A Love So Tragic (19 page)

Her nails claw at my back, her legs wrap around me, drawing me further into her. Her heavy, moan-filled breaths blow over my ear, making me drive into her that much harder.

“I missed you,” I whisper into her ear. I shouldn’t admit that, but I can’t help it. I can't tell her that enough. With each passing second I realize I never admitted to myself how much I missed her.

Her hands trail down my back. Her fingers dig into my ass as her back arches. That movement forces me so deep inside her my teeth clench.

“I'm so sorry I did this to us...” she says and she sounds desperate for me to believe her. “I’m sorry.”

Room service knocks on the door and I hop up to answer it. I push the cart inside the room, smiling at the sight of Peyton propped up on the pillows, still completely naked. I hand her one of the plates.

“Belgian waffles.” She grins. “My favorite.”

“I know...” I sit next to her, placing my plate in my lap. 

“You remember?”

“Of course. I remember almost everything about you.”

She cuts into the waffle, dips it in the mountain of whipped cream, then shoves it inside her mouth. “I thought you'd forgotten me.”

“Did you forget me?”

She narrows her gaze and swallows. “Of course not.”

“Then why would you think I'd forgotten you?”

Her eyes drift down to her plate, a small smile playing over her lips. “We always did say we'd do this.”

“Do what?”

I know what she's talking about, but that sick part of me wants to hear it. That part of me I didn’t know existed wants to prove no matter what, she has always been mine, not his.

“An affair,” she says quietly. “If we didn’t end up together. Do you remember us making that promise?”

I tap my fork on the edge of my plate and nod. I think back over our past: Her telling me she was pregnant, getting married...

“It shouldn't have ended up like this,” I say.

Her eyes lock with mine and there’s uncertainty swirling behind them. I know Peyton, and I know right now she's taking that comment and twisting it a thousand-fucking-ways from how I meant it. 

“Peyton,” I say. “I don't mean this right here.” I wipe the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth before I kiss her. “I mean we shouldn't have ended the way we did. That never should have happened.”

“You’ve always felt that way?”

“Yeah, as much as I tried not to. You were always in the back of my mind.”

“You’ve
always
felt that way,” she asks again.

“Always.”

Her face crumples. “Then why…” she swallows, tears building in her eyes. “Why, Nicolas, why didn’t you tell me to leave him when I emailed you that I was going to?” She pauses. “Why did you tell me you wouldn’t take me back?”

I exhale, remembering how I struggled to respond to that email. “Peyton, I’d heard that you lost the baby and shit did I feel bad for you. I thought that baby was the only reason you married Isaac and that you’d just leave him. If that had of happened—had you just left him, as much as I hated to think I would, I would have taken you back, but…” I trail off. “You sent that email
months
after you lost the baby.
Months.
And all I could think was that maybe you wanted to stay with him.” Her eyes narrow and I shake my head. “I waited days to respond to that. I thought about it over and over. And it came down to the fact that regardless of why you married him, despite how much I loved you, I wasn’t going to be the reason your marriage failed.”

Peyton’s brow wrinkles. “I…I just didn’t want anyone to know what a fucking mistake I’d made. I mean, you were gone, Nic. Nothing mattered to me anymore.”

I brush my finger over her cheek. It’s so easy to make the simplest thing complicated. “I pretended I was gone. I pretended I didn’t love you anymore because had to. Trust me, that first year was not easy. So many times I almost called you, almost sent you those letters. The only reason I didn’t is because you were another man’s
wife
.” Tears roll down her cheek, and I pull her to my chest. “We fucked things up. We were young. Too young for all of that,” I breathe into her hair.

Too young then, and too old now for this shit we are jumping into. I'm not jaded. I'm not stupid. She's married. She has a life that holds no room for me except with secret phone calls, and spur of the moment one-night stands. And if all I wanted were a hot married woman to fuck, well, then this would suit me just fine. That's not what I want. I want her. I want the life we should've had. I want everything that was taken from me, and that's a bad thing.

Situations show you the parts of your character you'd like to ignore. Deep down inside, I'm a selfish bastard, but I'm a selfish bastard that will love her in ways no other man ever will. She has been mine since that first day in English class, since the first time I kissed her and told her I loved her. And really, it's not my fault another man fell in love with the woman whose heart belongs to me.

It's been thirty-six hours since I showed up in that parking lot. Thirty-six hours since I cheated on my husband.

I’m sprawled out on a king-sized bed, gasping for air as my nails cut into Nic's hard back. He stares down at me, sweat beading down his temples before he covers my mouth with his. He rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand.

I smile as I trail my finger over his stubbled jawline. I trace down his neck, over the taught muscles of his shoulders, watching my pale fingers skirt over his olive skin.

“Please don't make this the only…” I breathe, and he catches my words with a deep kiss.

His fingers rake up into my hair before he pulls away. “I’ll be right back.”

When he stands to make his way to the bathroom, my eyes drag over his ass, his back, his shoulders. I breathe in a sigh, still in shock that I’m here with him.

When he walks out of the bathroom, he’s still completely naked. He stops at the foot of the bed. Leaning over, he places his palms on either side of my legs. His arms stretch out in front of him, slowly sliding up the bed as he lowers his body on top of mine.

“You never should have left me,” he says before kissing me. “And I never should have let you.” He pulls away and stares at me. “When you said had I told you not to marry him you wouldn’t have, you fucked my entire world up again....Fucked. It. Up.” He drags in a breath, stroking his finger over my cheek. “Actually, no. You fucked my entire world up when you called me and told me you were sorry. I never, in a million years, expected to get that phone call four years later.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smiles, moving beside me in the bed, his hand skirting over my stomach and down my sides… “Don’t be.”

There are so many things I want to ask him, tell him, but I’m terrified of ruining this. “What are you thinking?” I ask instead.

“That I’m doing
exactly
what I’ve always wanted.” He smirks, drawing tiny circles around my nipples before he leans over and kisses me, and that kiss holds such reverence, such tenderness, I melt into the mattress.

“Why were you in town this weekend?” I ask.

“You.”  

“You came down here just for me when you didn’t even know if I would see you?”

“Peyton,” Nic’s deep laugh fills the space between us. “I
drove
down here from New York for you…at three o’clock in the morning.”

And out of all the words in the universe, the only one I can form is: “Why?”

“Some things just have to be said in person.”

I want to hear those things. I want to listen to him whisper those words in Spanish to me. “What things?”

And in this moment of silence, when his eyes are set intently on mine, all I can hear is the frantic beats of my own heart.

“So many things…” Nicolas wraps his arm around my waist, dragging my body across the bed and against his. “That I miss you.” He kisses my shoulder. “That I’m not over you.” His lips land on my neck. “That even though I told myself to let you go, I couldn’t.” He’s hovering over my mouth, and his eyes narrow. “That I never stopped loving you, not for one fucking second. And that has to mean something, doesn’t it?” His lips press over mine, so soft, so sweet. “I love you…todavia te quiro.”
I still love you
. 

My heart pounds in the back of my throat because the entire world just stopped. That feels just like it did the first time he told me he loved me. I
feel
the words, not just hear them.

“I love you too,” I breathe.

Saying those few words feels like salvation. I’ve been holding onto them for so long, and finally, I’ve let them go. I just gave those words back to the one person on this earth they belong to. Having sex with Nic is one thing, telling him I love him,
meaning
it...that's an entirely different thing.

I've somehow managed to push the idea of Isaac away every time it creeps up because honestly, I don’t know what’s going to happen with Nic next. Part of me wants to beg him to take me back to New York with him. Part of me wants to tell him we can’t do this again.

But the thing is, I love him, and he loves me.

And how can you deny something as powerful as this?

On the drive back to my car, Nicolas turns the radio up. “Remember this song?” he laughs as he cut his eyes over at me. “‘Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong.’ This song always makes me think of you.”

I giggle and roll my eyes. “Yeah. I know. I always turn it off when it comes on because it makes me think of you. And it hurt to think about you.”

“I enjoy the torture I guess.”

We drive in silence for a few moments, and then I remember the letters he’s sent me. The book. “Why did you send me those letters?”

His fingers wrap around the steering wheel and he adjusts in his seat. 

“Nicolas?”

“I held onto those for a long time. I guess…” he stops, exhaling.

“They were hate letters.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, why send me something so mean if you still loved me?”

“I knew from the moment we started talking this wasn’t innocent. I struggled with that, Peyton. And I just needed you to see what you did to me. I wanted to make you aware of that hurt so you couldn’t turn around and say you had no idea, you know—if you did that same thing to
him
.”

He won’t even say his name. And I can’t blame him. 

“Those words hurt.”

Flipping the blinker on, he glances over at me. “I know. I’m the one who wrote them, trust me, they hurt me too.”

Within a few seconds, we’ve pulled up beside my car. I reluctantly unfasten the seat belt, uncertain of what to say to him, terrified this is just another goodbye. I reach for the handle and stop. “What are we doing?” I ask, my eyes focused out the window.

“I’m not sure.”

I nod, fighting back the tears. “Me either…”

“This is your call, Peyton. I've got nothing to lose. You've got everything to lose, so you let me know what we’re doing when you’re ready.”

“Don’t do that to me.” Turning to face him, I shake my head. “Don’t put that on me, Nicolas.” 

He frowns, opens the glove box, pulls out an envelope, and hands it to me. “Read these.” He sighs. “You let me know the next time he’s out of town, and I’ll come get you if you want, but Peyton, as great as this fucking is…” he reaches across the seat, cupping the back of my head and pulling my lips to his. “A lot has changed since I wrote this, not the feeling, but, well, we’re both different people now, I guess.” He exhales. “I just don’t want to fuck your life up. That’s all.”