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“Yes, dreadful,” she repeated, stepping close and jabbing a finger in the air, “and hurtful.”
He took a step back, affronted. “I am neither.”
“Yes, you are, and you enjoy being a beast, too. Now I realize you were left with three children and a broken heart, but face life, and face the pain and let your heart heal. Let your children’s hearts heal. Move forward without this anger, because right now I feel sorry for Vittoria. I pity any woman you want to bring into this family because you are not ready. You are not ready for a new wife, and you are not ready to let go of the past.”
“The children—”
“This isn’t about the children! This is about you. This is about you being angry at God, and angry with yourself, because you are not God and you couldn’t be there and you couldn’t save Galeta. Heavens, you have serious issues and you need to deal with them.”
Rage swept through him. His hands balled at his sides. “How dare you talk to me this way?”
She threw her head back, her eyes flashing fire, not in the least bit intimidated by his roar. “How dare others not talk to you this way? They do you no favors. They’re hurting you by keeping the truth from you.”
“I’ve had enough. In the morning you will remove the tree—”
“No. That will not happen.”
“If you don’t dispose of it, I will.”
“If you touch my tree, I am gone. And if you choose to fire me, that’s fine, too, because I never wanted to be in your employ in the first place. I came here to do you a favor, and whether you like it or not, I am your equal in every way.”
“You’re being paid. That makes you my employee.”
“Keep your awful money. I don’t want it. I never wanted it. The only thing I ever wanted from you was respect, and it was the one thing you have refused to give me.”
“You’re hysterical!”
“Not hysterical, just honest. I’m done holding back. I’m done worrying about your ego. You have far too much ego. Marcu, you are a man, not a god, or a demigod. You are a human being, and because you’re human you make mistakes, and you are making mistakes right now, and that would be okay if you could recognize it and work on it but you won’t.”
“Are you finished?” he gritted.
“No. I’m not going to tiptoe around you, and I’m not going to pretend that you are right, when you’re not. I’m not afraid of you, and I don’t care what you think of me. It’s not as if I’m going to lose your good opinion. Marcu, I know what you think of me. I know exactly what you and your father have always thought of me. It’s why I left Palermo. It’s why I left all of you. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t worthy.”
The words came faster and faster and he sensed she’d been keeping them bottled up for years, and now she could no longer hold them back.
“I know that I was kind of woman you’d take to your bed,” she added, “but you’d never respect enough to marry. I was the kind of woman who’d fulfil your physical desires but never win your heart—”
“You’re talking nonsense now,” he snapped, his own patience tested, his own control threatened.
“No. I heard you. I heard you and your father the night he found us in your bedroom. I heard what he said when he pulled you out into the hallway. He asked if you were being careful, and if you’d used protection, because you couldn’t be stupid and fall for my schemes as I was not the kind of woman you’d ever marry.” Monet’s voice quavered and she reached up to press a trembling hand to her forehead. After a moment she continued. “I heard every word he said, just as I’m sure he intended me to. He wanted me to know that I was not the kind of woman you could take out socially. He wanted me to hear that I was a whore like my mother—”
“He did not use the word whore,” Marcu interrupted gruffly, stunned that she’d heard the conversation in the hall all those years ago. He hadn’t known she’d heard what his father had said, hadn’t realized that his father’s voice had carried so clearly. No wonder she was so hurt and angry. She’d bottled up the pain for years and now it was spilling out of her in a torrent of words.
“You’re right. He used a different word, a Sicilian swear word that implied almost the same thing, but what it boils down to is that I wasn’t acceptable due to being a bastard.”
“My father wasn’t trying to hurt you, he was trying to protect me as I was the oldest, and his heir.”
“He was your father. He was doing what he thought was best,” she said, lips curving up, contradicting the bright sheen of tears in her eyes. “I guess it was a blessing in disguise. It proved beneficial to hear his thoughts—and yours—clarifying many things for me, and allowing me to make a break from you.”
“He hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“You hurt me, and you’re not sorry.” Her chin jerked up and tears clung to her lower lashes. “But in hindsight, I’m glad you didn’t defend me. It was important to hear that conversation and discover you had no feelings for me. It was a giant wake-up call, one that I desperately needed as it was time for me to stop living my life to please the Ubertos. That conversation freed me, which is why I can stand here and look at you and not feel inferior.”
Marcu didn’t know what to do with her. He didn’t know how to stop these words because they were barbed and brutal and coming at him so fast. Is this why she’d left first thing in the morning? Is this truly the reason she’d fled the palazzo?
“You should have told me you’d heard him,” he said tautly. “You should have confronted me—”
“And what would you have done? Denied it? Told me I’d misheard? That I didn’t understand? Marcu, I understood perfectly then, and I understand now, but none of that matters. What matters is the family here, in this castello. It’s time for you to deal with your grief so you can take care of your children. You need to love them. You need to love them so well that you don’t need a woman to come in and fix things for you. Because you don’t need a wife. You don’t need a new mother for them. You just need to forgive yourself for not being there when Galeta died. And you could be an amazing father if you stopped looking back and just focused on the present. Your children are adorable. They’re smart and kind and funny. They are perfect. And they are still so young. All they need is someone to love them and laugh with them. Why can’t that be you?”
Her words were relentless, sharp and heavy, and they were piercing the armor he wore to keep from feeling too much. “I think you’ve said enough for one night,” he growled.
“Then leave. This is my room. You’re free to go at any time.”
“You’re trying to provoke me.”
“You’re refusing to see what’s in front of your face!”
He stalked toward her. “You, you mean?”
Every time he took a step forward, she took a step back. “No, your children,” she snapped.
She was skirting the furniture now, and moving closer to the wall, but he wasn’t about to let her escape. “You’re making this about the children, but it’s not,” he answered. “You’re angry with me, angry that I didn’t defend you to my father that night—”
“I was angry then, and hurt, but that’s behind us. I’m here trying to help you now. It’s what you wanted. It’s why you insisted I come.”
“To follow my instructions,” he said, finally cornering her. There was nowhere for her to run and she stood facing him, her back to the plaster wall, her expression mutinous. “Not challenge me at every turn.”
“That’s because you’ve become lazy, and soft—”
“Soft?” he repeated incredulously.
Her golden-brown eyes flashed at him, her lips twisting scornfully. “Yes, soft. You don’t want to do the hard work. You want an easy fix, but you’re going to be disappointed. You’re going to regret this down the road.”
“I’m already regretting having you here.”
“Send me home in the morning then. We’ll both be happier.”
She was
tiny, barely reaching his shoulder, and she practically vibrated with fury and emotion and he, who avoided emotion, felt drawn to her light and heat just as a moth was drawn to a flame.
He wanted to touch her...kiss her...possess her...and yet he’d promised her he wouldn’t. He’d promised her that as long as he was pursuing another woman, he wouldn’t touch her, and he was determined to keep that vow. But that didn’t stop him from moving closer, and leaning in, his hands against the wall over her head, and his body angling over hers. There was space between them. A sliver of space. Just enough to honor his promise, but not enough to give either of them peace of mind.
There was no peace of mind with her here.
There was no peace of mind since she’d left him all those years ago.
“You promised you wouldn’t touch me,” she said breathlessly.
He heard the catch in her voice, as well as the quick rise and fall of her breasts. She wasn’t immune to him. No, she was just as aware of him as he was of her.
“Not going to touch you,” he said, dropping his head a quarter inch, her mouth so close now that he could feel the heat shimmering between them. The heat was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. He felt almost drugged. “Just standing here.”
Monet swallowed hard. He could see her smooth column of a throat work, and the muscle in her jaw tighten. Her eyes glowed, flecks of gold against a darker amber. Her lips were full and soft and far too tempting.
To kiss her properly, to kiss her thoroughly...
“I know what you want to do,” she said, her voice pitched low, the tone so husky he thought immediately of sex and sin.
He craved sex and sin.
He craved the forbidden.
“So do I, but I haven’t, have I?” he answered, a carnal rasp in his voice as he bent his elbows, lowering his body, dropping his head so that his mouth hovered over hers, feeling the warmth of her breath on his lips, and smelling the scent of her shampoo and skin. This was torture. There was no other word for it. He stared at her mouth and the soft lushness of her lower lip, fascinated by the shape. It was decadent and sensual and he wanted to claim it...and her.
