Her throat closed up, the emotions inside her so intense she couldn’t force out the words. He’d put her first. Put her dreams within reach. And yet now that the moment was here, all she felt was fear.
Luke frowned, then took the hankie out of her nerveless fingers and wiped away the tears on her face. “Princesses shouldn’t cry,” he murmured.
And somehow the silly little statement made something shift inside her and all the words came flooding out. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “What if I stuff this up? I’ve screwed up so many other things in my life…”
“You need to trust yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You should. You’re an amazing woman, Marisa Clair. You showed me there’s more to life than the day-to-day. Than management and control. You showed me I could want more. You showed me that I could have a dream if I wanted one. And loving you gave me the courage to reach for it.” He looked down into her eyes. “There’s so much more to you than a pretty face.”
She swallowed. “But what if there isn’t? What if I can’t do this? What if all I’ll ever be is a silly, naive failed model who got taken advantage of then dumped?”
Luke released her chin and reached into his pocket. Took something out. Then he held it up. Her necklace. Gently he laid it around her neck and did up the catch. “You kept that bead for a reason, Marisa. And it’s not only to remind you of your father. It’s to remind yourself of what you can do. Your father could have made you a whole string of pretty necklaces but he didn’t, did he? He got you to make your own because he believed you could.” He touched the bead at her throat. “So there’s your start.” His hand fell away and to her consternation, he took a step back. “The studio is yours. You can use it whenever you want, no strings.” Then he began to turn, to walk away.
“Wait,” she managed to choke out, her voice gone all thick and syrupy. “Where are you going?”
He paused. “Back to work. I wanted to tell you those things. Give you the studio. What you do with them is up to you.”
“But…but what about you?”
“What about me? I told you what I wanted, but that choice is yours. You need to choose for yourself, Marisa.” And quite suddenly, he gave her a faint smile. “I know you’re afraid. But for what it’s worth, I believe in you, too.” Then he turned away again, walking away from her. Walking out through the studio door.
Marisa stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him leave.
Choose for herself. Reach for her dreams, not let her fear of failing hold her back.
That’s what she’d done, wasn’t it? That’s why years had passed and she was still in the same place, drowning in debt, telling herself she was moving forward but not making any progress. Because she’d always been too afraid. Too afraid to trust that she could do it.
The story of her whole freaking life.
But Luke wasn’t afraid, was he? He’d come back for her. Come back to tell her how he felt. Given her a glimpse of what he thought she could be.
I believe in you.
There had been only two men who had ever believed in her. One was dead, and she’d let the other one walk out that door. Because like her dreams, she was too scared to reach for him.
Realization burst like a bucket of ice water all over her.
She couldn’t let him leave. All the dreams in the world wouldn’t mean a thing if Luke wasn’t there to help her reach for them.
Her hands gripped her skirts, bunching them up. Then she ran out of the door in a flurry of tulle in time to see him disappearing around the corner of the house.
“Luke! Wait!” And she ran after him, skidding on the grass in her stupid high heels, treading on the skirts. Fabric ripped, but she didn’t care. The only thing she was more afraid of now was that he’d somehow disappear and she wouldn’t see him again. “Luke!”
But he hadn’t disappeared. He was standing by the front gate ready to go out. He paused and turned to her. And she didn’t stop running because suddenly she couldn’t bear to spend another second without his arms around her.
Marisa flung herself at him and he opened his arms and gathered her into them, lifting her up.
And she found his mouth and kissed him hard, her fingers in his perfectly coiffed hair, ruffling him up. Making him hers. Because he was hers.
When she finally lifted her mouth to take a breath, he lowered her to the ground, his expression taut. “Please tell me that wasn’t a good-bye kiss,” he said roughly. “Because I—”
Marisa put a finger over his mouth, stopping him. “No, it wasn’t. It was an ‘I love you and I don’t ever want to leave you’ kiss.”