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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Lauren Asher
Read between
February 25 - February 25, 2022
I take a step out into the light before I’m stopped by Iris pressing her palm against my cheek. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I knew I should have checked the dark and unseemly places first.” Her hand lingers, warming my stubbled chin as I look down at her. “To think you know me better than anyone else.” She laughs, and the sound seems to wash away my last bit of annoyance from tonight. “How are you holding up?” She removes her hand, but I latch onto it and press it against my chest.
I attempt to make my escape, only to be held back by Declan gripping onto my elbow. His hold doesn’t hurt, but it speaks a silent request. Stay. But why? “Yes?” I ask. “Is it that bad?” I look up at him. “What?” “The idea of becoming my wife.” I swear, the rise and fall of his moods tonight is driving me insane.
“I don’t treat you like everyone else.” She knows more about me than my own brothers. For her to discount that…it raises my blood pressure. “You’re right.” The tense breath I was holding releases from my lungs. She finally gets it. She continues, “There are moments you treat me great. I’d be stupid to deny that. But there are plenty of times when I feel like I don’t matter. That my needs are merely collateral damage in your pursuit of whatever you think will make you happy.”
“If you want her to fall in love with you, you have to prove to her how you’re different from all the men she has dated before.” “That can’t be too hard. They were all disgustingly average in every single way.” “Unfortunately for you, you fall into the same category.”
“I never thought I would be on the receiving end of your temper, but I should have known that being your wife wouldn’t save me from that kind of treatment. If anything, it makes it ten times worse.” “I didn’t mean it. I was angry about the situation with my father and took it out on you.” She stays silent, so I kiss her. Her arms hang by her sides which only increases my desperation. I want her to do something—anything really, so long as it takes away this feeling growing in my gut. “I’m sorry,” I mumble against her lips. Something wet and salty hits my lips, and I break away from our kiss to
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“Come home. I’ll cook every day for the rest of our lives so long as you agree to not leave again.” Her eyes shut. “No.” I take advantage of her guard being down and walk up to her. Her chin fits perfectly within the palm of my hand, and I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Please. I’m miserable without you.”