I keep my face blank despite the slice of pain tearing through my body. “I want to help you, cari?o.”
She unleashes the most heart-wrenching sob. I act on instinct and impaired judgment as I tug her against me and wrap my arms around her, right before her legs give out.
Having a front-row seat to Dahlia’s breakdown nearly drives me insane with an urge to pummel something, although no one would be able to tell with the soothing way I caress her back.
Neither of us says anything, but I don’t need her to.
Cari?o: Sweetheart.
Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.
Whoever hurt her, I’ll ruin them.
And whenever she needs someone to lean on, I will be there.
The final thought rocks me to my foundation. Somehow, I went from fearing how Dahlia could hurt me to wanting to stop anything and anyone from hurting her.
I’ve always cared about her well-being, that much became painfully obvious after how I reacted when she broke her arm, but there is an undercurrent of something more.
I know I will never be good enough for her, but if I can help her heal and protect her from any more assholes, then I’ve served my purpose.
It takes her ten minutes to calm down and for her tears to relent.
She snuggles deeper into me. “Can you play some music?”
I pull out my phone and search for a playlist before placing it on the bar. The soft strumming of a guitar paired with the melodic voice of her favorite artist fills the air.
At one point, we both begin swaying to the music, our bodies in perfect harmony except for a mishap when I step on her foot. She looks up at me with a small smile that acts like a release valve for the pressure building in my chest.
I cup her face. “I hate to see you cry.”
Her eyes focus on something over my shoulder, but I draw them back with a caress of my thumb across her cheek.
“Tell me what happened.”
Her chest rises and falls from her shallow breathing. “Oliver got married.”
“Come again?” Of all the things I expected her to say, that didn’t even make it into the top thousand.
“He had an impromptu ceremony in Vegas.”
“Who’s the unlucky bride?”
She half laughs, half sobs. “His high school girlfriend, Olivia.”
“Should I send a sympathy card on our behalf?”
“Do they make one that says, ‘I’m sorry you married him for an inheritance he will always value more than you’？”
My mouth falls open.
Her gaze drops to the floor. “There was a reason he broke up with me.”
“I thought we already established that he is an idiot.”
“Yes, but that’s not the reason he broke things off. At least, not the only one.”
“Then why?”
“Because his inheritance is contingent on getting married.”
“And?” I press.
“When I found out I couldn’t have kids with him, he didn’t want to get married anymore.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes may be dry, but the look in them haunts me. “We’re not compatible.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“The prenup required me to take a genetic screening test with him. I thought it was a normal request—”
“That should be a choice, not a contingency for marriage.” I seethe.
“I realize that now.” She lets out a heavy sigh.
“Why?”
“Because I wish I hadn’t found out what I did. I know it makes me sound so damn selfish and awful—”
“You’re not.” My hold on her tightens.
“You don’t know enough to make that call.”
“I know you, which is all that matters.”
Her eyes swim with unshed tears.
“What did you find out?” I push.
“I shouldn’t have a child with Oliver—or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Because of some genetic test?”
Her face twists in agony as she nods. “I’m not…compatible… with anybody. I carry recessive genes that shouldn’t be passed down unless I want my child to suffer.”
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dahlia
I’m not sure how long Julian holds me while I process everything, but I’m grateful for his company.
Slowly, the grief I felt before fades until I’m left with something I didn’t expect.
Relief.
It feels good to talk to someone about everything, even if that someone is Julian. And maybe—just maybe—it was meant to be that way.
He isn’t overly emotional and anxious like my mother, who would probably break down crying with me, and he isn’t like Lily, who would go into graphic detail about the ways she plans on murdering Oliver. Neither one of them would truly understand me and what I need.
I don’t want crying or revenge. I want this.
At some point, Julian carries me to one of the booths in the back of the bar. After spending the last twenty minutes using his shirt as a tissue and his chest as my personal punching bag over the subject, I’m emotionally and physically spent.
Julian brushes my hair out of my face. “Aren’t those tests a bunch of probabilities? There’s no way they can be one hundred percent accurate.”
“Yes, but the risk…I can’t consciously bring a child into this world who might spend most of their short life in agony.” My voice sounds so small and uncertain.
“I understand.”
We stay quiet for a few minutes until Julian breaks the silence.
“Oliver and his family are obviously still stuck in the 1700s, but you know there are plenty of ways to have a child.”
My shoulders slump. “I know.”
Oliver said the same thing countless times, but his story eventually changed once the terms of his inheritance became clear. He stopped making an effort while gaslighting me into believing I was the problem.
Everything about our relationship imploded, along with my mental health.
“Then, what’s the matter?” Julian asks.
I twist one of my rings. “He made me feel…”
He crushes my body against his. “What?”
“Defective.” I choke up.
“Did he say that specifically?” The way Julian’s voice quickly shifts into something dark and menacing has the hair on my arms rising.
I don’t answer—not out of fear for Oliver’s safety but because I don’t want Julian’s pity.
“I’m going to kill him.” Julian’s expression sends a shiver down my back.
“When did we go from wanting to murder each other to wanting to murder for one another?” I tease in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“Since I found out how much he hurt you.”
I bat my tear-soaked lashes. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“He never deserved you.”
My next confession rushes out of me. “I’m not torn up about him or his marriage.”
“No?”
“No. It might not seem like it, but I’m relieved. I know all of this is for the best, although I wish my breakup and life weren’t so publicized.”
“Then, why are you crying?”