AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Dissolving our marriage is merely a formality now,’ she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. She couldn’t argue about this now—not when she was still so close to breaking point. ‘In case your lawyer hasn’t told you, I’ve filed new papers,’ she added. Maybe this was simply a misunderstanding. ‘There’s nothing in them you should find objectionable. I trust you not to sue for the shares. You’ve got what you wanted.’
‘I know about the new papers. I’m not signing those either.’
‘But... Why not?’ Was he trying to torture her now? Prolong her agony? What had she done to deserve this punishment?
‘Because I don’t want to,’ he said, but he didn’t look belligerent or annoyed any more. His features had softened. ‘Because you matter to me.’
‘No, I don’t—not really,’ she said, suddenly feeling desperately weary. And sad.
Did he think she wanted his pity? Maybe he was trying to tell her he cared about her. But it was far too little and way too late.
‘Don’t tell me how I feel, Red.’
‘Then please don’t call me Red.’
The sweet nickname sliced through all her defences, reminding her of how little she’d once been willing to settle for. And how she’d nearly persuaded herself to do so again.
He walked round the desk, crowding into her space. She stiffened and tried to step back, but got caught between the chair and the desk when his finger reached out to touch a curl of hair.
‘I came here to ask you to forgive me,’ he said. ‘For being such a monumental jerk about pretty much everything.’
She drew her head back, her heart shattering, the panic rising into her throat. ‘I can’t do this again. You have to leave.’
* * *
Dane looked at Xanthe’s face. Her valiant expression was a mask of determination, but the stark evidence of the pain he’d caused was clear in the shadows under her eyes that perfectly applied make-up failed to disguise. And he felt like the worst kind of coward.
He’d spent the last fortnight battling his own fear. Had come all this way finally to confront it. He had to risk everything now. Tell her the truth. The whole truth.
‘I don’t want to dissolve our marriage. I never did.’
It was the hardest thing he had ever had to say. Harder even than the pleas he’d made as an eight-year-old in that broken-down trailer.
‘I love you. I think I always have.’
She stilled, the pants of her breathing punctuating the silence. The sunlight glowed on the red-gold curls of her hair. But then the quick burst of euphoria that he’d finally had the guts to tell her what he should have told her a decade ago died.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she murmured. She looked wary and confused. But not happy. ‘If you had ever loved me,’ she said, her voice fragile but firm, ‘you would be able to trust me. And you never have.’
He felt a tiny sliver of hope enter his chest, and he who had never been an optimist, nor a romantic, never been one to explain or justify or even to address his feelings knew he had one slim chance. And no matter what happened he wasn’t going to blow it.
‘I do trust you. I just didn’t know it.’
‘Don’t talk in riddles. You didn’t trust me over the miscarriage—you thought I’d had an abortion. And you didn’t trust me not to get pregnant again. For God’s sake, you even searched my toiletries.’
‘I know. But that was down to me and stuff that happened long before I met you. I can see that now.’
‘What stuff that happened?’
Oh, hell.
He might have guessed Xanthe wouldn’t take his word for it.
He stood back, not sure he could explain himself with any clarity but knowing he would have to if they were going to stand any chance at all.
‘You asked me once a very long time ago what happened to my mother.’
‘You said she died when you were a child—like mine.’
