His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel

Chapter 20

Ashe

He comes busting through the door like Superman to save the day, only he’s no hero, he’s the one who wrecked it in the first place. I grab a pillow from the couch, throwing it at him as hard as I can. “Get out!”

He stares at me dumbfounded. “What the hell?”

“Get. Out.” I leave the pillows, going for my shoe. It’s the soft leather one he bought me in Paris, but it will do. I throw it at him, impressed by my aim when it hits him in the dead center of his chest. Not bad.

He’s over to me in two long strides. “Careful, little girl. Now tell me exactly what you’re doing here.”

I cross my hands over my chest. “You tell me.”

He pushes away the pillow I’ve set next to me to block him. He plops right down beside me. “What are you talking about?”

I narrow my gaze at him. “I heard you.”

“Heard me what?” he snaps.

“I woke up, needed a little snack.” I feel my bottom lip tremble from re-telling the painful story. “I had some cheese and crackers and I looked for you to tell you to come to bed. I found you in the movie room, talking to your brother.”

His brow furrows like he’s the one with memory loss, not Nathan. “What did I say?”

“You said…” Tears burn in the backs of my eyes and I press them away. I take a deep breath, my words rushing out in a hoarse whisper. “You said you couldn’t love me.”

His voice goes quiet. “I didn’t say that.”

“I thought you didn’t like lying.” I sniff. “Maybe I should spank you.”

He doesn’t like my joke. His tone goes deadly. “Watch it.”

The look he gives me is so stern, it has me squirming in my seat. “Fine. But that’s what you said. I heard you.”

He looks off in the distance like he’s trying to remember. “I said, I don’t think I’m capable of being in love. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Do you?” I steel my gaze. “Love me?”

His word is a whisper. “Yes.”

I believe him.

But I’m still mad. “What do you mean you’re not capable of being in love? What does that even mean?”

He gives a shrug. “I don’t know what to say. I just know I want you. I want to be with you. And I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

His declaration makes butterflies take flight in my stomach. He loves me. But is it enough?

I go home with him. He schedules to cancel my lease and my power, cuts off my water. He’s got movers coming tomorrow to bring my belongings to his house, then this place will be just a part of my past.

He doesn’t want me having somewhere to run to. He says we need to work our problems out. And I agree.

There’s nowhere I’d rather live than his estate. It feels more like my home than the apartment ever did. But I’m still uneasy about the whole him not being able to be in love with me thing.

I try to push it away but there’s a tension between us, at least on my end. I have to quit my job to focus on school. I still do the painting classes. My last day is a Friday and the staff surprise me with a party.

Everyone is there, the regulars, the kids, the teens, the homeless. They’ve all brought me coffee mugs. Funny ones, pretty ones, vintage ones and I tear up with every gift.

Trent’s painted the outline of a pink heart on the front window, the center of it representing where he was looking through the glass the first time he saw me. It’s the most romantic thing someone’s ever done for me.

How is he not in love with me?

He opens the food trucks, putting it all on his tab. The kids leave with their fingers sticky from melted snow-cones, their faces smeared with pizza. The homeless take home trays of takeout, shaking Trent’s hand as they pass by. Every time he catches my eye, Trent gives me a smile like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Like he’s in love with me. But he’s not. He said as much. Doubt nags at me, nipping my heels wherever I go.

Every weekday, he drops me off at school. He packs me lunch, each one complete with a handwritten love note. He waits for me outside the building of my last class, making sure I get home safe. The kind of thing a boyfriend who’s in love with you would do.

On the weekends, we travel. He takes me to all the places I want to go. We’re crossing off items on my bucket list left and right. We make love all over the world.

And yet… the man’s not in love with me.

I’m so happy, so in love, but I can’t take it anymore. It’s breaking my fucking heart.

And then, I reach my breaking point.

He surprises me with a date night. It’s just beginning to drizzle and he holds his suit jacket over my head to save my hair as we walk up to my favorite local restaurant. He holds my chair out for me, giving me one of those devilishly handsome smiles of his that hits me in my core.

He surprises me with a bottle of champagne. But it’s not just any bottle of champagne. It’s one he’s had flown in from Paris. From the café we ate at on our one perfect night.

I burst into tears.

He stares at me, confused, the bottle in his hand. “What is it? I thought you’d love this?”

I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” His eyes look sad. As perfect as our life together is, he’s sensed something is off.

I stand from my chair, my hands shaking. He stands as well.

I force myself to meet his gaze. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know how to do this, so I’ll just do it. I’m breaking up with you. It’s over, Trent.”

“No, it’s not.” He reaches out for me. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you love me, but you’re not in love with me and I’m afraid that just isn’t enough. We all deserve to be with someone who feels the same way about us that we feel about them.” My voice is a whisper as I brush past him. “And I’m madly, deeply in love with you.”

I move past him, through the restaurant, and out the door. The drizzle’s turned to rain. I stand out on the sidewalk, letting the water fall freely over my hair, my face.

He’s nowhere in sight. He let me walk away.

I don’t know what hurts more. That he’s not in love with me, or that he let me go.

The rain comes harder, soaking my clothes and making wet strands of hair cling to my face. I stand alone, holding my hand up in the chilly night air, the other arm wrapped around me for warmth, ready to hail the next taxi that comes by.

“Wait!”

I look back. He’s standing on the sidewalk, the champagne bottle still in his hand.

“Wait. Please.”

“What? There’s nothing to say.” I keep my hand up, determined to leave. Headlights shine in the distance. Please let it be a cab.

He hands the champagne to a couple passing by, a bright green umbrella held over their heads. The man’s brow rises in surprise as he takes it from Trent. Reading the label, he laughs, “Thanks, man! How’d you know it was our anniversary?” The woman goes to thank Trent but he’s already passed them.

His eyes never even wavered from mine. He’s headed straight for me. I just can’t face him. My hand drops to my side and I break out into a run.

I don’t look back. I ignore the stares, the well-meant questions as I fly away, pushing past people when I have to. The sidewalk becomes less crowded. There’s a passable stretch before me and I fall into a flat-out sprint. Rain stings my cheeks. My feet slap against the wet pavement, creating a rhythm with the thoughts repeating through my pain-filled mind.

I thought he loved me. He loves me not. I thought he loved me. He loves me not.

There’s an alley to my right. I think it goes through to the next road. He’s faster than me; I need to turn off, to lose him. It’s the only way I can end this.

And I have to end this.

He loves me not.

My heart is thumping against my ribcage, my breaths coming sharp and hot as fire in my lungs. I turn right. “Fuck!”

Dead end.

Tears prick at my eyes. I turn back to head to the street, to try to outrun him. I press down the empty alley. I’m almost there.

A furious wall of Trent materializes at the end of the alley, stopping me. His hair is disheveled, his face glistens with sweat and rain. His eyes grab mine as he gives a low growl. “What the hell was that, Ashley!”

My jaw drops open, but no words come, I shake my head.

He moves toward me, closing the space between us in two long strides. “Talk to me.”

My legs are jelly, my fingers trembling. Again, I shake my head but this time, I have an answer. My words come out teary and weak, but they come. “You don’t love me.”

He grabs me in his arms, lifting me and pressing my back against the wall. His hand slips between the back of my head and the wall behind me. He clutches my wet hair in his hands. He gives me one raging stare.

And then he kisses me.

Hard. Angry. Possessive.

He kisses the breath from me, his fingers digging into my skin, my hair. He kisses me and he doesn’t stop. I slip my hand around the back of his neck, and I kiss him back.

He pulls away. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then we’re done here.” I go to push him away.

He grabs my wrist, pinning it to the wall. His body curves around mine, imprisoning me against him. He starts talking slowly. “I don’t know what to say. But what I do know is when you walk in the room, it makes my heart skip a beat. The first time it happened, I thought there was something wrong with me.”

I can’t look away from him.

He moves closer to me, his lips a heartbeat away from mine. “Your smile is the first thing I want to see when I wake up. And, the last thing I want to see before I go to bed at night. I know I would jump in front of a moving train for you.”

I see the heat in his gaze and I know he’s telling the truth.

“I would take a bullet for you. I know I love you with all my heart, that I always will, and that I’d be honored to take care of you for the rest of your life.” He closes the distance between us, brushing his lips against mine.

“Well.” I choke back tears. “If that’s not being in love with someone, then I don’t know what is.”

“Is it? That’s good, right?” His gaze demands an answer.

I nod through tears. “Yes. That’s very, very good.” I throw myself into his arms.

He kisses me again, softer this time. “Come. I want to show you something.” He untangles me from him, taking my hand and leading me to the car.

We tumble into the backseat, our rain-soaked clothes probably ruining the leather. But he doesn’t care about the car. He holds my hand the whole way home, the pad of his thumb stroking the back of my hand as he stares out the window. What could he possibly have to show me? My belly flip-flops as we get closer.

We get home. Still dressed in our damp clothes, he takes me straight to his office.

He opens the drawer of his desk, pulling out a red leather box with gold swirling letters gilded on top. My heart races to my throat as he drops down onto one knee. He flips open the lid.

I stare down at the box, my eyes going wide. A massive emerald-cut diamond stares back at me. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I love it.

“Ashley Barnes, marry me. Now, please.” He smiles up at me, knowing he’s used the magic word, our inside joke from that night at my apartment.

I want to say yes, I want to scream it from the roof of this three-story estate, but I can’t. My throat closes and I clear it.

I shake my head. “I can’t say yes.”

“Why—” He searches my gaze.

“Not yet, at least.” I stare back, begging him to understand.

He looks at me, confused.

I force myself to share my truth. “I need to know that you know that if you marry me, you aren’t just marrying me.” I wring my hands. “Ah… I come with some pretty heavy baggage.”

He raises his brows. “In the form of a sticky toddler, a three-foot princess who’s bossier than me, a basket case of a sister, and an aging mother?” he asks.

“Exactly.” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer, even though he’s the one proposing to me.

He shrugs. “No problem.”

A smile stretches across my face. “Then, yes. Oh, my god. Yes!”

He slips the ring on my finger. A perfect fit. No doubt Gretchen helped with that. He stands, taking me in his arms and he kisses me.