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‘Then why did you?’
‘Because I knew you and Frederick weren’t bonding and I wanted to give you a chance to sort it out, to bring you closer together, to show you how much you have in common. I thought you could both let go of the past by doing something worthwhile together now. If you can let go of the past then you have a future.’
She could only pray that he didn’t read the subtext she was seeing herself. Damn it, she wanted a future with this man. Wanted him to decide love was for him after all.
‘The past makes us who we are,’ he said. ‘The past matters—you can’t just let go of it. But you can learn from it.’
‘But maybe sometimes the lessons we learn from it are wrong. Sunita told me that your father pitted you and Frederick against each other; it was Alphonse who fostered the dislike. You and Frederick can overcome that.’
His grey eyes darkened, and bleak shadows chased across them as he shook his head. ‘If it were as easy as that perhaps we could. But it isn’t. In any case, I don’t want closeness with Frederick.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s not my way, Holly. I prefer to walk alone. I like the control it gives me to do what I want to do without answering to anyone else.’
The certainty in his voice was unassailable, and his words made her heart ache as she began to accept the futility of her love.
But maybe she could make him see reason.
‘You can still have control and be close to others—you would still have choices.’ Deep breath. ‘I know how much seeing your mother suffer must have hurt you, and I know it must feel like it was your fault...that loving you resulted in hurt for her.’
‘It didn’t feel like that. That is what happened. Fact, not feeling.’
‘But all love doesn’t have to be like that. Your mother wouldn’t want you to give up on closeness or love. I know that.’
‘Then she would be wrong. She had one life, Holly. One life—and most of it was miserable because of her love for me. She was chained to an abusive man who used her love for me to humiliate her, to make her life hell. Her love for me gave my father power. Love gives power.’
Oh, God. As her brain joined the dots all she wanted to do was hold him, but as she moved towards him she saw him move imperceptibly backwards and she stopped.
‘And your love for her...it gave your father power over you?’
‘Yes.’ His voice was flat. ‘And he used that power. He made me pay dearly for every visit to my mother. He decided her love for me had weakened me, made me less “princely”. So he devised a regime—a training programme. If I adhered to it, if I achieved his goals, I’d get time with my mother—as well as becoming a real prince, of course.’
The sneer, the bitterness, made her ache even as she was appalled at Alphonse’s actions. It twisted her insides. The image of a young boy, desperately missing his mother, being put through such a regime made her feel ill.
‘But even then he changed the rules. One day the regime was over. I’d failed and my mother was gone. Exiled.’
‘But...why?’ It seemed impossible to fathom how anyone could do that.
‘He’d met his next wife. She wanted rid of Eloise. He wanted it to look as though she’d abandoned me and he was remarrying to give his children a “proper” mother. It worked for him. And love still gave him power—over both of us. My mother went without a fight because she was scared of what he might do to me. As for me, there was nothing I could do—I’d already failed her.’
‘No!’ The word was torn from her, and now she did move towards him—didn’t care if he rejected her. She stepped into his space and put her arms around him. ‘That’s not true.’
But she could see exactly why his younger self had thought that—knew that deep down, despite his adult understanding, he still believed it. His body was hard, unyielding, no trace of the man she’d shared so much passion with, the man who had held her, whose arms she had woken up in these past three mornings.
‘Just like it’s not my fault that my mothe
r didn’t—couldn’t—love me. That wasn’t my failure. I was a child. So were you. You didn’t fail your mother.’
She held her breath, and then hope deflated as he shrugged.
‘Whether it’s true or not isn’t the point. I don’t want closeness. Closeness leads to love. Love is not for me—I won’t give anyone that power again. Hell, I don’t want that power over anyone either.’
That told her. Any not yet formed idea of telling him of her love died before it could even take root. She could not, would not, repeat the past. He was right—the past was there to be learned from.
Her mother, her father, his mother, his father, had all been caught in the coils of unrequited love. It had caused bitterness and misery and she was damned if she would walk that path. Or do that to him. Because if he even so much as suspected she’d fallen for him he would be appalled, and she couldn’t stand the humiliation of that.
She loved him—he didn’t love her. She would not do what her mother had done: hang on for years, becoming progressively more bitter, hoping in perpetuity that he would miraculously change his mind and love her. The only path—the only sensible path—was to walk away. At speed, with as much dignity as possible.
