Page 429 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"You alright?" I glance sideways at Goldie’s profile.

"What took you so long to get here?" She wraps her arms about herself but refuses to look at me.

I’ll never forgive myself for not reaching there before he could threaten her again.

Sinclair offered me his private jet, and I jumped on it so I could get to her before she decided to go out with anyone else.

Seeing her talking to another man on that video Edward had shown me had sent a jolt of anger and jealousy—and yes, fear—through me.

It all became clear in that moment. I couldn’t lose her, and I was a fool to think that a ring would be enough to ensure she was mine.

What was I thinking? I could send her away and expect her to remain in some state of limbo, waiting for me to pull my head out of my arse?

Edward insisted on accompanying me, as did Finn, and I was unable to dissuade them.

Gio opens the door, and they step into the restroom, telling me to leave with Gio. They’d take care of Dennis, as well as any footage from the security cameras which might incriminate me.

Sadly, their arrival also stops me from breaking his other arm. More the pity. I'm not convinced the douche has learned his lesson. I tried and failed, and now I’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way. Why else would one have friends in the Mafia, if not for situations like this, hmm?

I carry Goldie to the car—she protests, of course, but I plead with her, and she’d finally allows it.

She hasn’t met my gaze once—not when I place her in the passenger seat and buckle up her seatbelt, and not as I slide into the driver’s seat and ease the car out.

She also hasn’t spoken on the journey so far.

I glance sideways at her. She’s staring straight ahead, her features pinched.

"I’m sorry Goldie. Sorry I didn’t stay in touch. Sorry I let you go." I lower my voice. "Sorry I told you to go."

She swallows, but still stays silent.

“I’ll do anything to make up for what I put you through.

There hasn’t been a day since I asked you to leave when I haven’t berated myself.

I’m an arse for how I treated you. I was running scared.

I didn’t want to face up to my feelings for you.

I was angry at the depth of how much I felt for you. I—"

"Stop.” She bursts out, “Don’t say things you don’t mean."

"But I do mean it. How can I convince you that I missed you?"

She locks her fingers in her lap. "I don’t know. Do you have a time machine? Can you go back and change what you did to me?"

I sigh and look away. "I wish I did, Goldie. God knows, I wish I did. I really am sorry."

She scoffs, "You have a fine way of showing it."

"If you mean not keeping in touch with you—"

"That’s exactly what I mean. No phone, no email, no messages. Nothing. Not even updates on your social media accounts."

"You checked my social media?"

She tosses her head. "I didn’t mean to. I was scrolling and chanced upon it and—" She jerks her chin in my direction. "Are you pulling my leg? You know what my job requires."

I allow myself a small twitch of my lips.

"Oh my god, you did make a joke."

"I’m trying…for you."

She gnaws on her lower lip but doesn’t reply.

I focus on the road and grip the wheel. "You should have let me take out that motherfucker," I say in a low voice.

"And let you spend the rest of your life behind bars?" She snorts.

I raise my shoulders. "I know enough people in the right places."

She glances out the window. "I forget you were a soldier, so killing isn’t a stretch for you."

I steer the car off the highway, continuing to focus on the road. "I’ll do anything to keep you safe, Goldie."

"Including letting me go?"

I swallow. How do I reply to that, especially when she’s right?

"Or is it that you see another man putting his hand on me and you can’t bear it? I can’t be yours, but you don’t want me to be anyone else’s, either." Her chin trembles.

"Goldie, please, don’t." My chest feels too tight, my skin too prickly. "I can’t bear to see you like this."

"I’m not sure what you want from me. Why are you even here?" She stiffens, then turns to me. "How did you get here? How did you know where I was?"

My neck heats. If I tell her I had her followed, she’s bound to hate me. If I don’t tell her… No, that’s not an option.

At some point on my way here, I decided I was going to do things the right way this time.

Which means, no more hiding, no more secrets.

Which means, being open and honest and letting her see who I am.

If I want a relationship with her, if I want her in my life, if I want to keep my wife happy and keep her by my side for the rest of my life, it means swallowing my pride and being upfront with her and letting her see my shortcomings.

It means, letting her decide for herself if she wants to be with me.

It means… Giving her the freedom to decide.

And that's the most difficult thing of all, when all I want to do is tie her to me and never let her go.

It means telling her: "I had eyes on you. "

"Excuse me?" She gapes. "Did you say—"

"You didn’t think I'd let you leave and not make sure you were safe?"

She opens and shuts her mouth. "So all this time, since I’ve been in L.A.—"

"I hired the security agency I used to work for. I told them to follow you at a safe distance and in a way that wasn’t intrusive at all. I only asked them to protect you and notify me if you were in danger."

"So, that’s why I had the feeling I was being watched," she bursts out.

"I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I wanted to make sure that douchebag ex of yours never came near you."

"You failed." She grips her fingers tighter in her lap.

"I’m sorry I asked you to leave. I was hurting from Grams’ death.

I knew it was inevitable, but when I lost her, I wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel.

It was like losing my parents and my sister all over again.

I was an orphan this time, in the true sense of the word. My whole family was gone. I—"

"You had me," she says so softly I almost miss it.

"You're right, I had you. But I was in so much pain, I missed it, and I took it out on you. I truly am sorry for hurting you."

No answer. I risk a look in her direction to find she’s staring through the windshield with a pensive look on her face. "What are you thinking?"

"Would you forgive me if you were in my shoes?

After how you set out to make me fall in love with you, only to tell me you did it all to hurt me.

Then, you try to make it up to me. Except, when I start imagining a possible future together, you ask me to leave you?

" She glances in my direction. "What would you do if our roles were reversed? "

My guts churn. My muscles bunch. A throbbing sensation pushes down on my eyeballs. What would I do, if the tables were turned? What would I do if I were in her position?

I swallow, then square my shoulders. "I would forgive you, but not easily.

Not until I was convinced you were genuine in your efforts to make things up to me.

That you truly loved me. That you would make me happy.

That you would give me everything I want.

That I was one-hundred percent sure you were the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, that I knew, without a doubt, you were the woman for me. "

I turn onto the exit for Venice Beach. "And I intend to convince you to do so, even if it takes me the rest of my life. Because a life without you is no life at all."

We drive for another ten minutes, then I ease the car to a stop in front of her home.

She doesn’t comment or seem surprised that I know where she lives.

She pushes her door open, leaving me to follow her up the path that leads to her place.

I follow her up the steps, past the porch of the brightly colored two-story house and into her home.

She drops her keys into her bag and walks past the living room into a kitchen where she places her bag on the island.

She walks around to the sink, grabs a glass and fills it up.

She takes a long drink from it, then places the glass aside.

She walks over to a shelf at the far side of the kitchen and takes down a first-aid box.

Then, she walks back to the island to place it there before busying herself filling a bowl with warm water and grabbing a fresh washcloth. She places the items next to the first-aid box and gestures to the bar stool.

I follow her lead, and when I sit down, she takes my hand in hers.

Dipping the cloth in the water, she presses it to the torn skin of my knuckles.

Pain whispers across my nerve-endings, but it’s nothing compared to the ache that bubbles up in my belly.

I’ve been so wrong in how I treated her. My sister’s actions weren’t her fault.

"I don’t regret asking you to share my room or using Grams’ condition and your douche ex as a reason to make you marry me."

"You don’t?" She scowls up at me. "And here I thought, you were finally going to apologize."

"I did, too. But then I realized, I'm not sorry for what I did because it brought you into my life."

She opens her mouth, but I shake my head. "Please, hear me out. I regret hurting you. The anguish I caused you. The months of your thinking I didn’t have feelings for you, when I do. I love you, Goldie."