Page 79 of Marry Lies
Before I can tell him this, he clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his serviette.
“I did some research,” he says, placing his hands flat on the table. “Since your depression is treatment-resistant, there’s likely nothing chemical we can do. But it seems like therapy might help, if you’re okay to see my therapist?”
My head is swimming with so many emotions. “I—um—”
“Or there’s cognitive behavioral therapy, which looks promising. Ketamine is also supposed to help some types of treatment-resistant depression, but before delving into that, we might want to look at how to manage your stress,” he finishes.
I’m speechless.
Just the fact that my stoic husband took the time to research—to lay out some of my options…
Like he cares about me.
I stay quiet as I swallow the emotion clogging my throat.
Miles squeezes his eyes shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, you’ve probably done your own research. I don’t mean to meddle. I just…” he trails off, looking away briefly. My breath catches when I see the pain flicker across his expression. “I want to help you,” he finishes, sighing heavily.
The anguish in his voice is palpable.
“Thank you,” I tell him, my voice breaking. I stare down at my wine glass, willing myself not to cry.
“You just seemed so broken.”
When I look back up at him, he’s watching me with worry. “It’s not a fun experience, that’s for sure,” I tell him quietly.
He takes a sip of his wine. “You’re very strong. To be able to weather that. You’re so happy all the time, and I just thought…” he trails off.
I swipe at my cheeks, sniffing once. “I suppose you can have the brightest smile in the room and still have the darkest shadows to battle.”
He doesn’t drop his eyes from mine as we stare at each other. My heart turns over with every breath, every second that passes between us. It’s like something changed—the air, the energy…it’s suddenly wild and frenetic. The smoldering flame I see in his eyes nearly startles me. His hands curl briefly on top of the table, and his jaw hardens, almost like he can sense it, too.
“I want to show you something,” he says softly. Before I can respond, he stands up and unbuttons his collar. I stare at him in raptured silence as he unbuttons the first few buttons at his neck. I press my lips together—afraid I’ll say something that will make him change his mind. He doesn’t look at me. My heart is pounding against my ribs as I watch my husband slowly unbutton his shirt, tugging it out of where it’s tucked into his pants. Then, he pulls it open.
Most of his abdomen is covered in large, coiling burn marks. Some areas are thicker, with shiny skin, and others are smaller—almost like pockmarks. The burns branch upward, across his taut muscles, twisting around his neck and down his corded, muscular arms.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, standing and walking over before I realize I’m doing it. “May I?” I ask, holding my hand up.
He’s gritting his jaw, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, he just nods once.
I place my hand in the center of his chest before I run it up to his pectoral, over his shoulder, and down the back of his arm.
When I look up at him, his eyes are closed, and his nostrils are flared—like he’s in pain.
“Sorry, does it hurt?” I ask, starting to pull my hand away.
His eyes snap open and he grabs my wrist to keep it on his skin, and I nearly gasp at the sight of his blown out pupils.
“No, butterfly. It doesn’t hurt.”
Even if I wanted to look away from him, I’m not sure that I could. His eyes slide down to my lips, expression softening. Excitement flares through me at his entrancement, and all too suddenly I realize he wants tokissme.
Not for the cameras, but because he wants to.
My skin tingles as his eyes crinkle slightly. “Estelle,” he says, voice low and hesitant.
“No more secrets,” I whisper, wanting to kiss him.Needingto kiss him.
That same anguished expression passes over his features, and his jaw tightens. Before he can change his mind, I run my hand up to his neck, fingers catching in his hair.
