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‘That you do care about me?’ she said wearily, but the last lingering flicker of hope had already guttered out. He probably did care about her. But it would never be enough. Not if she had to beg him to admit it.
‘For God’s sake, Maddy, stop being melodramatic. Of course I care about you. Believe me, the sex wouldn’t be as good as it is if I didn’t.’
She let out a hollow laugh. How could she have been so blind? So foolish? Hadn’t she learnt anything from watching her mother go through this same charade throughout her childhood? Debasing herself to get something from her father which he had never been capable of giving her.
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ she murmured, incredulous at her own stupidity. She blinked furiously, struggling not to let the misery engulf her.
The whole time they’d been together in Cornwall, they’d never even gone out together. All they’d really done was make love in almost every spare minute they had. In the past few weeks, ever since she’d realised how de
ep her feelings were, she’d deluded herself into believing that those long, lazy, seductive evenings had been a sign of their growing intimacy, their burgeoning love. But they hadn’t been. Not for him.
‘Don’t get what?’
‘That I’ve fallen in love with you, Rye.’
He dropped her arm as if he’d been burned. ‘That’s insane. Why would you do that?’
Because I thought you needed me. As much as I needed you.
The words burned in her throat but she refused to say them. What would be the point? She’d seen the flash of horror in his eyes at her admission and all the hopes and dreams she’d nurtured so foolishly had finally died.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered through jerking breaths, her lungs screaming with the effort to hold back the flood of tears.
He’d used her, but she’d let herself be used. And for that she had to take some of the blame.
But, as she turned to leave, he clamped his hand onto her wrist. ‘You don’t love me, Maddy. You just think you do. You don’t even know me.’
She pulled her hand out of his. ‘I know you better than you think.’ She drew a gulping breath. ‘I know you use sex to replace intimacy. I know you refuse to let me get close to you. And I know you’d rather push me away than admit you need me.’
She walked to the door on unsteady legs.
‘I’m not pushing you away,’ he shouted. ‘I want you to stay, damn it.’
Keep breathing. You can get through this.
‘Maddy, come back here. Did you hear what I said? I want you to stay.’
She opened the door, refused to look back at him. ‘And I want you to love me,’ she said. ‘But I know you can’t.’
Ignoring the angry shout as he tried to follow her, she picked up her skirts and fled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADDY waved the local cabbie off, so exhausted she felt as if her bones were about to melt.
Seeing a dim glow coming from the cottage’s living room, she thanked whatever stroke of fate had made her forget to turn off one of the lights when she’d left in such a hurry what felt like a lifetime ago—but had only been sixteen days.
Walking into the empty house now was going to be hard enough; doing it in darkness would probably destroy what little control she had left. She’d spent the night in Cal’s spare room in Hampstead, fielding his barrage of questions about what the hell had happened to her and why she had only a ball gown on and no luggage. The ten-hour journey home on two different trains wearing the too-tight sweater dress one of Cal’s many girlfriends had left behind hadn’t helped to stabilise her mood one bit.
Reaching for the key tucked into the eaves that she left in case of emergency, she resolutely refused to worry about how she was going to get her stuff back from Rye’s penthouse. Or how she was going to explain her disappearing act to Ruth. Surely in a couple of days she’d have recovered enough of her composure to contact Ruth and Rye’s PA. Contacting Rye wasn’t an option. Her lip quivered and she bit into it.
Nearly home. Nearly safe. Don’t you dare fall to pieces now. Not when you’ve managed to keep it together this long.
One thing she’d learned from this whole experience—she was stronger than she had ever imagined. If she could survive this much humiliation and heartache, she could survive anything.
She searched for the key for another few seconds with no luck. Then tried the door out of habit. To her astonishment, it opened.
The fact that she’d been foolish enough to leave her front door unlocked for over a fortnight didn’t astonish her for long, though. Wasn’t it just another sign of how comprehensively she’d failed herself over the past month?
