Page 63 of Beautifully Messy
James doesn’t push, reading my unease. “Aha, so you learned how to hustle in shady European bars?”
A grin takes over his face, eyes glittering, and I feel it down to my toes. The dangerous current, the one always just there below the surface, zaps to life.
“Among other useful skills,” I say, wetting my lips.
His gaze snags there. Breathing becomes hard. Heat pools as I take him in. His worn college T-shirt stretches across broad shoulders, muscular arms taut beneath the fabric, sweatpants bunched around thighs carved from endless miles of running.
“Are we going to talk about how we left things last year?” He asks, a tilt to his head, daring me to lie or deflect.
“Not necessary, right? You’re engaged. Future’s set.”
I say it like it’s nothing and haven’t spent the past year replaying every word, every glance, every single moment I walked away from—or the last twenty-fourhours spiraling.
“Don’t.” He catches my hand, his grip firm. “I’m so tired of the games.”
I look at our hands, at how easily mine fits in his. His fingers are rough, calloused. Not just the hands of a man who designs buildings, but one who builds them.
Someone who knows how to shape something from nothing.
Part of me wants to fight and yell at him for proposing. For simply existing. But the woman worn thin wants to stop pretending that he hasn’t wrapped himself around my heart, burrowed so deep I can’t extract him without breaking something essential. That woman wants to stop lying.
“I’m scared,” I say it aloud, never breaking contact.
“Of what?” he asks.
“Of…this.”
We stare. Breathe. My truth is finally out. Then, he drops my hand, crossing the room to close the French doors. When he kneels in front of me, his eyes are steady, but his hands tremble. “Why are you scared?”
“Because I shouldn’t feel this way. I have Anna to think about. You’re with Ivy. We met a decade too late.” The reasons spill out, excuses I’ve clung to like a prayer.
“Love isn’t always neat and convenient, Sydney. We don’t have to fear this if we both choose it.”
I look away, finding Anna as she toddles over and plops down, her chubby fingers brushing my arm. She looks up with such pure, unwavering love.
“Love destroyed my mother.”
James stays silent, giving me the space to say what I’ve never spoken aloud.
“My parents didn’t have room in their lives for me. That’s why they sent me away.” I pause, steadying myself to get the words out. “During my senior year, my dad died in a car crash. My mom called me… completely distraught. Inconsolable. I…I couldn’t get a flight home until the next morning, but before I boarded, my mom’s assistant called. She was found lying in bed with an empty bottle of pills, holding a picture of my dad.”
The tears I usually try to hold back flow, and my shoulders shake with the force of them. James doesn’t try to stop them or pull me close. He simply holds my hand, a steady anchor as I finally let myself feel the weight of it all.
“There was no note, no missed call on my phone. No indication she thought of me at all in those final moments.” Sobs punctuate the words between gasping breaths. “She would rather have died than live without him. I…I wasn’t enough. I was never enough.”
James exhales and cups my face, gently wiping my tears with his thumbs.
“You’re not her. The way you love Anna, anyone can see that. Nothing will come between that. Nothing.” His hands stay on my face, holding me there. “And you are enough. You are enough. Just as you are.”
I lean back, examining every plane across his face: the slope of his nose, his full lips, the stubble he hasn’t shaved in days. The man who’s shown me a glimpse of another future. One I have to be willing to put my trust in and believe the rug won’t be pulled out from under me.
“I know this isn’t simple, that I can’t just ask you on a date. But Sydney, what we have is real. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Why did you ask Ivy to marry you?”
He looks away, pausing as he searches for the right words. His fingers thread ours together, a soft stroke on my pulse point. The sun peeks over the mountains. Spreading rays of yellow across the soft carpet. We’ve been here for hours. Christmas morning must have started as my nephews rarely sleep past sunrise brimming with excitement. Within these walls, we’ve missed what else has been happening in the cabin.
“When you left last year, after I told you everything and you said nothing, I was so fucking angry. And I thought… if I tried hard enough, I could forget you.” He draws in a shaky breath. “And I did try. I’d been thinking of proposing for weeks. But every time I tried, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to say the words.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Standing on my steps, knowing I was about to see you withhimagain, I thought if I did it, maybe I wouldn’t fall apart when I sawyou.”
