The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

we spent this much time together, having fun no less. Just as I thought the night was over, Beaux asked if he could blindfold me. Inspired by the mood of the evening, I said yes. But we’ve been walking for what seems like forever, and I’d give anything to take these heels off.

“Alright,” Beaux says, positioning me. He pauses and breathes heavily.

“Still blindfolded here,” I say. He doesn’t respond. “Beaux?”

I sense Beaux move in front of me. His lips touch mine and we kiss. He tastes like the peppermint cheesecake we had for dessert. He pulls away and . . .

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Beaux removes the blindfold and before me stands a gorgeous, tan and gray double-gallery home. Surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, green shrubs, and palm trees, the home is framed with a pair of French style lanterns and large floor-to-ceiling windows accented with brown shutters. Columns with ornate details line the porches on both the first floor and the second. The porches are lit with more lanterns that hang from the ceiling.

“Beaux, what? What are we doing here? Whose house is this?” I ask. I’m barely able to pull my eyes away from what might just be the most gorgeous home I’ve ever seen.

“It’s yours,” Beaux says then.

I look to him without saying a word. Beaux has been known for the dramatic party or ostentatious gift here and there, but this? There’s no way he’s bought me a house, though I do spot a “For Sale” sign on the front left edge of the property. Gosh, the grass is so green. And it’s just far enough off the street for the perfect neighborhood views. The oak tree out front is the perfect touch.

“Beaux,” I start.

“Emma,” he says. His tone shifts to something serious. “It’s yours,” he tells me. His blue eyes bore into mine. “If . . . you marry me.”

At that, Beaux drops to his knee and pops open a burgundy velvet ring box. Inside is the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. A single diamond, emerald cut, sits atop a solid gold band. Classy, sophisticated, shiny, and expensive. I wouldn’t be surprised if my finger ached under its pressure. My finger. My ring. My house. My . . . husband?

“I . . . um,” I stammer.

Beaux stands and slips the ring onto my ring finger. It is heavy. And despite the darkness surrounding us, it nearly blinds me.

“Emma,” Beaux breathes. “I know I don’t say things like this, ever. But . . . you truly are the best part of my life.”

“What?” I ask. I wouldn’t have guessed that with the amount of time he spends at work and the little amount of time he spends with me.

“It’s true,” he says. “I know I put a lot of focus on work, but it’s only because I want this,” he says, turning to face the house. “I want the car, the house, the wife, the life. And I know you might be thinking, well, you already have everything, but I want to do it on my own, without my parent’s money. And I want you,” he says, turning back to me. “None of this is worth having if you’re not a part of it too.”

Wow, I . . . I’ve never heard Beaux speak like this, nor have we ever talked about marriage. I mean, I assumed we would get married. We’ve been together long enough. But . . . Beaux just isn’t the romantic type. Spontaneous and outrageous? Yes! But down on one knee proposing to me in front of our dream home? It’s too good to be true. I’m speechless, until I’m not.

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes?” Beaux asks. His pink lips lift into a perfect smile.

“Yes,” I say once more.

Beaux picks me up and spins me round and round. I grow dizzy, but I love every moment of it, just as I love the picture he’s painted of our future. I can see us getting married, me walking down the aisle, us moving into this home. I can picture the life we would have, and I see myself happy, happier than I’ve ever been.

I wake up in bed covered in sweat and short of breath. My head aches with a dizziness that is unwelcome and memories that I’d rather not remember. Ever since Julian left, I’ve felt ill. I spent the rest of the day in bed and didn’t even talk to Kat. After a while, it became too painful to think of Julian. Instead, I thought of Mason and everything he shared with me regarding himself and Beaux.

It’s strange to me to follow Mason’s line of thinking. I mean, sure, people can change and grow, but for some reason, I don’t know if I agree that the principle applies to rapists. It’s one thing to hurt yourself, to overeat, to cut your wrists, to smoke and drink yourself into oblivion. But it’s another thing to hurt someone else, and in Beaux’s case, multiple someone’s repeatedly. How does a person do that and then expect to be forgiven, expect to be treated like anyone else and given the same courtesy?

My heart aches for little Beaux. Despite this, I can’t bring myself to extend the same sympathy to the Beaux I know. I can’t view him as someone deserving of empathy, of forgiveness, someone capable of change, because I don’t view him as human anymore. He’s a monster.

I shake my head and force myself into a sitting position.

But what if he could be forgiven? What if he could change? What if this could all be over, and I could run to Julian and apologize for everything, and everything could be okay?

I find my phone amongst the covers and, using Star 67, dial Beaux’s number from memory. He answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” he asks. At first, I don’t say anything.

This was a mistake. What could a talk with Beaux possibly get me? Yet the look on Julian’s face when he left me doesn’t allow me to let Beaux hang up. I have to end this for Julian.

“Beaux,” I say suddenly.

“Emma?” he asks. He’s surprised to hear from