“Come with me, Marisa.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes.” His fingers threaded through hers, leading her toward the exit. And she knew she should pull away but there was something about the warmth of his fingers that made it impossible.
“But my clothes…I need to get changed.”
“No you don’t. What you’re wearing is perfect.”
“Luke, I can’t…”
“Come on, the taxi’s waiting.”
He didn’t let go of her hand, only pausing by the counter to take back his credit card, before pushing out of the door and pulling her with him.
“Go get him, Mar!” Christie yelled as the door closed.
But she didn’t want to get him. She was standing on the sidewalk in a freaking wedding dress for God’s sake. And some crazy man, yes some crazy, beautiful man, was trying to make her get into a taxi.
“Luke, for God’s sake,” she tried again as he pulled her into the cab with him.
“Do up your seat belt,” he said, and she had to sit there while he rearranged the ridiculous tulle skirts to draw across the belt before securing it firmly.
“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to scream,” she finally said with what she thought was supreme patience.
Making a final check on her belt, he looked at her. “I’m taking you back to my place.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
Unwanted tears started in her eyes. “I don’t…what has that got to do with anything?”
“Wait. Only wait until you see what I have to show you.”
Wait? He told her he loved her then expected her to wait? For what? She swallowed past the lump in her throat, blinked against the stupid tears. Then teared up again as he took hold of one of her hands while pressing another pristine white handkerchief into the other.
Bloody man. Insane, crazy man.
Luke didn’t speak for the rest of the journey and she wasn’t able to, too busy trying not to get her running mascara from ruining the dress. In the rearview mirror the driver kept staring at them, which didn’t help.
“Congratulations,” the guy said at the end of the journey, and Luke actually smiled at him.
God. It was true, he was insane.
Clutching his handkerchief firmly, Marisa let herself be led through the front gate of his house.
“Luke, for God’s sake. The driver—”
“I’m sorry about the taxi. I didn’t want to be anxious about the drive. Come with me.”
So she had no choice but to shut up as he led her around the side of the house and down a small path along the cliff top, to where a small flat space had been cleared. And where a little studio stood with big windows facing the view over the harbor.
“What’s this?” she asked, finding it difficult to speak.
“Go and look inside,” he said.
So she did, cautiously pushing open the door. And her heart dropped away.
There was a long bench set up with a whole lot of equipment around the walls. Familiar equipment. A kiln. A wet belt sander. A sandblaster. A special saw for cutting glass. All the things needed in a glass studio.
Then everything began to run, more ridiculous tears filling her eyes so she could hardly see. She could sense him step up behind her, a tall warm presence at her back.
“I know I don’t have much to offer you, Marisa Clair,” he said quietly. “The OCD makes me hell to live with and that’s not ever going to change. My parents hated it and God knows a lot of other people did, too. But I thought…if I could give you a shot at fulfilling your dreams, then maybe you might consider giving me a shot at fulfilling mine.”
She didn’t turn, the tears running down her face, the sodden hankie making absolutely no impression on them. “I thought you said it was better that I go,” she said thickly. “I thought you didn’t want me to see you like that.”
His hands on her shoulders, his touch so warm. Turning her around to face him. She didn’t want to, but he took her chin in his fingers, holding her so she couldn’t look away.
“I thought so, too. But I was wrong, Marisa. Yes, the OCD is hard to live with and I hate that you had to see me when it was at its worst but…living without you is even worse than that. Living without you is impossible.”
She blinked again but the tears wouldn’t stop. “It won’t work. You know it won’t. How can I be enough to help you with—”
“No, I don’t know it won’t work. I can accept that managing the OCD won’t make it go away. I can accept that it will always be there. But I can’t accept not having you. I want everything. I want you to have your dreams and I want me to have mine. I want you in my life. You and our child. You’re enough. You’re more than enough, and if you need proof then I’ll do whatever I have to do to show you.”