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Think.
She couldn’t walk away from their marriage—ironically those vows did bind them for another few months—but she could change the terms of the deal. That was a language Stefan did understand. Because she couldn’t have any sort of relationship with him—not now she knew she loved him.
‘I don’t agree,’ she said simply. ‘Love doesn’t have to give abusive power. Look at Sunita and Frederick. Look at Marcus and April.’
‘That is the choice they have made. It’s not a choice I agree with.’
‘And that’s your right. Just like it’s your right and choice not to engage with Frederick. But you’re missing out. Yes, you won’t get hurt, but you won’t experience closeness either.’ Another deep breath and she forced herself to continue. ‘On that note, I think we need to cool it.’
His eyes registered shock, surprise and a fleeting emotion that looked like hurt, and for an instant she nearly changed her mind. But Stefan did not love her; he would never love her. Right now, she had to protect herself.
‘Why?’ he asked.
Another deep breath. ‘There’s an article about us.’ Her gaze flicked to the laptop. ‘It’s on there, if you want to look.’
Bracing herself, she waited as he flipped the screen up, scanned the article. Then his grey eyes came up to study her.
Hold it together. She wouldn’t, couldn’t allow the humiliation of letting him know what a fool she had been.
‘It made me realise that I do want the real thing one day—a real marriage with love. So what we are doing feels wrong to me. I want to call it a day now, instead of in a few days. No big deal, right?’
Stefan’s expression was unreadable, though she could see the tension in the jut of his jaw, the almost unnatural stillness of his body.
‘No big deal,’ he agreed, his voice without any discernible emotion.
No big deal. A hollow feeling of being bereft scooped her insides. She’d never feel his touch again, never hold him, never wake up in the crook of his arm, never walk hand in hand with him. Never... The word that rhymed with for ever and it meant the opposite. Her heartache deepened and her whole being scrambled to find some semblance of pride.
He must not suspect the truth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STEFAN EYED HIS brother over the piles of reports that littered the table between them, tried to focus on the figures before him. Lord knew they were important. The community project had grown and developed over the past few days of discussion. Days when they had found common beliefs and causes, a mutual desire to help those less fortunate, to give something back.
Yet despite the importance of the documents on the table it took all his willpower to focus, to try and block the images of Holly that invaded his brain wherever he was.
It shouldn’t matter—he shouldn’t miss her so damn much. Shouldn’t keep wanting to talk to her, tell her about the project. Shouldn’t miss the warmth of her body next to his in the night. Shouldn’t miss the sound of her laughter, the way she swirled a tendril of her hair, the tantalising Holly-ness of her.
Frederick closed the lid of his computer. ‘I think we should finish up for today.’ A hesitation and then, ‘I know Holly is at Il Boschetto di Sole for a few days—I hope her father is OK?’
‘He’s fine.’ His illness was a cover story to explain Holly’s absence.
‘Sunita’s out for the evening. Would you like to come back to the palace? Have a beer...spend some time with Amil. I know he’d like that.’ Another pause. ‘And so would I.’
Stefan opened his mouth, closed it again. He realised the idea appealed—that the idea of a return to the hotel where Holly’s absence was like an actual physical pain didn’t.
‘That would be good. Thank you.’
Twenty minutes later he entered Frederick and Sunita’s home, watching as Amil hurtled across the floor away from the nanny and into Frederick’s outstretched arms with a cry of, ‘Daddy!’
Stefan stood still, aware of a pang that smote him. A pang of what? Envy? Surely not—this was exactly what he didn’t want.
Frederick thanked the nanny before she left and then grinned at his son. ‘Today Uncle Stefan is here for your bath.’
Amil beamed at him and Stefan’s heart gave a funny little twist. Twisted further as he ended up in the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, sitting by the tub where Amil sat, four rubber ducks bobbing in the water.
‘Sing the song, Uncle Stefan.’
Stefan shook his head. ‘I don’t know it, Amil. I’m sorry.’
