Page 88 of Say You Will

“Yes,” she screams. “He will, and you’re so pathetic that you’re handing yourself over on a silver platter.”

For the second time in my life, Henry lifts the phone from my lax grip and speaks to my parent. “This is Henry McRae. The man Franki is going to marry, and you will shut thefuckup right thefucknow.”

I stare at him in shock. My mother must be similarly affected because she doesn’t make a single sound.

Henry’s next words are deceptively soft, yet sharp enough to draw blood. “Speak to her like that ever again, and there will be consequences. Do you understand what I’m saying, Guinevere?”

“Sh-she’d never forgive you,” Mom says in a shaking voice.

“I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t.”

I put my hand out for my phone.

Henry looks like a stranger as he holds it out of my reach and disconnects the call. “I wouldn’t let someone talk to a dog the way she was talking to you.”

“I was handling her, myself. I told her ‘no.’”

He lifts an eyebrow, then shakes his head in apparent disbelief, muttering something under his breath.

“What?” I demand.

“Why didn’t you tell that woman to fuck right the hell off?” he demands back.

“That woman is myfamily.”

“Yourparents are abusive garbage. I’ll be your family.”

My mind reels at both his accusation and his offer. He’s right that my parents are awful. It took watching Henry react to the way they speak to me for me to acknowledge to myself justhowbad they are. If anyone treated Henry the way my parents treat me, I’d be livid. They’ve gaslit me into thinking the way they behave is normal, and I’m the crazy one to take offense at it. Because I was subjected to their toxicity from an early age, and I was the one being manipulated, I didn’t recognize what was happening.

It doesn’t mean he’s right to take over for me without asking first. “When you did this with my father, I accepted it because I had already asked to use you as a shield. You may offer your help, and I may choose to accept it. What you don’t get to do is take the power to make that decision out of my hands.”

He fills both cheeks with air, then blows out in a frustrated gust. “Shit.”

He runs a hand through his hair, squeezes his head, then passes me my phone.

I accept its return. “I like that you want to take care of me.”

He shoots me an alert glance.

“I’ve never had that. The way you take charge of things feels secure and safe to me. I appreciate the way you make decisionsand plans. I don’t like to always be the one keeping everyone else on the rails. I was forced into that role because of my mother, and to find someone who allows me to relax because I can trust that you have things handled, is . . . I can’t even explain what it’s like to imagine not carrying every burden in life by myself.”

He reaches out and squeezes my hand.

I look down at where we’re connected. His shirt cuff is folded back neatly, but I ignore the bolt of lust that shoots through me so I can say what I need to. “Protecting me is not the same thing as controlling me, though. Do you know the difference?”

He swallows hard. “I do.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

I trace my fingers over the black case covered in raised silver stars. “And the part about being my family? Did you mean that too?”

He searches my eyes. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

He reaches out to grasp my head in both hands. In typical Henry fashion it’s not some delicate, romantic thing you’d see in the movies. It’s him grabbing me and peering into my soul. “For the rest of our lives.”

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