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“I hurt you, and I can never take that back,” I say, my voice softening. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I came to tell you the truth.”
Emberly snorts. “You had multiple chances to speak, but you chose to lie.”
“And I regret it every day because I lost the one thing more precious than my family’s stolen legacy.”
“What’s that?” she says with a sneer.
“You.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go back to New Alderney. Nobody here wants your bullshit.”
My gaze wants to drop to her swollen belly, but I keep it on her face. The last thing I want Emberly to think is that I’ve slithered out of the woodwork because of our baby.
“Ask me anything. Anything at all,” I rasp. “I swear to god I’ll tell you the truth.”
Her nostrils flare, and her lips twist with contempt. “Fine. Who bought that painting Mr. Lubelli sold in the auction?”
I flinch. “Emberly?”
She turns to meet my eyes, her gaze venomous. “Who bid for my painting?”
My lips part, and I’m about to tell her I don’t know, but I clench my teeth. “I paid Lubelli to make a show of selling it. The bidders were shills.”
Emberly closes her eyes. “And all his other purchases?”
“Those were mine.”
“Right.” She blows out a long breath. “You once mentioned knowing a man who sold counterfeit art on the black market. Was that him?”
“Yeah.”
“Figures,” she mutters. “You two must have been laughing your asses off, making me think my art was worth something.”
“It wasn’t like that, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
“Emberly, I love your paintings.”
“Oh, yeah?” She asks with a laugh. “And what do you know about modern art? Everything in your mansion is from centuries ago, if they aren’t fakes.”
My jaw clenches, and I swallow hard. She’s right on all points, but I’m not going to debate the family’s art collection when there’s so much more at stake.
“I’m apologizing. Truly, sincerely, and without reservation. For everything. For lying. For hurting you. For being the kind of selfish prick too blinded by revenge to notice you’re the goddess I needed to worship.”
“Don’t waste your time,” she says.
“I love everything about you, and that includes your art.”
She scoffs.
“I love your view of the world. I love how you explored the grounds and found beautiful things I never noticed. The day you took me to Simon’s Pond was the most relaxing I’d had since I was a kid. And that painting you created made me feel like Apollo?—”
“Roman, stop,” she says, sounding weary. “I understand why you did it.”
My throat thickens. “What do you mean?”
“I even get why you held me in such contempt?—”
