Page 1 of The Real Mason
1
Anna
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work.”
I lean on my antique cream fainting couch, thankful for the curving arm and high back to rest my head. If I were another type of woman, I’d throw an arm over my forehead and have an attack of the vapors, but instead I stare at my boyfriend of six months, unblinking—not comprehending the words coming from his mouth.
Is he breaking up with me?
I had a few glasses of wine while waiting for him, so maybe I’m confused. “Pardon?”
Mason Bennett scrubs a hand over his perfectly stubbled jaw, his rich, chocolate-brown eyes resigned. Final. “I’m sorry, Anna. I’m afraid our relationship isn’t working for me.”
Oh my God.Heisbreaking up with me. But why? Everything has been going so well. I had no idea he was unhappy. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away, hoping he doesn’t notice the sudden brightness.
He frowns, brow furrowing. “Please, don’t cry. That’s the last thing I want.”
Of course he noticed. He noticeseverything. It’s one of the reasons I went and fell in love with him. Until Mason, I hadn’t known men were capable of such exquisite attention.
He’s perfect! And he’s dumping me!
For the first time in my life, I want to be dramatic, but it’s really not my style.
I’m more the suffer-in-silence type.
I swipe two fingers under my lashes, hiding the offending wetness. “I’m fine. I’m…surprised.”
How could I be so clueless?
“I know, I wish…” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and shifts in the brocade wingback chair where he sits across from me.
He should look silly sitting amidst the frilliness of the green and yellow flowers. But he doesn’t. With his strong-boned features, full mouth, and short brown hair, he manages to reek of a certain masculinity that the surrounding old-fashioned femininity only highlights.
Although I’ve never spoken the words, I love him. I’m twenty-eight and have never been in love before now. The depth of my feelings came to me one afternoon while we baked oatmeal cookies together in my kitchen, but I stayed silent. I’m not prone to grand, sweeping emotion and needed to get used to the idea before I dared speak those three little words out loud. I’d foolishly believed I had all the time in the world. And truthfully, I hoped he’d say them first and take the risk for me.
In fairness, until his arrival five minutes ago, he’d never given me any indication he didn’t share my happiness.
I’m in shock. Numb. None of this makes any sense. We’ve never even had a fight. Shouldn’t we at least argue before we break up?
The saddest thing is I thought our date last night was near perfect. Over candlelight, we ate a sublime dinner of the most decadent lobster. We laughed and talked, all while getting tipsy on too much good wine. After, we went to his place and fell into his king-size bed. He made love to me so thoroughly I was boneless.
All day, I’ve been dreaming about it, floating on air. I might have even engaged in some embarrassing, adolescent behavior that included doodlingMrs. Anna Bennettin my more lavish script across a piece of my finest stationery before tossing the evidence in the fire.
What in heaven’s name happened between last night and today to alter the course of our relationship? Is he some sort of Machiavellian actor?
I manage to push one word past my tight throat. “Why?”
Elbows resting on his knees, he studies me with single-minded focus, like he’s trying to peer inside my head. He raises his hands as though in prayer before pressing them to his lips. “It’s complicated.”
Anger finally weaves its fine threads through my shock, and I grasp hold of it, clutching it to my chest like a coat of arms. When I speak, I let the barest hint bleed through. “I’m not an idiot.”
He scowls, his expression turning as dark and dangerous as a summer storm cloud. “Of course not.”
“I’d like an explanation.” I tilt my chin. “Ideservean explanation.”
I must understand how I read the situation so incorrectly.
He made me believe—in myself, inus.
