don't reach for it because I can't seem to steer myself from looking at him. His eyes probe me longer, deeper, like he's begging me to change my mind so he can make me his wife. Still, I remain quiet. He exhales a breath through his nose and I feel the frustration flaring from him. I love him so much and I'd give him anything else he asked for, but I can't give him that.
I swallow thickly as he props his hands on his hips. The colorful hues of his inked arms flicker against the low lighting in our room. My gaze lands on the flower he had tattooed onto his forearm. It was a moment, our first one, and one of the first tattoos he'd gotten on his untouched arm. The flower matches the dress I wore when we first met in Bryant Park. To this day, it's still his favorite.
"Do you have no desire to get married? Or does the idea of marrying me repulse you?"
"Repulse me?" I repeat. "You think marrying you repulses me?"
I'm shaking now over his asinine words.
Men are so dumb sometimes.
I need to
count to ten, but I'm beyond hurt that he thinks he repulses me.
My eyes flare, instantly filling with tears. How could he even think that? He has to know what he means to me. James is taking this the wrong way.
My heart is a burning ball of fire right now confined inside of my chest. I grab the shirt and let the sheet fall to my hips to slip it on. It's inside out but I don't really give a fuck. I jump out of bed and march right up to him with determination. Lifting my chin, I say, "If marriage to you repulsed me, would I even be in a relationship with you? Just because I don't want to get married doesn't mean I don't want you."
"What's the reason then, Aubrey?"
My lips twitch, anxiety filling me instantly. "There's no reason."
He takes a step closer to me and a little gasp crests in my throat. I ache to lean into him. I'm so drawn to him. How could he question any of it?
"There has to be."
There is, but now isn't the time to bring it up. Not when the tension is increasing by the second.
"You won't ever marry me, will you?".
His voice is a clamp on my pulse. I'm reminded of the day I walked away from us the first time all those years ago in his home. How he looked when he threw his glass across the room—the way it shattered against the wall—knowing there was no changing my mind. He feels ruined, again, because he won't win.
I don't say anything. It's not possible when I'm pressing my lips together fighting emotions I know he can clearly see. I can't bring myself to utter the words.
My lungs are straining for air, my chest taut with what feels like skin being stretched.
Stepping around him, I walk through the French doors to the patio to where we were sitting earlier in the night. I pick up the glass I was drinking from and toss the rest of the contents back, then I refill it. It burns good going down my throat. Hurts a little, but I like that bite, feeling like I deserve it.
The wood creaks under James's footsteps. Instinctively, I refill his glass then reach out to my side to hand it to him blindly.
He takes it and stands next to me. We're staring at the slow wake of black waves brushing up against our private bungalow together. Unspoken words remain floating between us that thicken the salty air.
Pressing the glass to the center of my chest, my voice is flat as I say, "We don't need a label to make it official, James. Look where your marriage got you. Look where it got my parents. Even my grammy lost my grandpa. They waited until he left the Naval Academy to get married, only for him to pass away a few years later. The only people I know who were married—including you—and look how it ended for them, for you. I only have you and Natalie in my life. I don't want to chance losing you guys too. That’s what I feel like comes from having that dumb paper. You're my family," I add, my voice breaking a little.
James lifts the glass to his mouth and tosses back what is equivalent to three shots like it's nothing. His throat bobs once. He's not handling this well.
He hands me the glass and I place it down next to mine. "I never intended to marry Kathleen, and you know that. I never loved her the way I love you. This is different. I thought you knew that."
I wish I could cave, but the way I see it, I’m doing us a favor.
"We don't need a piece of paper to dictate our relationship."
Ten
James turns toward me.
Eyes illuminated by the soft lights on the deck, James takes my hands in his and lifts them to his mouth. He kisses the back of my knuckles and rubs the center of my palm with his thumb. The fine lines around his eyes are tight with worry. He makes me feel like this is a deal breaker for him.