“I want the stuff that happens outside this room to work,” she said. “Why now? You didn’t want it eight months ago.” She shook her head. “You’re getting angry.” “I’m not.” He shoved out a breath. He at least owed her the truth. “I am angry. At myself. I rushed us into this marriage, and that was a mistake.” “You didn’t drag me kicking and screaming. I wanted it also.” “And you left it.” She fisted her fingers. “Because you shut me out.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never pretended to be anything I wasn’t.”
