She blinked, her mind trying to catch up with what he had just said. Surely, she’d misheard him. Or maybe he was just rambling—after all, he was drunk. People said all kinds of nonsense when they had too much to drink.
She turned her head slightly, studying his face in the dim light. His expression was serious, almost too serious for someone who had been drinking all night. But still, the thought lingered—maybe he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.
Ellen let out a dry chuckle, more to break the tension than anything else. "You... you really need to sleep," she said softly, trying to keep her tone light. "You’re starting to talk nonsense now."
But Mason shook his head, his brow furrowing as he looked at her. "No, I’m not," he muttered. "I’m serious."
Ellen felt her stomach tighten, but before she could respond, Mason spoke again, his voice quieter this time, as if he was talking more to himself than to her.
"You know something funny happened tonight?" he asked, like he was carefully choosing each one. "The guys... they asked me for marriage advice." He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Marriage advice." His chuckle grew a little louder, but there was no real amusement in it.
Ellen frowned slightly, unsure why he found it so strange. "Why is that funny?" she asked, her voice cautious.
"Because..." Mason trailed off, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling. "Because I’m not even a good husband," he said quietly, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And they’re asking me for advice? What kind of joke is that?"
Ellen felt a pang in her chest at his words, she was shocked that Mason would think so poorly of himself. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but Mason continued before she could speak.
"I’m serious, Ellen," he muttered, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "I’m not good at this... at us." He let out another dry laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, look at me. I can’t even make you happy."
"Don’t say that," Ellen interrupted. She couldn’t bear to hear him talk like this, couldn’t let him tear himself down like that. "You don’t mean it."
Mason turned his head to look at her, his eyes tired but focused. "Don’t I?" he asked. "I mean... think about it. I’m always cold, distant. I make you sad... make you feel lonely. Isn’t that true?"
Ellen shook her head quickly, but before she could argue, Mason’s voice softened, his gaze dropping again. "Edrick was right, you know," he murmured. "I can’t even manage to say nice things to you... can’t even make you feel loved."
Ellen’s heart clenched at the mention of Edrick. She then took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Mason..." she began. She reached for his hand, trying to bring him back to her, back to the present. "You’re just drunk. You’re not thinking clearly right now."
Ellen stared at him, her heart beating a little faster in her chest. How had they gotten here?
Mason’s gaze softened as Ellen spoke, her light touch on his hand providing comfort, pulling him back from the heavy thoughts that swirled in his mind. For a moment, his expression wavered—confusion, regret, and something deeper passed through his eyes. He hesitated before lifting his hand, brushing his fingers softly against her cheek. His touch was warm, but shaky, as if he wasn’t sure whether he had the right to comfort her like this.
"I’m sorry," Mason whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. His thumb caressed her cheek in slow, tender circles. "I’m sorry you’re stuck in this marriage with me."
His words made Ellen’s heart ache more, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she covered his hand with hers, pressing his palm against her cheek, holding it there like a lifeline. She could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, the rough edges of his fingers, and the hesitance in his touch.
"Mason, no," she said softly, shaking her head. "I’m not trapped. I’m not stuck. I want this." Her voice was firm, though a part of her was unsure if he truly believed her. But the words came from her heart, and she needed him to hear them.
For a long moment, Mason didn’t say anything. His brow furrowed as if he was trying to process what she had said, to make sense of it in his own mind. His hand lingered on her cheek, his eyes searching hers for something—some kind of truth or comfort.
Ellen held her breath, waiting for him to respond, to understand that she was here because she chose to be.
Then, Mason’s expression changed again, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked away, as though something else had wormed its way into his thoughts. "You’re sure?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more hesitant. "You’re not... thinking about Edrick’s offer?"
The question caught Ellen off guard. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her grip on his hand loosened just slightly. Edrick’s offer? She hadn’t even thought about it since that day—had barely given it a second thought. But clearly, Mason had. The fact that it lingered in his mind, that it had grown into something bigger, something heavier, made her heart ache.
She paused to collect herself, swallowing hard before she spoke. "No, Mason," she answered. "You don’t need to worry about that."
Mason’s eyes met hers again, and for a moment, Ellen saw something fragile in them—vulnerability, maybe even fear. His hand fell from her cheek, and he rested it against the bed between them, fingers curling into the fabric. He nodded slightly, though he still looked uncertain, as if he wanted to believe her but wasn’t quite sure he could.
"Mason," she called him softly. "I’m not thinking about Edrick. I’m thinking about you. About us." She shifted closer to him, their faces only inches apart now. "I chose this marriage. I want this. I want you."