His hand drops, and I feel cold. “I didn’t. I found what my parents wanted me to find.”

“You can talk to me . . . if you want.”

He cracks his neck and there’s a tenseness in his voice. “Yvonne was everything they hoped for. She was wealthy, smart, talented, and selfish beyond measure. Although, I didn’t really care about that. I was angry with you, and being with her was . . . I don’t fucking know, it was just dumb. We met in grad school. I was being groomed to take over the Park Inn and she was singing. My whole goal was to be better than my father. To make more, have a better wife, family, job. It was all I cared about. Yvonne fit because she was like me.”

“How so?”

He turns his head, looking out the window. “She had horrible parents and told me how she wanted to prove them wrong. So, we dated, it was about two years in, and it was time.”

“Time to get married?” I ask.

Grayson’s eyes meet mine, the moonlight making them appear almost gray and hollow. “Yes, but we didn’t have plans, Jess. We didn’t lie in bed, her in my arms as I traced patterns on her back, dreaming of the life we’d have. I didn’t talk about kids and hopes with her. We talked about money and material things she wanted.”

My heart drops to my stomach because that was what we did. For hours, we’d hide ourselves away and tell the universe what life we wanted because then it could be true.

And I denied that earlier.

“Then why did you want to marry her?”

“Because if I wasn’t going to marry the woman I loved, I might as well marry the one who wanted to marry me.”

The ache in my chest is throbbing. “That’s . . .”

“The truth, Jess. However, I was prepared to start my life because you weren’t coming back. You were flying around the world and enjoying life. I was in Willow Creek, living the life that was demanded of me. But Yvonne, she wasn’t horrible, not until we found out she was pregnant.”

I stay quiet, trying to keep my breathing silent, already knowing this part of the story ends with Grayson being a single father.

Grayson doesn’t say anything, so I reach out, resting my hand on his. “You don’t have to say anything more.”

His eyes close as he leans over, kissing the side of my head. “We all suffer with different forms of nightmares. Yours haunt your dreams, and mine lives in Paris.” He stands, his tall frame blocking the moonlight, but I can feel his gaze. “We both need to sleep.” He pulls back the covers, holding them up so I can get underneath.