Page 103 of Beautifully Messy
I close my eyes, soaking in the rise and fall of his chest, the scent of his skin, the sheer rightness of being here. His fingers slide up my back, into my hair, before moving back down, as he tucks his face into the crook of my neck. Our bodies settle into perfect understanding.
Soft laughter in the hallway, the distant ding of the elevator—the reality of our tangled lives. It all gradually filters back in. The clock on the wall reminds me that hours from now, he’s supposed to marry someone else.
“James, I promise that I’m here. I won’t run or push you away. I want you. I want everything with you. But we have to do this right. I have Anna to think about.” I press back from his chest, fidgeting with the seam of my jacket.
“I know that. I do. But, Christ, Sydney. What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to let me do this the right way. For Anna. For us. I need to end things with Mason amicably, and you need to untangle yourself from Ivy in a way that doesn’t leave scorched earth behind.”
His laugh cuts through the room, sharp and bitter, as he drags a hand over his face. “I think that ship has sailed. God, it’s the night before the wedding.”
“Let’s not add fuel to the fire. We owe it to ourselves to do this right. No secrets. No sneaking around.” My voice steadies as I continue. “I need time to stand on my own feet. To step away from Mason. To leave my job. I don’t want to be a corporate lawyer anymore. I want to help women—every day, all day—with your mom.” I draw in a shaky breath. “And I need to know I can do this myself. I don’t want any more shields or life rafts.”
“You’re really here this time?” His fingers thread through mine again.
“I am.”
“So I’m supposed to call off the wedding and let you walk away? Go back to D.C. with your husband, and wait for you to decide when you’re ready?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
He pulls me closer until we’re inches apart. I’m perched on the edge of the couch, and he’s still kneeling between my legs.
“I’m so fucking tired.” He scans my face, searching for anything that might make this easier. But there’s nothing easy about it. Tenderly, he brushes his fingers against my cheek, then picks up his phone. “I ordered you an Uber. Please, take it back to the cabin. I need to know you’re safe.”
He stands to walk away, but I can’t bear for it to end this way.
“James.”
I reach forward and pull him back to me. In that pause, his breath catches. I surge in and capture his lips in a kiss I hope tells him everything my words haven’t.
It isn’t rushed or desperate, or full of unchecked hunger. It’s everything we’ve said—the years of anguish, of love unspoken—pressed into a single, tender kiss. My fingers run through his hair, aching to grab hold, to pull him closer and never leave this room.
His hands land on my hips, gripping me firmly as if he’s on the same page.
But he wrenches his mouth from mine, leaving me breathless, shaking. And for the first time, I don’t know what I’m seeing in his eyes as they search mine, what he’s trying to find. Reassurance, maybe. Conviction. But whatever he sees, or doesn’t, he walks away. And I’m left in the silence, unsure if I’ve set us both free… or lost him for good.
Thirty-Two
TheDecemberskybloomslike a secret it can no longer keep.
As the sun edges above the horizon, pink light spills across the world. Everything feels suspended, as if the day itself is holding its breath. A sacred start to the day that feels alive with possibility.
With each passing minute, the silence grows louder.
An invisible band tightens around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. My hands shake as icy dread starts in my toes and spreads upward, seizing my entire body.
There’s been no word. Ivy is already starting to get ready. The house buzzes as bridesmaids, hair stylists, and makeup artists begin arriving.
“Where’d you go last night? I couldn’t find you.” Mason heads straight toward me, where I’m still curled on the sectional, staring out the windows, dressed in my running clothes from the night before.
“I went for a long run.”
“Can you get your shit together and act like my wife today?” He grabs my wrist.
“Let. Go. Of. Me.”
“Syd, will you talk to me? What’s going on?” Dr. Jekyll appears, his voice going all soft and gentle.
