Page 34 of Broken Desires
“I know, but still. I want you to know that.”
“Okay.”
“And for the DUI…”
“No, you…” I stop talking because she’s turning toward the window again, cutting all access to her.
“I was judged more harshly than warranted,” she continues, her voice tinged with defiance and resignation. “It wasn’t as bad as they made it out to be. The car was acting up, and I hadn’t drunk much. But, of course, my family used the opportunity to play the victim, as they always do. They’re probably still holding a grudge because they believe I ruined Lily’s wedding.” She gives a dismissive wave, but the weight of the accusation hangs heavy between us. “I didn’t even cause a scene. After the dust settled, they still made me spend the night in a cell.”
Her casual dismissal belies the deeper hurt I sense in her voice, the feeling of being perpetually misunderstood and judged by those supposed to support her unconditionally. It’s a narrative all too familiar, and yet she carries it with a resilience that only deepens my respect for her.
She turns back to face me with curiosity and something deeper in her eyes. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” I prompt, even though I have a hunch about what’s on her mind.
“About my grandfather’s money. Did you really do all that? For me?” Her voice is filled with wonder and disbelief.
I nod without hesitation. “Of course. No one should have that kind of power over you.”
Her next question is more introspective. Quieter. “Why did you come, Liam?”
I offer a half smile, aiming for light-heartedness. “I’ve always dreamed of being a knight in shining armor,” I joke, trying to ease the weight of the conversation.
She raises an eyebrow at that, a silent challenge to my humor.
I let out a sigh, the playful facade fading as I seek the right words. “I didn’t want you to be there when you didn’t want to be. Seeing you trapped and unhappy… I couldn’t just stand by.”
Her gaze softens, reflecting gratitude and vulnerability. “That means a lot. No one’s ever… I mean, I’ve always had to fend for myself.”
“Are they always like that?” I can’t help but ask, the evening’s events replaying in my mind.
“No, sometimes they’re worse,” she half jokes, a laugh escaping her lips before she quickly reassures me, “I’m joking.” Yet, the fleeting shadow of truth behind her words doesn’t escape me. I’ve begun to notice the subtle hints of pain she carries, becoming more attuned to her emotions than I ever anticipated. She dismisses her family’s behavior with a wave of her hand, “To be fair, I wasn’t the easiest to deal with after I lost my hearing.”
“And?” I lean in, intrigued, resisting the urge to close the distance even more. “You were grieving a part of your identity. Acting up is part of the process.”
She tilts her head, considering my words. “What did you lose, Liam Ashford?” she probes.
My freedom. The answer is clear in my mind, but all I offer is a simple “Nothing.”
Her gaze lingers on my face, searching, skeptical of my brief reply. “You sound like someone who understands loss,” she observes.
“I’m speaking as someone who cares,” I clarify, hoping to steer the conversation away from my own experiences.
“Yes… Caring.” She sighs. “It’s not always an advantage, is it?”
Especially now, especially with the life I’m about to lead… especially with you. Yet, despite the potential complications, I find myself unwilling to wish for anything different. All I manage, however, is a noncommittal shrug, our conversation hanging in a delicate balance between spoken truths and unvoiced thoughts.
“I hope I didn’t make your life more difficult,” I say to her, feeling a twinge of hypocrisy. After all, I had stormed into her family drama without any hesitation, completely overturning the fragile balance of her family relationships without considering the fallout. This impulsive action is out of character for me, a deviation from my usual calculated approach to life.
Just yesterday, I was getting ready for the jubilee, doing what my parents expected of me. Then I saw the bracelet I’d given Nessa, the one she left behind the last time she was there. That night, I almost asked her to stay. The look she gave me when she left said she wanted that too.
Thinking back, I realize how much I’ve let my guard down with her, acting on impulse rather than with my usual caution. But seeing her in distress, I couldn’t just stand by. Despite the chaos, I don’t regret stepping in.
“Honestly? You probably did, but I think it’s for the best. There’s a part of me that kept on…” She stops talking, trailing her fingers on the sleek white table separating us. “I want to say hoping, but that’s not the right word—thinking that maybe things could settle between us. I wanted to show them that all they thought was wrong and that their way was not the only way. But”—she gives a resigned shake of her head—“it feels like wasted effort.”
I can’t hold back any longer. Moving the table aside, I pull her toward me and lift her onto my lap.
She gasps, surprised by the sudden closeness, and I signal discreetly to the hostess for some privacy.