Page 126 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"What?"

"That you love her, you prick."

"No."

"You fucking care for her for the first time since…"

I stare at him.

"Since your daughter died."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "It never gets easier," I mutter. "It’s fucking killing me, man, that I’ll never be able to read to her again, kiss her cheek, smell her baby scent, teach her to ride a bike, buy her a dog, run with her across the heath, buy her makeup, fight off the boys who dare glance at her… F-u-c-k, I’ll never get to see her again and it’s eating me from the inside! I can’t go on."

"You must."

"It’s tearing me apart… This… This thing is so real, I can see it, feel it, touch it… This horrible nothingness that’s gnawing at me... It’s tying me up in knots." I lower my chin to my chest, "It's suffocating me slowly."

"Write it out."

"Eh?" I glare at him, "You think I haven’t tried."

"You have your muse with you now."

"Hmm."

"You and she both said you’re finally writing."

"It’s all crap."

"Not from what she said." Edward moves toward us.

"It is," I insist.

"That’s for us to decide," Arpad replies.

"Right." I snort. "The day I show my early ideas to you knob-heads will be when I know I’ve finally lost it."

"Not us. Share it with her." Weston closes the distance to us. "Trust me, bro, having your woman by your side is like no other feeling on earth. The trust, the selflessness of what she brings to your relationship, how she reacts to your creative output, will be the most honest, the most loving, yet the most critical. You can trust her."

Can I?

"If I, the most cynical mofo on this side of the Atlantic, found my soulmate, I believe there is hope for you." Sinclair stalks toward me. He wraps his arms around me and Arpad. "You gotta believe in her, believe in yourself. You have to get through this."

"The wedding?" I mumble.

"That, too," Edward closes in from the other side to grip my shoulder, "and the grief that you have been holding inside and not sharing with us…"

I frown.

"You don’t have to allow us in. I mean, as your priest, I’d love for you to confide in me. But as your friend, hell, if I want to peek into that twisted heart of yours." He chuckles.

"Thanks, man." I grimace.

"But you can open yourself up to her."

"Right." I crack my neck, "Who are you guys and what have you done to the Seven?"

"I can’t speak for the others, but personally, the love of a good woman changed me." Saint's lips twist. He prowls forward and grabs my neck to pull me toward him, then smashes his forehead to mine.