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She ignores me as she smiles up at him. “I’m leaving early.”
The heat spreading through my body has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with irritation. “I thought we’d finish our meal together.”
“I gave you a lot to think about. I think it’s best if we take some time apart to consider options.” She pulls out a silver clutch and hands the waiter a card before I can intervene.
“No, I’ll—”
“After I finish the house for Gavriil’s mother-in-law, I have another client lined up,” Tessa says with a sharp smile that warns me to stay quiet. “This is a business dinner. I’m paying.”
Like hell. “No.”
“It’s not up for negotiation, Rafe. And,” she adds with a ferociousness I never would have expected from her, “I’m taking a taxi home.”
I blink. I’m not used to people talking back to me. Ever. Especially not a woman who just a few months ago looked at me like I’d hung the moon as we recited vows to stay with each other in sickness and in health and all the other empty promises that fill up a wedding ceremony.
The waiter leaves. Tessa reaches behind her and grabs her crutches.
“It would be faster if I drove you.”
“I don’t care.”
She winces. Warning flares.
“Tessa, if you’re in pain—”
“I am, Rafe, but it’s normal.” She sighs as her shoulders droop. “Part of the additional physical therapy, part of this…” She waves a hand in my direction. “It’s a part of who I am.”
It hits me then how little I know about her injury, that I have no understanding of how it’s impacted her life. Remorse keeps me seated in my chair as she straightens. Regret for all the times I sought her out at events, talked with her yet never bothered to ask about the deeper parts of her life. Just because I have no interest in sharing pieces of myself doesn’t mean the same was true for her.
She slips her arms through the cuffs and grabs the handles, standing with a fluidity that speaks to how much she’s been using the crutches.
“We’ve talked through some serious subjects. Before you impulsively say no—”
“I never do anything impulsively,” I grind out. “I just don’t think this is the right thing for you.”
Her shoulders are thrown back, her movements confident as she turns away.
“You’re running away again.”
She freezes. Then, slowly, turns her head to look down at me.
“If you want to call it that. I, however, see it as removing myself from an embarrassing situation and from the company of someone who’s taking away my choice.”
I frown. “What?”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, Rafe. Yes,” she says, raising her arm slightly to show me the crutch, “I’m partially paralyzed. I’m a virgin. But that doesn’t make me helpless or stupid.”
“I never said you were.”
“‘I don’t think this is the right thing for you,’” she repeats. “You don’t have a say in what is or what is not best for me. If you don’t want to agree to my terms because of your own reasons, that’s one thing. I may not like it, but I’ll respect it.” She leans down, color high in her cheeks, eyes sparkling with anger. “But don’t you dare take away my choice. Ever.”
She moves toward the elevator. A few people glance at her. One outright stares until I catch his eyes and glare at him. He pales, looking back down at his table so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.
She walks into the elevator and presses a button. The doors start to close. Her head comes up and for one moment, our eyes meet. Pink still stains her cheeks. Her chin is still raised up in the air like she’s about to do battle.
But it’s the hurt in her eyes, the embarrassment, that guts me.
Then the doors close, leaving me with lingering discomfort and a sense of loss. Like once again I just let something vital slip through my fingers.