Christie had been a cheerleader, one of the most popular girls in my high school. Her husband greeted me with a warm smile and a handshake for Rhett. They talked about their disabled son, the astronomical cost of health insurance, and the rising price of a decent home. The other women and their husbands joined the conversation. One couple had lost their jobs due to a failing economy. Halfway into our conversation, it dawned on me that I was sitting at the popular table. All my life I’d wanted to be a part of this group, but the topics of discussion here were the same as the ones at the nerd tables or any other table across the city. In the grand scheme of things, high school didn’t mean squat.

“You two make a great couple. Have you been together long?” Christie asked, glancing at Rhett.

He’d removed his jacket and looked sexy in a black sweater and black slacks, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His broad shoulders turned away from me when our eyes met. My stomach flip-flopped. The warmth had left his eyes. They were steely gray and turbulent. Had Walt ruined yet another thing in my life? He turned to Christie’s husband, continuing a debate on the status of major league baseball.

“Not long.” I rested a hand on Rhett’s leg. The muscles of his thigh tensed under my touch. I removed my hand, fighting back a sense of panic.

“He seems smitten by you. I remember when Jake looked at me that way,” Christie said, wistfully. “But that was six years ago. Things change after babies and mortgages.”

We exchanged phone numbers and promised to meet for lunch sometime. The four of us walked together to the parking lot. Christie and her husband took a cab. Rhett had borrowed a Cadillac Escalade and chauffeur from the Seaforths for the occasion. The driver opened the door for us. I slid across the cool leather seat. Rhett took his place next to me. Not beside me. His gaze turned to the window.

“Are you mad at me?” I tried to decipher his expression. The right angle of his jaw seemed sharper, the hue of his eyes darker. City lights twinkled outside the car window. He moved back in the seat, stretching his legs in front of him. Shadows masked his face. I bit my lower lip and waited for his answer.

“No.” His voice husked across the distance between us. I shifted toward him, a knot of panic in my stomach. I hadn’t told him I loved him yet. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. And now it was too late. He was going to break up with me. “I’m not angry with you, angel.” He turned the full force of his gray gaze on me. His eyes dipped to my mouth and held there. “But I can’t stop thinking about your lips on Walt’s dick.”

Mortification scalded my cheeks. I drew in a shaky breath and fought to control my emotions. His words wounded me in a way I’d never expected. “I was a kid, Rhett, and desperate for attention. You can’t blame me for my past, any more than I can blame you for Amy’s death.”

His eyelids lowered, shielding his thoughts. He turned his attention back to the window. A long silence stretched between us. When he spoke again, his tone was flat. “I don’t blame you.”

“Then why are you acting this way? I don’t understand.”

“Because I fucking love you, Bronte. The thought of you with anyone but me rips my guts out.” In half of a heartbeat, he closed the gap between us. “And the thought of loving you terrifies me. I’ve already lost one wife. If I lose you, I’ll never recover.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I’d never been able to adequately express or process my feelings, but this was different. Rhett meant more to me than anyone. He’d given me the confidence to grow, stood at my side while I floundered, never judged or ridiculed my strange behavior. I reached inside, drawing up the courage to claim him, because I deserved to be happy. I deserved him. “I love you, too.”

His big hands cupped my face. He rested his forehead against mine. The car filled with the sounds of our breathing. I placed my hands over his and stroked his knuckles with my thumbs. Slowly, like he was afraid of scaring me away, he inched his mouth toward mine. We kissed. He took his time, the meeting of our lips chaste and sweet and overflowing with emotion.

A few minutes later, he pulled back, catching my gaze. “I don’t care how many guys you’ve been with. I only care that I’m the last one.”

If I lived a thousand years, there would never be anyone else for me. I’d struggled my entire life to be accepted, to be normal, when all I’d ever really needed was the confidence to become myself. He accepted my flaws, adored my eccentricities, and made me a better person. I’d never stop fighting for us, because he’d offered me the one thing I never knew I’d wanted. He’d given me his heart.