Page 77 of The Mister I Married

“I was. I am.” She sighed. “At least, I am not unhappy. But I am also not myself. And I cannot have that. I will not.”

Alex shook his head before walking to the window and gazing out at the grounds, seeing none of it. “I don’t understand this. Just yesterday, on our walk, you seemed so happy and then your family arrived and you…” He faced her again. “Did something happen? Was something said that brought on this change?”

Her gaze dipped to the bed. “No. Nothing was said.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Emmy.”

Her jaw clenched. “Does it really matter what was said? All that matters is that I must leave.”

Must. She must leave. Why? What was said that had scared her so?

He crossed the room to stand before her, his hands itching to take her by the shoulders, but he resisted the impulse, uncertain whether he would shake her or embrace her. “It matters to me,” he said evenly, though his body urged him to shout the words instead.

She drew her lower lip between her teeth as if stalling for time, clearly reluctant to answer him. “Olivia saw us yesterday, as we were returning from our walk. She said we…” She paused to clear her throat. “She said we looked like a couple in love.”

A beat of silence followed, thick, unwieldy, as Alex’s heart began to race. “Did she?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm.

“I explained to her, of course, that we cannot possibly be in love because this was not a love match.” Emmy’s speech had quickened, her hands fussing needlessly with the clothing laid out on her bed. “We know why we agreed to marry, and love had nothing to do with it.”

Alex watched her for a moment, a smile turning his lips, though there was no mirth in it. Only self-mockery. “It is true that I did not marry you because I loved you,” he said, drawing her gaze to his. “But I am in love with you now.”

She seemed to freeze, staring at him, her gray eyes wide with surprise. Perhaps even panic.

“I love you, Emmy,” he said, though why he felt the need to repeat it, he did not know. He wasn’t usually a glutton for punishment.

“You can’t love me,” she said, fidgeting with the folded chemise again. “I don’t want you to love me. And I certainly don’t want to love you.”

Alex drew in a shallow breath, his chest tight, his stomach in knots. He tried to think of something that would change her mind, and make her feel as he did, but nothing came to him.

Perhaps it was just as well. Perhaps there was nothing he could say.

Drawing in a shallow breath, he nodded once, and said, “I understand.”

And with his heart in his throat, he quit the room.