The more calm Monica became, the wilder Will sobbed. “I wanted to be a good husband to you, but I couldn’t. Please forgive me, Monica, please forgive me.”
“You can’t help being who you are It’s not your fault you never loved me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, a heavy urgency in his voice. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. Do you remember the bathroom at the firm? You were so charming and you didn’t know it. You entranced me right from the start. You had spirit, just like your grandmother. All the other girls bored me, but you challenged me.”
He patted her hand. They looked at each other for a long moment. They rose for a hug – and held it. She began to feel the spark – and held onto it. Will’s beard nudged her on the side of her neck. She ran her hands through his hair, stroking his jaw. Whether driven by defeat, an instinctive fear of being abandoned, or desperate nostalgia, she still felt that jolt – and wanted him, against her better judgment.
“Monica, my lover. We’ll always have this.”
“Will North,” she said, pulling him toward her, “come to the bedroom.”
When they were finished, their clothes scattered on the floor beside them, they drank a bottle of wine.
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