“But if you could have anything? What would it be?”
Apparently he didn’t believe she was being sincere. “What if I asked you the same? What do you want—besides me—at this very moment?”
“Nothing. Just your happiness.”
“Then you have everything you want too.”
He bit the corner of his lower lip and stared at her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I feel like I should buy you things. To prove how much I love you.”
“Do you think I should buy you a bunch of things to prove how much I love you?”
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head.
“Then why do you think I would require it? Do I come across as materialistic or something?”
“No,” he said hastily. “Of course not.”
“You’re enough, Eric. Okay?”
She could see the battle raging inside him, but wasn’t sure what was causing it.
“Why don’t you think you’re enough—more than enough—for me?”
“I don’t know,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I just… I want to believe it. I know you mean it. I just wonder if one day you’ll realize I’m not enough, I was never enough, and you’ll… leave.”
“I won’t leave,” she said. She grabbed him by the chin and forced him to meet her eyes. “Look at me, damn it.” His blue eyes lifted to hers. “I won’t leave you. I won’t. I’m not your fucking mother.”
He grinned at her. “Thank God for that. My cock is still inside you.”
She slapped his shoulder angrily, and he flinched. “Don’t make this into a fucking joke, Eric. I know it hurts you.”
“You do hit hard for a girl,” he teased.
She growled in frustration. She understood that he used humor as a defense mechanism, but God, she could strangle him when he used it to shut her out. She opened the car door and struggled to get off his lap. He clutched both hands in the fabric of her cumbersome gown and kept her from rising.
“You liar, you’re going to leave me already!” he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard.
“I’m not leaving you,” she said. “I’m going into the house. Let go of my dress.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You get to tell my mother how it got ripped.”
She wrenched her body away from his, and the seams strained to stay together. He let go at once, and she staggered out of the car. Lips pursed, she gathered her skirts in her arms and dashed for the house.
How could she possibly prove she was strong enough to support him if she ran away at his first sign of adversity? Fuck, she had to pull it together. He’d never get over his insecurity about deserving love if she let his defense mechanisms hurt her. But she couldn’t help it. Deep down she knew his inability to accept that she loved him was his issue, not hers, but damn, it hurt to think that she wasn’t meeting his needs. If she were, he’d have an easy time accepting her assurances. How did she show him what was in her heart? How did she get him to understand that she wasn’t just saying she loved him and going through the motions? She loved him unconditionally—how could she not? But how did she prove it to him? And why should she have to?
She dashed tears away as she climbed the steps. Her heels echoed on the wide sunny porch as she hurried to the door. She grabbed the handle and found it locked. She growled in frustration and rattled it, as if that would have any affect. A hand covered hers on the doorknob. Eric moved up solidly against her back, effectively preventing her escape. She went still, the flesh between her shoulders tingling.
Even in her frustration and pain, her skin craved his touch.
“You are not allowed to be mad at me today,” he said in her ear and handed her the house keys.
“I can be mad if I want to be mad!” She shoved the key into the lock and struggled to turn it. Why were her goddamned hands shaking so badly?
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not!” She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t mad. She was hurt and she was scared. Scared that she’d never be enough to make up for all the neglected years of his youth.
“We promised never to do this, remember?” he said. “We said we’d always communicate with each other, even when it’s hard. So tell me what’s bothering you so we can make it right.”
She took a deep breath and tilted her head to look up into the spired roof on the interior of the porch. She’d never noticed the interesting architecture of the white beams up there before. She wondered what other details she’d failed to notice about Eric’s showcase Victorian. She was wondering this now because communication was hard.
“Rebekah,” he whispered, his lips brushing the hair above her ear. “Talk to me.”
She bit her lip and looked down at his hand covering hers on the doorknob.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes you make me feel like I don’t love you enough. Or maybe it’s you don’t believe I love you. Not really.”
“I do struggle with that,” he said quietly.
“Why? H-how do I prove it to you, Eric? How do I make you believe it?”
“For starters, you could kiss that spitting cobra that likes you so much,” he said in a teasing tone. His free hand slid over her shoulder and plucked at the buttons at the back of her gown. “Cobras prefer their women naked.”
Would she ever get him to be serious for more than five seconds at a time?
She huffed out a breath, trying to remind herself why he acted the way he did. Tried to remember how much she enjoyed his infallible sense of humor.