“God, no. I’d tell her it was my fucking choice to rescue her, and as such, it was on me if something happened to my ass while playing the hero,” I reply, still hung up on what he said before to realize what I just said.
“The two of you are incredibly close. As close as sisters can be. That’s saying something, seeing as your ex did everything in his power to isolate you from all your friends and family. He couldn’t even touch your bond. You cannot feel responsible for what happened to her, when you would’ve done the same exact thing for her.”
I nod, letting the sentiment finally click into place, and it’s this overwhelming rush of emotion that slices through me. Tears sting my nose, and a whimper fills me as the guilt over my sister getting hurt finally releases its death grip on my heart. And just as the grip releases, another one, one entirely different, seizes my lungs.
“You… you think I’m the love of your life?” I finally wheeze, coming back to what’s been echoing inside my mind since he said it long moments ago. A single tear falls down my cheek, and my stomach dips as if I just tipped over that first hill on a roller coaster.
“I tell you every day how much I love you, goddess,” he says, his brows furrowing even as he smiles.
I nod, sniffling. “Yeah, but like… that’s different. You can love me and still not think I’m the love of your life. When someone says that, that means they believe you’re the one person they were meant to be with. Like… their soul mate. Their love for this lifetime.”
He nods slowly, his face softening. “That’s right, Astrid. That is what that means. And you are mine.” No hesitation. Just matter of fact. Not even a blink.
I laugh once, the noise sounding pained through my tears. “But… how could that possibly be? You’re—” I wave my hand in his direction. “—you’re perfect. Perfect in every way. One of my book heroes come to life. And I’m… damaged goods. With so much fucking baggage. A Louis Vuitton store’s worth of freaking baggage. How can someone who has absolutely all of his shit together think this dumpster fire of a human being is the love of their life? I love you, Neil. I love you with my whole heart.” My hand presses to my chest as I continue.
“And that makes sense. How can I not love you as much as I do? You’re wonderful, and smart, and handsome, and a real-life fucking hero. It makes sense that I feel like I hit the goddamn jackpot and believe you’re the love of my life, because no one will ever compare to you. When you finally come to your senses and see what a shitshow I am and then realize you have some… savior complex wreaking havoc on your life right now, you’ll be able to leave me and find someone worthy of you, to find the one you’re really supposed to be with. And when that happens—” I shake my head, my hands dropping along with my eyes to my lap as I deflate. “—I’ll have nothing. I might be able to find someone to… I don’t know, be somewhat content with. But they’ll never be as good as you. No one will ever live up to you. It’s like… giving someone a Maserati then taking it away and replacing it with a junker.”
A loud snap! echoes in the room, and my eyes lift, trying to find where the sound came from. It’s not until I see black ink spilling over Neil’s knuckles that I realize he broke his pen in his hand. My surprised gaze travels upward until I reach his face, which is full of barely contained rage. I swallow at the look, my heart taking flight at the anger aimed at me. But even so, I’m unafraid. I know he won’t hurt me. I just don’t like the fact that my calm, mostly serious, gentle giant of a man suddenly looks like he wants to destroy something much bigger than his pen.
“Neil, the ink!” I squeak, seeing it ooze from his first to his second finger, and I shoot up from the couch to run get a towel, but he stops me with one low, demanding growl.
“Don’t. Move.”
It’s like there’s a chip inside me that only he can control. My body freezes before his words even register in my brain. I do, however, glance at his hand, seeing the ink sliding precariously closer to his ring finger. I have to get him something, anything to stop the ink from falling to the floor and staining the rug beneath our seats. I may be really good at cleaning, but even I don’t know a way to get black ink out of a cream rug. He’s going to have a hard-enough time getting it off his skin.