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We stared at each other through the mirror. I could physically see the weight of the unknown pain he carried.
My answer hadn’t changed all that much. “Let me in, Drake. Let me and Jameson into your life. Be human,” I begged.
He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. “Charlotte . . .” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can, after what I’ve done. I don’t deserve a family of my own.”
I spun around, holding on to the half-buttoned dress, lest I completely expose myself to him. “What do you think you’ve done? Everyone deserves a family.”
His eyes flew open; the pain was now burning in them. “I don’t.” He was curt and to the point.
“Yes, you do.” I refused to believe him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spewed, while he stepped away from me.
“Please don’t go. Just tell me the truth. Whatever it is, I’ll help you. We’ll get through it together.”
He placed more distance between us. “No, Charlotte. You can’t fix this one. I won’t let you.”
“Why?” I cried.
“Because I’m a terrible person. I need you to believe that.”
“I wish I could.” A solitary tear leaked out of the corner of my eye.
“Someday you will,” he said, as defeated as I had ever heard anyone sound. He glanced over me from head to toe. “What I wouldn’t give to dance with you at the ball.” Without another word, he turned around and strode out the door like his demons were chasing him.
I plopped down on the cold, hard floor, in a sea of tulle, feeling like Cinderella after her fairy godmother’s magic had worn off. But instead of my dress being tattered and torn, it was my heart. It hurt so much that I couldn’t cry. It was as if a void had overtaken me. It was as if my soul had let go and she mourned for her mate.
The magic was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
“One, two, three, go!” Jameson shouted.
Izzy, Jameson, and I took off running in our socks. Just the three of us. Our “guests” were upstairs. Drake apparently wasn’t feeling well. Right. The jerk hadn’t even come down for dinner. It was probably better that way. I didn’t need Jameson to like him or get to know him better, knowing the man didn’t think he could choose us. Martez hadn’t come down either, after Izzy had told him she was still working through things after her divorce and wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. I had a feeling Izzy and I were headed for the Jane Austen life of spinsterhood. I mean, our names were straight out of one of her books. It was destiny. That made it sound much more palatable. Who was I to interfere with fate?
We all slid, and Izzy must have felt so sorry for me, she didn’t try to hold me back. After I had extricated myself from the perfect dress, I’d been walking around like a zombie, feeling like half a person. That soul mate stuff was serious business. I had even googled what happens when soul mates are torn apart. Of course, the world wide web was indecisive. I was either going to reinvent and rejuvenate my soul, or my soul was going to do everything possible to hook up with Drake’s, making me miserable until I died. I was really hoping for the first option.
Then there was George. He believed in a third option—Drake and I would get our happily ever after. I was thinking of taking him in for a CAT scan next week. These delusions of his couldn’t be healthy. Especially for my heart, which was why I wasn’t going to entertain the thought, ever.
Jameson squealed while he glided across the polished wood floor. That sound did more to heal my heart than anything could—even thinking that Izzy’s theory about Drake was right. She guessed he was part of the mafia and he couldn’t have a family, to protect Jameson and me from his “family.” I had to say, she was awfully gleeful when she spoke about turning him in to the authorities. I think she really thought Drake was a gun for hire or something like that. That’s just what I wanted to tell Jameson someday. “Sorry, honey, but your dad killed people and now he’s buried under twenty feet of concrete. Don’t worry, though, it shouldn’t be hereditary.”
As much fun as that theory was, I was positive Drake’s issues did have something to do with his family. His real family, not his crime one. The way he rarely spoke of them, and how he hadn’t let me go to Jameson’s funeral with him, hinted at something deeper. Never once had I seen his mother or father. He barely even acknowledged that he had parents. Add that to some of the things he had said in his deepest grief, about how Jameson had wanted Drake to make the things right he hadn’t been brave enough to mend. When I’d asked what he’d meant, he went right back to inhuman mode. Yet, I knew then, like I know now, his grief runs deeper than just losing his brother. Well, now he could add Jameson and me to the list of things he’d lost. And it was his loss.
