The worry I was trying so hard to deny a few moments ago is now back, full force, and I can’t deny it this time. He lets go of one of my wrists and trails his hand down between us, gently pressing his fingers against my clit and rolling them in circles. When I don’t respond to his touch, his head lifts and I feel his stare on me, but I can’t force myself to open my eyes and look back.

“Wendy, look at me.”

I bite my bottom lip and try to tell myself to do as he says. I try to convince myself that I’m worked up over nothing. But when that nothing is the one thing that you’ve been running from for so long, you can’t help but be consumed with fear. He releases my other wrist and both his hands come up to frame my face gently.

“Wendy,” he tries again, but for the life of me, I can’t tell myself to do as he says.

I can’t look him in the eye and deny what my heart desperately wants any longer.

Him.

Always him.

Because deep down, I’ve always been afraid that it’s always been too much to ask.

“Wendy,” he says sternly this time, his hands gripping the sides of my face tighter. “For fuck sakes, talk to me.”

“It’s always been pointless, hasn’t it?”

My eyes finally open and fill with tears. He stares back at me confused and studies me closely. His eyes searching, trying to understand the painful truth I’ve always been too scared to look at.

“What has been?”

“Us,” he pulls back slightly, as if I’ve hurt him, but he doesn’t remove his hands from my face. “There’s always been something working against us. Something keeping us apart.” He considers what I’ve said but doesn’t speak. “Someone keeping us apart. From the start, it was pointless. Coming here. Following our hearts. Falling in love. I can’t keep you because you won’t come with me and…”

“Wendy…”

“... and I can’t stay here,” I blurt out before I lose the courage. “I can’t abandon Jane and Margaret,” my voice breaks as my hands raise and grip his.

His eyes implore mine. Hurt. Confusion. Destruction. It all stares back at me as he weaves his fingers through my own, our hands interlaced just like our hearts, and he holds me close underneath him.

“Jane and Margaret are all grown up,” his words tumble out, as he tries quickly to grasp hold of reason for the both of us. “Jake is dead. Your mother has long ago passed. Michael is crippled, but he could run the family business. There is no need to…”