I wondered for a moment if he was trying to hypnotize me, his eyes were locked on mine so intensely. But he didn’t have to convince me. I knew I loved him. I loved him so much that I wanted to save him. From me.

“I know you love me because I lived that year with you. I have never, ever felt about anyone the way I do about you.” He sighed. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that you insisted on this breakup because you were afraid I was going to leave you. And then I did. I left. And that was the wrong thing to do. I never should have walked away from you. And, if you’ll let me love you, if you’ll let me be with you, I’ll never walk away from you again.”

Tears stood in his eyes, and he was so sincere, so beautiful, that I just wanted to sink into him, let him love me, throw caution to the wind. But what I said was, “No, Elliott. I wasn’t afraid you’d leave me. I was afraid I’d kill you.”

At the exact wrong time, a skinny, pale server approached with a bottle of champagne, looking nervous. I couldn’t blame him. I’d basically just confessed to premeditated murder. Context is really key in these situations.

“Sir, the 2018—”

“I’ve got it,” Elliott said, motioning for the bottle. The server handed it to him and scurried away.

Setting the bottle down, Elliott stood and took my hand. He pulled me up, away from the restaurant, out into the night on the beach where a humid breeze was blowing softly. He turned toward me, and I wrapped my arms around myself, even though it wasn’t cold.

“Al, you’re not going to kill me,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds when I say it back to you?”

“It should be ridiculous,” I said, my throat thick with tears and fear. “But, with all due respect, Elliott, you have no idea what I’ve been through. I’m trying to protect you.”

Elliott pulled me into him, and I let him. He rested his cheek on top of my head. “I love you, Alice, and I’m not leaving you again. I don’t care what you say.”