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He will never choose me.
I can never ask him to.
“We can never be,” he says softly from where he sits.
“I know.” I lift to sit as he slowly stands and picks up my dress, handing it to me. Gathering his boxers, he glances over his shoulder, his eyes filled to the brim with guilt. “I can’t make you any promises.”
“I haven’t asked for any.”
“This ends now. It has to, Cecelia. It has to.”
“I know.”
It’s anger that takes hold as he jerks on his briefs. I brace myself for the pain of his absence, for more heartache as he retrieves his shirt from the ground. I’ve had my heart broken before, I’m all too familiar with the feeling, but there’s a raging now in my chest, with a strength I never imagined possible.
Briefly, he stops dressing, staring at me with the undershirt around his neck before pushing his arms through. Tortured eyes meet mine, and I see his defiance, not against me, but against the stars lining up against us.
Utter fucking disaster.
“I don’t want to fucking leave. I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to hate myself. I don’t want to blame you. I’m tired of being angry at them, but damn them and…damn you, Cecelia, you were never supposed to know them, you were never,” his face twists with fury as my heart seizes, “you were…” He jerks me to stand, pulling me against him, anger rolling off his frame, anguish in his eyes.
“Yours. I was always supposed to be yours,” I say as he nods and crushes me with his kiss.
“Tell me about her,” I say as Tobias folds his hands over my stomach, peering up at me. He’s gloriously naked, his beautiful ass in full view behind him. Even with his declaration in the garden that we can never be, he’s prolonged that decision. Since then, we’ve spent our day christening the house in new memories; talking, eating, playing chess, swimming, and alternating between fucking and making love. We’re both in denial, refusing to deal with the inevitable.
“Please, I want to know.”
“She was…beautiful, funny, full of life. Headstrong and strict when she needed to be but surprisingly gentle. She loved her wine and taught me to cook. She was such a good cook. In the kitchen is where we spent most of our time together. She could always make me laugh, no matter what mood I was in. She was my best friend…my everything.”
“And your stepfather?”
“Beau was my father.”
“Okay. Don’t suppose he was moody?”
This earns me a look that has me laughing.
“I have to be just as cunning,” he defends without apology, “just as ruthless, and you know why.”
“Are you saying there’s some sort of charming flip personality? Do let me see it.”
He slaps the side of my ass and I yelp. I swear my heart stops when he smiles at me.
“Jesus, Frenchman. I think I’ve broken you.”
He exhales and drops his head on my chest. “I’m human, Cecelia. I didn’t start this with intent to be…the way I have to be. I have to know a criminal mind to think like one. I have to command respect, loyalty.”
“Well, you seem to have succeeded there.”
“There’s no other way to go about it. But that’s not why I’m in this. I don’t need power. It’s a necessity. And I didn’t go into this looking to get rich. That’s also a necessity, the cost of the ante. I’m just as disgusted by some of the human products of money and power as you are, but it has to be a fair fight in order for there to be a fight.”
I swallow. “I know.”
“I’ve kept a lot of secrets in my life, easily, and without a second thought, but with my mother, it was damned near impossible to lie to her. She had this tone she used, and it worked like a truth serum on me. Within minutes she could get me to break. I thank God she’s the only one. And sometimes I’m grateful that she’s not here anymore to get the confessions out of me. Because I’m not sure she would want to claim me as her son if I was honest with her about the things I’ve done.”
His eyes flit with emotion before they gloss over in thought.
“My mother swore my real father was a horrible man, but I think, maybe, he was just misunderstood.”
