Page 126 of Beautifully Messy
“Does that make you feel better?” I ask with bitter sarcasm. “Would it be easier if this were about sex? If I were just some cheating wife looking for a thrill? Because that would be simple, right? But life isn’t simple.”
“Jesus. You had me thinking I was going crazy. That it was all in my head.” Mason’s voice moderates, realizing the family is near. “At least I know right from wrong. I didn’t cheat.”
With that, my restraint detonates.
“Right, what was it you said?Want me to fuck you here so he can watch? Bend you over the railing?Just the casual threat of sexual assault on the deck.” I pause, watching his face absorb every word. “Or how about the years you spent cutting me down, trying to keep me small and compliant? I can give you those examples too, if you can’t remember?”
James takes my hand, uncurling my clenched fingers, and links them with his, pulling me to face him. His face is rigid, barely containing his fury. His nostrils flare as his eyes search mine, and I see the guilt. He's blaming himself for not knowing, not stopping it. The boy who once stepped in to protect his mom wasn't there to protect me, and it's tearing him apart.
I squeeze his hand, a silent assurance that I’m okay. There's freedom in finally telling the truth, in no longer carrying this burden alone.
A gasp, possibly from Margaret, fills the stifled air. Everyone is staring. They heard every word. Jules turns to her mom, who is wiping her eyes, and she guides them out.
“So go ahead and blame me. Because the truth is, we never should have gotten married. Not when I knew I loved your family more than you.” I continue, my tone shifting to something calmer. “When you’re ready to talk like adults and co-parents, let me know. Anna needs both of us.”
Mason swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, and he finally has the decency to look ashamed. I take the stairs one at a time, James’s hand still in mine, past the Christmas garland and pine-scented air that used to smell like belonging. Now it only makes me ready to leave. I’m packing for the last time, not just clothes, but the life I’ve outgrown.
The weight of the past, the guilt, the need to hide, all of it falls away. The future is waiting, and for the first time in four years, I’m walking toward it without looking back.
Forty
Weescapetotheresort, grateful to find an open suite, and spend the day ice skating, eating cookies, watching Christmas movies, and ordering room service.
It’s an unconventional Christmas, but Anna is unbothered by the change. She happily accepted our departure from the cabin, more focused on the promise of hot chocolate and playing in the snow than on leaving her dad behind. She's spent the day playing with James and me, a grin never leaving her face. We haven’t had a chance to talk about everything that happened earlier, but there will be time for that. Today has been a glimpse of the future we fought for, the one we refused to give up on.
But tonight is for us.
After settling Anna onto the pullout couch, we retreat to our room.
I slip into the bathroom, pulse quickening, savoring the build-up. I remove my purchase from its tissue, a red lace confection that makes me blush even as I imagine his reaction. My fingers trace the delicate fabric before I slide it over my skin. I take my time with every detail—soft waves framing my face, dabs of my favorite essential oil, freshly shaved and moisturized skin.
When I open the bedroom door, I freeze.
Dozens of candles flicker across every surface. Reflected in the windows, their glow turns the ordinary suite ethereal. And there, at the foot of the bed, sits James, his chest bare above black sleep pants.
“Where did you find that?” he asks, leaning forward, voice dropping into a low growl.
I let my fingers drift to the hem of the sheer lace, teasing it up enough to reveal the matching thong beneath.
“Oh, this?” I ask sweetly. “Do you like it?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he exhales sharply through his nose.
“I found it downstairs in the boutique when I wandered off earlier,” I smirk, savoring the way his eyes darken. When I purchased it, I’d imagined his boyish blush, maybe a nervous laugh. But there’s nothing boyish or hesitant about him.
He rises from the bed, closing the distance one deliberate step at a time.
“How did you do all this?” I ask, taking in the glowing room.
“The resort was very accommodating when I asked for every candle they could find.” His gaze roams my every curve. “But now that I see you… I didn’t get nearly enough.”
His lips claim mine, tender and gentle, unhurried. There is no rush to cross this final barrier. But when I reach up to cup his face, he pulls away, breathing labored and his gaze drops to his feet.
“What is it?” I whisper, reaching for him, closing the distance.
“I… did the Mason thing happen on the deck before New Year’s Eve that year?” His breath shakes against my palm.
“Yeah, but he didn’t touch me, and he hasn’t touched me since. It's why I walked away from the stairs so abruptly. I didn’t want him to catch us and get angry again.”
