The three special words I’ve never said to a woman before. And now that I’ve said them, I want to shout it out loud for everyone to hear. Relief washes over me and I expect everything between us to be okay. After all, how could it not be since I’ve finally given her what she wants?
Her stare is wide and quizzical, her laugh that follows strangely dark and disturbing. I’m confused by the way she’s reacting. Shouldn’t she be in my arms telling me she loves me too?
“You have a lot to learn about love, Noah.” She silences herself while watching my confused expression. “It’s quite easy to tell someone you love them. What’s difficult is actually showing someone you love them. And until this very moment, I’m yet to see anything which would make me believe that you love me.”
I find myself pulling away, offended that she thinks my words mean nothing after I’ve finally confessed the truth. “And would the same not go for you, Morgan? What have you done to show me that you love me? You’re still married. And I’m pretty certain you still sleep in the same bed with your husband even after I found out the truth,” I say with distaste. “I should be asking you the same question.”
“You’re right. I’ve done absolutely nothing but carry the guilt inside for the last two months. I’m sorry you think that I’ve done nothing because apparently, it’s never about me rather about everyone else and what they want.”
Running my hands through my hair, it’s my turn to laugh at her comment, at how frustrating she can be. “You can’t blame anyone else but yourself. You make the decisions. You dictate your own life. You can’t keep using everyone else as an excuse, Morgan.”
And as if I struck a chord, shaken her beliefs to the very core, she stares back at me with downcast eyes, before the truth really does hurt. “You know what, Noah? You’re right,” she says, confirming the truth. “I should live my life for me. Make my own decisions. And I’ll start by making one right now.” She moves closer, placing her hand on my chest to feel the beat of my heart. It’s beating rather loud, thumping like mad. And with just one touch, it begins to slow because her touch alone is what it’s been waiting for.
“I love you, but sometimes love isn’t enough,” she says faintly. “Walk away from me now. Figure out exactly what it is you want from me. Because I’ll tell you this…” She stalls her words, keeping my curiosity piqued. “If you come back to me and tell me you love me, I’ll take those words to heart and never let them go.”
I resist raising my hand to caress her face because I do love her. But throughout all this, she’s finally begun to understand me and knows that I need to do some soul searching because I can’t give her all of me right at this very moment. There are too many unanswered questions, and I need answers before I take her into my arms and never let her go.
I choose to walk away, not because I’m weak but because I need to find strength.
And two weeks later, I find it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sit in the car watching the man who’s the husband of the woman I love. The day is slightly overcast, or perhaps it’s the LA smog I’ve grown accustomed to. Either way, it does nothing to help my already dejected mood.
There are many people around him, from assistants helping with hair and makeup to the models themselves being photographed. With the camera in his hand, he switches angles, and moves in closer while taking shots. He appears to be comfortable in his element, smiling happily and directing the models into different poses.
He could also be smiling because he’s married to the woman you love.
Tracking down Wyatt has been more difficult than I had anticipated. With Morgan and I apart and Scarlett refusing to talk to me after her sexual advances, it gave me no choice but to contact their dad, Max.
We had a very long chat about the situation. Apparently, Morgan had confided in him very early on about her feelings for me which is why he knew of us being together at the barbecue. The more he spoke about his relationship with Morgan, the more I realized he’s just like my mom. And funnily enough, it wasn’t just about me seeking his approval but equally him seeking my approval to date Mom.
You can only laugh at such a twisted outcome.
My shoes walk awkwardly against the sand, digging in as I make my way over to where they’re shooting. An assistant asks me if I’m part of the shoot, attempting to usher me toward the makeshift wardrobe.
“I’m here to speak to Wyatt Bentley,” I say flatly.
She walks over to where Wyatt’s standing, and sure enough, he turns around to see me. He yells at the models to take five, removing his camera from around his neck and handing it to the assistant. With bare feet, he steps over to where I’m standing and extends his hand.
“Noah.” He smiles politely.
I don’t know why I shake it—it feels like a handshake with the devil. Or perhaps that’s what I perceive in my head. I hate him because he has everything I want. Yet, hate is such a strong word for a man I know nothing about.
He motions for me to follow him to a quiet café which sits along the busy pavement. Venice Beach is bustling with many different walks of life, surprising me everywhere I turn. I’ve only been here once many years ago, but it’s obvious not much has changed.
We enter the building, and he orders a coffee, offering me something to drink. I order a coffee too, but my insomnia is weighing heavily on my shoulders. The café’s small, only a few scattered tables inside the air-conditioned area. Aside from the employees, there’s only an elderly couple—possibly tourists—who sit quietly near the window admiring the outside view.
“So,” he says. “Let’s talk.”
I don’t know where to begin. The conversation has replayed over and over in my head, yet here I sit without words. I know I’m sitting here across from him because he’s the key to Morgan and I being together.
“I need to understand your relationship with Morgan. This is complicated…” I trail off.
He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning back on his chair as he eyes me dubiously. He’s roughly the same height as me, not as cut up but still quite muscular. His light blond hair is trimmed reasonably short, and I didn’t notice before, but he has a tattoo on the side of his neck. I can’t make out what it is, but I pray it’s not her damn name.
“When I first met Mo, she was exactly like me, so carefree and just wanting to have fun. We met on some wild weekend in Vegas and despite your reluctance to hear this, it was purely sexual and not