Page 70 of Huckleberry Hill
“Both,” I replied.
We fell silent, but I could tell he wasn’t done prying.
“Ask,” I said gruffly.
“Ask what?”
“Ask whatever’s on your mind. Because something clearly is.”
“It’s not so much a question as it is an observation.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“You just don’t seem all that bothered by it,” he said. “The ending of your engagement, I mean.”
“Not bothered?” I repeated. “How do you figure?”
“I don’t know. I guess you just seem so . . . put together. Not losing your shit at all.”
“And I should be losing my shit?” I asked in wry amusement.
“Aren’t you mad?” he blurted out. “Don’t you want to yell and throw things?”
“And that would prove what, exactly? That I’m feeling my breakup on a deeper level?” I tossed back the rest of my drink, trying to wash away the bitterness.
“Why aren’t you angry?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Are you?”
“Hell yeah, I’m angry.” My eyes narrowed and heat filled my cheeks. “But I’m not angry at Gianni. I’m angry at myself.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I was stupid to believe him,” I said. “I was stupid to believe he loved me. I was stupid to believe that love conquered all. I was stupid to believe we had anything lasting. I was stupid to think I’d found a love like my parents.”
I hastily shot up from my seat and stared down at Declan, who didn’t appear at all put out by my sudden bout of emotion.
“I was stupid to even dream of a life with him. It was right there in front of me the whole time,” I went on as I began to pace. “He always had some excuse about not being able to come home for a visit with me. And when I threw out the suggestion of a small wedding here, he balked. Our relationship was always about him and about how I could contort myself into his life and his family. It’s no wonder it ended.”
“What was the final straw?” he asked quietly. “What made you finally walk away?”
“I didn’t walk away. He did. My self-esteem is in the toilet.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he said. “Fuck him.”
I smiled slightly. “Yeah. If only I could convince myself not to feel bad. But it’s raw, you know? Someone rejects you and then you start to wonder if you’re . . .”
“If you’re what?”
“Desirable.” I sighed. “Ignore me. It’s the bourbon. It’s loosened my tongue.”
“Good. No use in being emotionally constipated.”
His words made me laugh. And then he laughed. The warmth that was missing bloomed between us again.
Declan’s gaze suddenly softened as he looked at me. “You really think you’re not desirable?”
