Chapter 37

His expression is gutted. The devastation in those slate-colored eyes lashes me to the core. His battle is mental, this guilt consuming him, locking him in the prison of his mind. And while I'm grateful he's finally letting me in, I sense more secrets hidden away in those soulful eyes.

"Ryland, I'll be here with you every step of the way. We can do everything at your speed, your own time. And maybe someday, you can let your family know. There have to be other options. It isn't black and white, all or nothing—"

"No."

His grip on my hand tightens. His jaw clenches. I flinch at the sudden chill on his face, completely at odds with the swirling heat of the bath waters.

His face softens. "No," he repeats. "Millie, you and I…we can never be together. Your dreams are far greater than what I can offer you. You deserve to travel the world and teach, help others as you've always wanted to."

"I can do all that and still be with you—"

"No, you can't. Don't you see? The women in our family are trapped with us. Once they're involved with an Anderson, their dreams and lives before cease to exist. It almost killed my mom before she died from the accident. This is," he pauses, his eyes conflicted, "the tradition. Over four hundred years of impeccable reputation, our business managed only by people within the family. You'll never be able to change me, Millie. I have my role in my family, one that was decided for me before I was born. It's my cross to bear. I won't have you shoulder my burdens with me."

"That doesn't make any sense. I don't understand."

He lets out a ragged sigh. "Maybe someday I can tell you everything. Then you'll understand. But I know I can't give you the forever you deserve, Millie. I just…can't."

He presses a kiss on the tip of my nose, his eyes red and clouded with moisture. "I've felt the burdens of being an Anderson. Seen the sacrifices up close. Mom, when she was alive, loved us with all her heart. But I'd see how sad she was whenever she talked about her hopes and dreams when she was younger."

"Ryland, I'm not your mom. I can still be me while being with you. It's not all or nothing."

I clutch his arm, imploring him to understand. Taking a deep breath, I tamp down the frustration ramping up inside me. I feel like I'm staring at a complicated puzzle and missing one last piece. But he's opening up to me and I recognize this is hard for him.

Ryland shakes his head. "You know, I'm sure she felt the same way as you at one point. She wanted to do so much, to be a professor, but she couldn't once she became the woman behind my dad. Then, the sadness in her voice when she talked about him, her husband who was working more than he should, was not home often enough. She was trapped. I know it now as an adult."

Ryland swallows, his voice hoarse. "You deserve to be free. You're young, your future is endless. You have an abundance of light to share with the world. Don't snuff it out by being with me. Trust me, there are things I haven't told you, but I know I can't be with you in a way you deserve."

Anger churns through my veins and I push at his chest. "You don't get to decide for me! If you have feelings for me, which you clearly do, and I have the same for you, we deserve a chance."

"I won't be able to stand it if one day you're tired of being chained. Please don't ask this of me." His fingers tremble as he swipes a tear sliding over my cheek.

"Even without everything else, we aren't supposed to be doing this. I'm your ethics professor," he scoffs, his voice dripping with derision at himself. "If we get caught, your future will be ruined. And so will my family's reputation. I can't be the one to cause the downfall of the Anderson name."

My nose twitches, and I clench my hands into fists. We've come this far already. I refuse to give up, especially after knowing how good it can be between us.

"My answer is no, Ryland. I don't care what you say, I don't care about the future. You can call me immature or na?ve, but I want the now. The present. You and I both know tomorrow is not guaranteed." I hurl myself against him, burying my face in his neck.

"Please don't tell me no," I whisper before pressing a soft kiss on his heated skin, "If you care for me at all, please…please don't break my heart. I don't want to think about the future. Please, just g-give me tomorrow." My voice chokes up and I shudder.

Maybe I can convince him, one day at a time, like Scheherazade spinning her stories night after night to entice her husband, the king, to keep her alive in One Thousand and One Nights.

His rough breathing fills the bathroom, the steam from the bath enveloping us in a tender, heart-wrenching embrace as I hug him tightly, feeling the righteous rhythm of his heartbeat pounding against mine.

"Please, Ryland. Give me tomorrow," I whisper once more. Please don't give up on us before we start. "I can take your darkness, your burdens. I'm the lark masquerading as a phoenix, remember? Please trust me. Give me tomorrow. Give us tomorrow."

A few moments pass, and slowly his muscular arms envelop my back and he presses a kiss on my hair. He releases a tortuous sigh.

"Tomorrow. We still have tomorrow."

She bounces on her feet, her back is turned toward me as she bends over the stove. After our bath, she heard my stomach grumble, and she donned one of my dress shirts before darting out of the bedroom. Now she's in the kitchen doing God knows what.

Millie is humming under her breath, spreading warmth and happiness throughout my apartment.

She looks like she belongs here.

In another life, I can imagine her filling my apartment with laughter, moving around the space as she entertains friends and family. Maybe there will be a dog or two or perhaps a little one screaming for mommy in the living room.

My heart clenches at the vivid image.

In another life.

She pauses her movements and looks up at my black kitchen cabinets.

"Hmm…if I were you, where would I be?" she whispers. My lips twitch. I can imagine the cute little frown on her face.

She opens the cabinets one by one, her hands rummaging through the various containers and boxes, clearly looking for something. Then, a few seconds later, she exclaims, "Aha!"

Millie places her hand on the granite countertop, using it as leverage as she tries to reach the contents on the upper shelf of the cabinet in question, her hand missing whatever she's trying to retrieve.

"Dammit."

She tries again, fails, and lets out the most unladylike growl I've ever heard. My heart skips several beats.

Chuckling, I walk up behind her, my hand automatically sliding around her slender waist, and murmur, "What are you trying to get, my little lark?"

She spins around and points to a bag nestled in the back of the shelf. "That bag of dark chocolate hiding over there. Gretchen mentioned she had some in the cabinets before she left, but this kitchen is not made for short people like me."

Biting back a smile, I reach up and grab the bag for her. In another life, I'd demolish this kitchen and remake everything to her specifications.

"You're the perfect size." I punctuate my words with a kiss on her forehead.

She flushes before turning back to the stove.

"What are you making?"

"You're in for a treat. I'm making Mom's hot chocolate." She glances at me and winks. "Maybe that's the secret sauce to melt your heart."

No. You're the secret sauce, Millie.

I lean against the counter, my heart racing inside my rib cage. "I'll have to see if it tastes as good as you make it sound. I see you drinking hot chocolate all the time."

She grins as she stirs a mixture of chocolate and other powders into a saucepan filled with steaming milk. She shakes her luscious ass as she hums once more.

The warm overhead light casts her face in a beautiful glow and her hair cascades down her back in waves. She doesn't have a stitch of makeup on.

But she's perfect. Breathtaking.

"The key is the vanilla and the espresso powder." She stirs the contents of the saucepan.

"When I was a kid, Mom, of course, left out the espresso powder, because she didn't want me amped up on caffeine." She laughs, her eyes taking on a faraway glint, clearly reminiscing about the past. "But later, I found the real recipe in her stuff."

She looks at me and waggles her brows. "Trust me. The espresso acts as an intensifier, making the chocolate richer."

Turning off the stove, she wafts her hand over the saucepan, closes her eyes, and inhales the rich scent of chocolate permeating the space. She pours the contents into two mugs and adds whipped cream and a few pieces of tiny marshmallows on top.

Millie hands me a mug, her eyes widening as she watches me take a sip. The richness of the chocolate hits my tongue in an explosion of flavors. It's creamy and thick, the texture luxurious, but the taste is not too sweet. There is a small thread of bitterness as an aftertaste, keeping everything from becoming too overpowering, followed by a lingering hint of vanilla.

It's delicious. A liquid warm hug.

I stare at the marshmallows floating on the surface. Am I supposed to eat them or wait for them to melt?

"So? Do you like it? It's the best, right?" She adds, "The marshmallows are fun, but you don't need to eat them."

Of course she knows what I'm thinking.

I stare into her eager sapphire eyes and watch her tongue peek out and swipe at her enticing lips before she takes a sip. The whipped cream lingers on her upper lip.

My breathing stutters as an all-encompassing warmth fills me. Gently, I wipe the cream from her lip and whisper, "It's perfect. You're perfect."

Millie holds my stare, and I set down my mug to the side before slowly bringing my lips to hers, tasting her sweetness at the source. She clutches my sweatpants as she melts into my arms.

Breaking apart to take a breath, I take in her upturned face—her beautiful eyes closed, lashes fanning her pale skin, a rosy glow on her cheeks, her plump lips parted as if she wants another kiss.

In another life, this will all be within reach.

The refrain echoes in my mind and a lump forms in my throat. "So, can I help with anything?"

Her eyes open, and she gives me a sweet smile. "You bet you can. Come on, my big, strong hunter, man the grill. We are having post-coital burgers and hot chocolate."

She shoves me with her hip and throws out another saucy wink. I laugh, watching her wiggle her butt once more as she shifts out of the way. If I were by myself, I'd ask Gretchen to fix me something before she left or order food from the restaurants downstairs.

But with her, this is what I want.

The normal life. Ryland and Millie. Just simply us.

She walks around the kitchen like she owns the place, taking out other ingredients we need for our late-night meal. A desperate yearning coils inside my chest.

In another life.

The tomorrow she's asking for.

I want every single tomorrow with her.