Neither of us speaks for what seems like an eternity. The silence strains between us, and for once, I don't find it stifling. When it seems like he can't take it any more, I hear the soft rustle of fabric, feel barest brush of air, and a second later, the room floods with light.
The unexpected movement forces my eyes shut and when I open them, the room looks blurry, but I seek Wolf out, auto-focusing on him like a camera.
He smiles at me, a feeble, weak thing that sends a crack right through my heart. "I didn't thinkâ" He stops himself, and I can see the struggle playing across his face like the rapid, turning pages of a flip book.
Wolf clears his throat. "Of the two of us, I didn't think it would be this way. You hurting me."
That brings a bittersweet laugh to my lips, although even to my own ears it sounds like a pained cry. "What, you thought you had the exclusive right to hurt people?" Hurt me goes unsaid.
He reels backward and only too late do I hear the words echo back to me. They sound sharp, like the blade of a knife, and from the briefest expression of surprise across his face, I see that without thinking, I have reared back and let the knife find its mark.
"Of course not," he says in a voice so soft that I almost don't hear him.
A succession of memories begin an insistent slideshow in my mind, more effective than a time travel device or a polaroid. Seeing Wolf's picture for the first time, being struck by his good looks, and more than that, the genuine friendship in his eyes as he and Xander posed for the camera. The way he looked when I saw him watching Xander and I hug at the airport, baleful and sinister. The way he caught me when I was slipping on the ice and the way he kissed me just because. The look in his eyes when I told him I didn't like him, but wanted to learn how to. All of us laughing on the way home from Efteling, like a Hallmark channel Christmas movie.
The question still haunts me. Is love something you can learn, like riding a bike? Only most people don't learn how to ride a bike by themselves. There's a mother or a father there to encourage, push them along, run along behind them so the child didn't fall off in a moment of imbalance. With Wolf, imbalance is all I know, and there's no one to catch me when I fall. There's only getting back up again, dusting myself off, and trying again, hoping to get two steps closer to him.
It strikes me then: Love shouldn't be this hard.
I feel old in that moment. I wish I could go back to the woman I used to be and shake her. No, not the college girl who came to the Netherlands with rose-tinted lenses, but the woman who stood in her office and thought she could handle Wolf. No one ever told her that wild things can't be tamed.
And then it seems like my answer is clear.
"Wolf," I say, the words strange and foreign in my throat, "I think, despite my best intentions, I've done something really stupid."
His face holds no judgment. "Tell me."
"I've gone and done the one thing you told me not to do."
Gray eyes implore me to continue.
I rip the Band-Aid off before I can steel myself. "I've fallen for you."
This isn't a happy moment, not for either of us. His entire body goes still, the poised tension of a deer staring down oncoming traffic. He senses, I think, that my pronouncement will not lead to a happily ever after.
"It's not pretty, it's not sweet. In fact, it's damn excruciating most of the time. Like I'm flesh and you're sandpaper." My toes clench and my arms lose sensation. "You asked me to marry you because I would be easy."
When he opens his mouth to protest, I shake my head. "Wolf, please. Let me finish."
He gives me a tight nod, eyes stormy.
"You knew I wouldn't screw you over or stab you in the back. You knew I'd be discreet. I'd be a safe bet." I swallow - hard. My throat is dry and tastes sour and stale. "It's always been on your terms. You called this my home? It's not. It's just a place you've brought me because you abscondedâyes, abscondedâwith me, and for some stupid reason, I acted like I was okay with that and not like you were taking a page out of the neanderthal narcissist handbook."
"But you love me." Wolf looks like he's trying to puzzle this out. "You love me anyway." The why goes unsaid.
"No need to sound so pleased about it," I mutter, looking away.
The sofa dips under his weight and the smell of scotch comes closer. He's scooting himself closer to me. Our knees touch and a second later, his hand covers mine in silent comfort.
"I'm sorry I'm so confusing. I should never have agreed to marry you. Should never have agreed to come here, to live with you." I can't even look at him - if I look at him, I'll flounder.
"Don't say that," Wolf whispers. "It'sâ"
"It's what, Wolf? Unfair? Unkind?"
He gives me a look that's difficult to decipher at first. It's one part disappointment, one part understanding. "Untrue," he says, dragging the word out, his voice thick.
"Don't get me wrong, I wasâI amâattracted to you. And I agreed toâand I willâmarry you. Â But I'm going to move out. I think I should. And don't argue with me, because I also don't think you should have any further say in the matter."
"Not even as your fiancé?"
"Only on paper." I edge away from him, our knees no longer touching. "I can't always be this girl for you, Wolf. Not unless you're that guy for me."
"What do you mean?"
"The girl you run to. I can't be the girl you run to." A lone tear slips down my cheek, winding toward my chin, and I raise an impatient hand to brush it off, but Wolf's already there.
His thumb gently smooths over my chin, runs up my jawline, and cups the side of my face. Leaning forward, he waits a millimeter away from my lips before kissing me. His thumb hooks behind my ear and brings me closer, and before I can relax into the kiss, it's over.
Our foreheads braced against each other, we stay in that position for what feels like an eon. Wolf is the first to pull away, taking the warm, burned leather smell of scotch with him. "...Because I'm not the guy you run to," he says, understanding at last.
"I can't run to you if you're the guy I'm running away from," I whisper.
"Then don't run. Stay."
They are the words I want to hear, but I can't hear them right now. I'm not ready, he's not ready. Maybe we never will be. But we definitely won't if I stay.
Wolf's face smudges from the wetness pooling in my eyes. When he speaks, it comes from from far away, distant and crackly like an old radio. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be fighting you."
Stubborn to the last, I sniffle and say, "No, no you shouldn't. Because I'm right."
"And humble," he adds. He looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes. "I was determined to do the right thing, to let you off the hook. When you came here tonight, I was going to tell you that we should call Xander in the morning and tell him to rip up that contract."
"You'll loseâ"
His eyes open. "The CEO position? I know."
"Don't do that. Not for me. You'll eventually regret it."
"Who better to do it for?" Wolf argues. "I was going to tell you that, Charlotte, I really was. But then you came here and said, well, everything that you said, and now I don't want to let you go. You make it so hard for me to be the good guy."
Since it's hard for me to know how to reply to that, I do what I do best - what he's taught me how to do. I stand up and prepare to run. He follows me, snapping upright so fast that he almost loses his balance.
"Goodnight, Wolf," I murmur. Looking at him sends a shaft of pain to my chest.
"Where will you go?" Wolf asks as I turn to leave. "When?" It's impossible to ignore the desperation in his voice.
"To a friend."
Author's Note: Any guesses on where she's going? I would love some feedback on what you guys think of the newfound honesty between these two! How do you think they've changed since they first signed the contract? Do you agree with Charlotte?