The touch of his hands on her shoulder, the ghostly pressure of his face to the back of her head, shocked her into the reality of the conversation they were having—the reality of a conversation that appeared to be altering the entire course of their six-month marriage. The thought gave her panicked butterflies, and Rachel needed air, needed something to clear her head, so she could think. This man, he was much too close to her, and getting closer…and not merely in the physical sense. But she couldn't bear to let him. He didn't mean what he was saying; he couldn't. The words made sense, but the idea didn't. Love was fleeting, it was selfish, it broke everything down trying to get in, and it devastated everything else when it left. It had nearly happened to her once before, but when it had evaded her, when it had left her, she swore never again She did not want to love. But she wanted to be loved so very, very badly.
"You can't love me," Rachel told him quietly, after a moment or two. How could she avoid addressing it when she finally realized that underlying all the other unattended-to problems that plagued their marriage, this was the one she'd been unknowing obsessing over, the one that ceased her functioning like the sensible, untouchable witch she was. Her voice was clear, soft, composed, but the hot prickles behind her eyes gave way to a lone tear she tried in vain to blink away. "Prove it. Prove that you do, because I don't believe it."
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