Page 73

“Don’t act like you know me. Is this how you’ve written your main character?”

“My main character is a badass. Who cares so much about everyone around her that she often overlooks her own needs, her own desires. But it’s exactly this quality that makes the hero fall in love with her.”

“Sounds like a nice fairy tale,” I say.

“I thought this is what you were going for here in college. This plan of yours. To find your Happily Ever After. To use tropes written in books to direct you to your true love. How is this any different? I’m using my very real feelings about a very real person to inspire what I’m writing.”

I shake my head. I don’t know what to believe. It’s not so much that he’s writing about me, though that does sting. It’s that I can’t believe his feelings were ever real, not when there’s another motivation attached to it.

“You’re so determined to sabotage this thing between us because you’ve decided for some reason that you’re not good enough for me. Or that you’re too afraid to disappoint me for one reason or another. You know this. You’re the romance expert. You know how this works—the main character’s wound is as clear as day to every single person except herself.”

“That’s not true,” I protest. “That’s not what I’m doing. I just don’t think it’s a good time for us right now. I’ve got stuff to focus on. It’s why I couldn’t match with any of the other guys either. It’s not you...”

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ card. It didn’t work out with any of the other guys you dated because you weren’t invested, you weren’t interested. They were part of a plan, but you never believed the endgame was to fall in love. You know it’s different between us.”

He throws around words like “endgame” and “love” so easily when there’s nothing easy about this at all. I shake my head, denying what he’s saying but unable to formulate words that will convince him he’s wrong.

He closes his eyes, gathering his composure, going for one more attack. But when he opens them, he looks at me with a sadness I’ve never seen from him. He’s giving up. “Irene, ifI’m willing to put everything on the line, my entire online presence, because I believed from the very beginning that you were the one, my HEA, why can’t you meet me even a fraction of the way there? I know you care about me. But you’re too afraid.

“I don’t know how to make you believe me when I say my feelings for you are real.” Aiden speaks as if reading my mind, as if sensing exactly my hesitation. “I don’t know what lies you’re telling yourself in your head. I think you’re so engrossed in trying not to disappoint others, you often forget what the truth is. And this has spread to your own self. You don’t want to be disappointed, so you lie to yourself. And I’m sorry if this hurts to hear. But I need you to work through those untruths you’re telling yourself and hear me. I need you to hear me and believe. I love you, Irene.”

My eyes fill with tears, and I can no longer see Aiden clearly. I always believed the first time someone said those words to me, it would feel like heaven. So why does the reality of them actually hurt so badly? I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be loved by Aiden. He’s wrong.

“No,” I say. “I’m not good enough. I can’t pass lit. I can’t be the best online. I can’t be anyone’s girlfriend. I’m lost. I’m stuck. I’m broken. I’m not good enough. I’m a fraud. I’m unable to love or be loved.”

“You’re wrong. You’re not just good enough, you’re better than you’ve ever imagined. But if I have to be certain of thisenough for the both of us, I will. Until I show you exactly who you are, until you see and realize exactly how incredible you are.”

He reaches out and grabs my arms, giving me a gentle shake. “Stop lying to yourself,” he pleads.

“I don’t deserve your love,” I say.

“Hurt/comfort,” he responds.

“What?”

“I’m trying to make you understand by putting it into the tropes you know better than anyone. You think you’re not good enough for me? Too broken? Then we can be hurt/comfort.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to play this game with you,” I say.

“He falls first, he falls harder,” he says.

“Stop it, Aiden.” I turn toward the door, ready to make my escape, to get out of here and not have to face this right now.

“Runaway bride,” he says.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut, willing him to leave me alone.

“Ugly duckling turns into a swan,” he says. “Though you have got to know you haven’t been ugly a day in your life.”

“You haven’t seen pictures of me on my tenth birthday after I cut my own hair,” I say.

He chuckles, and the sound tries to soothe me, tries to be abalm to my tender heart. “I wish you’d show me.”

I drop my shoulders, lay down my shields, put down my armor. I’m so tired. “Got any more of those tropes at the ready to attack me with?”

He purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Love triangle?”

I raise an eyebrow.