“No,” I said.
The word surprised both of us.
Elias’s expression softened too quickly. “Ella, baby, come on. This isn’t you. You don’t shut people out. You don’t run to your rich relatives and make things dramatic.”
My heart thudded.
“My rich relatives?”
He hesitated. “Your cousin. Your father. Whoever you’re staying with.”
“You’ve never called my father rich before.”
“I didn’t mean rich rich.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m tired. I’m worried. My mom is falling apart. Everyone thinks you had some kind of breakdown.”
“Everyone?”
“My family.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, and there, for the first time, the softness slipped. “Don’t use that tone like you’re above us.”
Above us.
I studied the man in front of me, the man I had promised to love in sickness and health, in joy and sorrow. His fear was real. I could see it now. But it was not fear of losing me.
It was fear of losing control of the story.
“I’m taking my things,” I said. “Rebecca Hale will contact you.”
“Who?”
“My attorney.”
The color shifted in his face.
“Attorney?” His voice dropped. “Ella, married couples don’t get attorneys after one fight.”
“No. They don’t.”
His eyes searched mine.
For the first time, he wondered what I knew.
I did not tell him.
Rebecca’s words echoed in my head.
Let him.
So I carried my suitcase past him.
At the door, he said my name so softly I almost turned.
