My chest constricted with longing. I reached out and touched his cheek, my heart pulsing in my throat. “You’re such a good man. Such an unselfish friend.”

Of course he’d say that. I believed he did love me as a friend. Love love though? It was just as Angelica had said, just as I had always known. Holden and I made no sense as more than friends. Truly, we barely made sense as friends, but there were years of history behind that. However, the longer we put off getting back to being strictly friends, the more we were endangering that friendship.

“I don’t mean I love you like a friend,” he said. “I’m in love with you—”

“No. You don’t love love me. You might’ve thought you loved the Chloe of the past few weeks, the one who was running an international business and masquerading as a confident small-town girl, but that’s not really who I am. I can’t live up to what you need. Especially now—” My throat swelled up and cut off my ability to say more.

“Stop it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, clenched his jaw, and paced a couple of steps away as if he needed to put space between us to keep his cool. He turned back to me. “I understand your confidence was shaken today. The dictator did a number on you. But that’s her issue. Not yours. She fucked up, and we both know it.”

“Whether she did or not, I’m the one with no job. She wins. As she said, you and I being a married couple makes no sense.”

He was rubbing the back of his neck, but he stopped and whipped his head toward me. “What? She said that?”

“Verbatim,” I said firmly.

“And you fucking believed her?”

“She’s not the only one who thinks that.”

He stepped closer, practically in my face. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks but us, Chloe.”

“I think you’d be better off with someone else.” Someone on secure footing, minimum. No question, I was a hot mess, and that wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon.

He stared at me silently, and there was fire in his eyes. I nearly backed away, but I ached for him to leave so I could lick my wounds in private. I held strong.

“You’re not doing this, Chloe. You’re not slipping back into that little-girl insecure version of yourself. You’re my wife—”

“But not really.”

He bit down on whatever else he was going to say, then inhaled slowly, deeply, as if I required the patience of Job. I most likely did. “I’m sorry for what happened to you today, Chlo. So fucking sorry. I want to be here for you—”