Page 19 of Cross Me

The time for fun and games was over. I leveled a glare at him. “No, it isn’t, X.”

“I didn’t think so,” he sighed.

I pushed off him, my body instantly missing his warmth, but I did my best to ignore the pang of longing I felt. I stood on shaky feet, bent down, grabbed his pants, and threw them at him. “Put these on.”

“I thought you liked me better naked.” A smirk twisted over his face, and I fought the urge to kiss it off.

“I can’t think with that thing”—I waved a hand in the general direction of his crotch—“staring at me.”

“It is my secret weapon.” He stroked it suggestively while pulling on his pants.

“Stop,” I demanded.

He paused, one foot into his slacks, and a look of genuine apprehension crossing his face. “Stop what?”

“Being charming.”

“Isn’t that my job? Prince Charming?”

I laughed at this. “You’re no Prince Charming.”

“I’m not?”

Alexander was many things. That wasn’t one of them. He was cocky and broken and sexy as hell, but he wasn’t some white knight. “No, you’re the King. I’m the Queen.”

“As you so aptly reminded me earlier this evening,” he grumbled.

“You are the only one I bow to,” I reminded him, “but you seem to have forgotten where your place is.”

Alexander stood, his fingers fastening his pants. He stopped and took a hard look at me.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked in a soft voice.

“You tell me.” I wasn’t certain what any of it was about anymore. I’d known what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry him, or so I thought. Alexander had known what he was asking of me. “You seem to forget that we’re equals.”

“I’ve never thought we were equals,” he said quietly.

I sucked in a breath as his words shattered my heart. At least he was being honest. I wished I had known before now that he felt that way. Was this his plan all along? To trick me into believing I had as much power as him—as much say is him? As much control as him? I couldn’t find the strength to argue with him. Suddenly, I was tired and my heart hurt.

He took a step forward and I backed away.

“Clara,” he said my name gently, “I think you’ve misunderstood me.”

“I think I understood you fine.” Anger, hurt, and resentment simmered in my voice, and I hoped he heard it. I hoped it hurt him the way his words had hurt me.

“No, you didn’t. We aren’t equals,” he repeated.

I closed my eyes, shaking my head. I didn’t want to hear this.

“I could never be your equal,” he confessed softly.

My eyes flew open and I stared at him. Anguish lined his handsome features. He stood before me, the scars of his past no longer hidden, the fears for his future written in his eyes. This was us—messy, complicated, damaged. He had never believed he was worthy of love. Why had I lost sight of that? Why had I forgotten that under the face he showed to the world, he was lost. I’d believed that I could fix him—that I had fixed him. But maybe some people could never be fixed, maybe some people were held together by love alone.

“Alexander, you are a good man,” I said, because he needed to hear it. He needed to face the demon that frightened him the most: himself.

He crossed to me with tired eyes, and I didn’t resist as he took me in his arms. No matter what happened this was where I belonged. It was what I had promised him. My heart. My life. My faith.

“No matter how hard I push back, nothing changes between us. I love you. I chose you. You are a good man,” I repeated.