by Billie Green
She drew in a shaky breath. "I hope so. Bill. That's one of the things I haven't come to grips with yet. I know, deep in my soul, that you deserve better than me."
His arms tightened around her. "And I know, deep in my soul, that there isn't another woman on earth I want or need. There isn't another woman who could make me happy. So if I can't have you.
I'll have no one," he whispered. "Because It's you I love, Lila."
She felt her mouth go dry. Clenching her fists, she said, "I. . . Bill, I—you see, I really do—" She broke off, closing her eyes in defeat.
'That's the other thing I haven't come to grips with," she said tightly. "I want you. I need you desperately. If I lost you I would bleed to death from the heart . . . but the idea of love still terrifies me."
Bill pulled her back into his arms, holding on to her with all his strength. She could call it whatever she wanted to call it, but from where he was standing, it felt like love. It felt a lot like love.
"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "Don't even think about it. On our fiftieth wedding anniversary well gather all the children and grandchildren around us. We'll put the problem to them, and they can help you decide whether what you feel for me is love or not."
He framed her face with both hands, feeling his chest expand painfully at the depth of emotion in her beautiful golden eyes. For him. All for him.
"Until then," he whispered hoarsely, "I'll hold you, Lila, and I'll love you. And I'll wait."
