Page 113 of Rules in Love
My epiphany struck with such force that all the air was expelled from my lungs, and I moaned and flopped on the floor like a whale freshly pierced with a harpoon.
I had to make this right, and I knew how to do it…kind of. First, I needed to consult Frances O’Connor and Jonny Lee Miller.
A bitter flurry of snow bit at my back as I waited at her door.
Her shadow remained deathly still on the other side of the frosted glass, possibly contemplating whether to let me in or kill me where I stood. I heard her mumbling, her signature, “Christ on a bike,” and then, after what felt like an eternity, the door slowly opened.
My heart leapt to my mouth.God, she’s beautiful.Wearing nothing but a baggy tee, shorts so tiny I could just see them, a two-sizes-too-big cardigan and a look of pain that pierced my soul, she was stunning. Before she could speak, maim, or slam the door on my face, my hand darted out and claimed her.
“This is going to sound corny as hell, but I’m just gonna say it, and you can’t stop me, and here I go… Scarlett Grant. I love you as a man loves a woman. As a hero loves a heroine. As I have never loved anyone in my life. I was so anxious to do what was right that I forgot to do what is right. But if you choose me, after all my blundering and blindness, that would be a happiness that no description could reach.”
The phrase “on tenterhooks” must have been devised by a bloke in this exact situation as me, because nothing else could perfectly describe the next few seconds. With a blank expression and unblinking eyes, she stood still. I watched her lips as she ferociously worked them between her teeth, and her tears began to fall. “Finn. You…memorized Edmund’s monologue fromMansfield Park?”
“I did. I know I haven’t been perfect—far from it. I also knew I would cock up or say something stupid if I used my own words, and I hoped if anyone could convince you, make you believe and forgive me, Edmund and Jane Austen could.”
I expected—no, hoped for swooning, and I almost got it. There was a definite tilt or lean, maybe a slight weakening of a knee. I was so close to holding her in my arms I could taste it.
“Finn, I love you. You know I do.”
“I love you too, Scar—”
“This was incredible, and I appreciate the effort you took to memorize that scene because you know how much it means to me. But…”
But…
“I’ve never asked for perfection. I’ve asked for promises to be kept and words to be sincere. If you think, for one second, that I can be swayed so easily into giving my heart back to you—the heart that you seem to think you can rip out and stomp on at will—then you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Scar, I—”
“No, I’m sorry, Finn. You are a fantastic guy, the best I have known. I know how much and for how long you’ve been hurting, but that’s no excuse. You’re not the only one to have known loss, and you don’t own the rights to heartbreak, grief, or trauma.” Sniffling back her tears, she shifted on her feet and wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body. I wanted to replace it with my arms, to hold her and make her believe how sorry I was, but the anger in her eyes told me that wasn’t going to happen. “You have no idea what disappearing and threatening to leave for good did to me…to us. It was one thing for you to turn your back on me, but you turned your back on my son, and I don’t know how to forgive that.”
“Scar—”
“NO! You know how much he loves Iris and you, but because of your embarrassment and self-indulgent paranoia, you refused to listen to me or believe in what we have. I’ve made a fool of myself for you, Finn. I’ve embarrassed and shamed myself at every turn, but I’ve also shown up and faced you each time. You’ve ignored me for days and threatened to leave the country when you didn’t get your way! How do I know you won’t do this again? How do I know you won’t find another memory to reinforce your guilt or make another mistake you run from?”
“I won’t! You have to trust me.”
“Oh, like you trusted me?”
“Scar, let me come in, and we can talk.” I took her hand and moved to step inside, but she blocked the door, then looked down at our joined hands. For a second, her face softened. I could see the love in her eyes, but then she blinked, then blinked again, and it was gone. All of it.
“No, you can’t. Ben is sick, and he’s asleep on the couch. You need to leave.”
“Red.”
“Stop calling me that.” She sharply pulled her hand away, then looked me right in the eye. “You don’t get to call me sweet names anymore. Goodbye, Finn.”
The snow whipped into a deafening blizzard, and the door was shut in my face.
Scarlett
My house—Teddy’s house—was a gorgeous 19th-century brownstone that was as much architectural art as it was a home. One of my favorite features was in the living room—a stunning stained-glass window added in the 1920s that overlooked my tree-lined sidewalk.When either sun or streetlight hit it at the right angle, an almost ombre rainbow was cast through the living room and hall. It was magical. I sat in its midst, in my favorite nook, with my back pressed against the arm of my couch. As my fingers reached for untouchable colors, I watched Finn walk from my life.
Framed in falling clouds of white, he stopped and looked over his shoulder every few steps. Maybe he was hoping to see me running, and most likely falling, as I chased after him, and I almost did just that several times. But my pride and that stupid bloody list stopped me.Ideology #8 - I never have and never will be any man’s fool, no matter how hot or sweet or fuckable he may be.So instead, I counted the footsteps he left in the snow and the seconds he stood and waited. It was six for both. Six steps. Six seconds.How like him to make a perfectly ordered pattern.
Though absolutely, devastatingly heartbroken, I had little time to dwell. Ben lay before me with non-descript tummy pain, poo bum, pukey illness and was drifting in and out of fevered slumber. I’d placed his head on my lap when I resumed my sleep, his arms wrapped around his Bluey teddy he was too big for except when he felt poorly. I willed myself not to wake him with my crying. Instead, I let silent tears fall against my cheeks and trickle down onto my sweater.
“Was that Finn, Mum?” he asked, rousing again.
