“I’ve told you: I’ll take care of everything. The press, the job, whatever you need—”
“Lukas, I don’t want to be taken care of. I mean, yes, I do, but not like… Not like that. Not like a damn houseplant.”
She wriggles out of my arms. I let her go, even though it feels like ripping off a limb.
“I want to be chosen,” she continues. “Not acquired or collected. Not kept, like some cute little pet you feed and water and pat on the head when it pleases you.” Her eyes are watery but her jaw is set. “I need to know I’m here because you want me.”
A bit of my old anger surges up in me, though it’s moving through different channels these days. My hand finds Rae’s waist, and I push her backward until her spine hits the stairway railing. The old wood creaks under the pressure, but I don’t give a f
