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“I didn’t want to hurt her,” he corrected.
“But you hurt me.”
His eyes widened and she looked away, the breeze lifting her hair, pulling it across her face. He lifted a hand and brushed it, tucking it behind her ear. “I know.”
Pain sliced through Elodie. She took a small step backwards, to break the spell of their conversation, the proximity of their bodies.
His eyes were locked to hers in a silent but unmistakable battle of the wills.
She refused to look away, but her anger was still there, pushing at her flesh from the inside out. “How come you didn’t tell me who you were?”
“My marriage wasn’t relevant.”
“Liar,” she scoffed, shaking her head, forcing herself to whisper when she remembered Jack was right by them. “And that’s not what I mean. Why didn’t you tell me who you are?” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You gave me your first name, not your last.”
His expression didn’t shift but something in his eyes twisted, a darkness, a coldness, a doubt, that pricked at her belly. “That didn’t seem relevant either.”
She glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“No?”
“I’ve had a long time to think about this. Three years, in fact.” Her eyes sparked with his, hurt in the depths of hers. “You went out of your way not to tell me who you were. At any point you could have mentioned your family, your job, the fact you’re one of the richest men in the world.” She swallowed back her resentment. “You didn’t, and I think it’s because you didn’t want me to know. A simple google search of your name brought up thousands of photos of you and your wife. It was likely that if I knew you were a Montebello I would have put two and two together and realised you were married.”
He watched her with a stony silence.
“You chose not to tell me who you were because you thought I might r
ealise you were married and put an end to what we were doing. And I would have.” Tears sparked on her lashes. “Damn you, Fiero, I would have. What right did you have to take that choice from me? To lie to me and put me in the position of being the other woman?”
“My marriage was,” – he didn’t get to finish the sentence.
“Over, you keep saying that, but it wasn’t, or you would have been honest with me. You would have told me your name, and the fact you were in the midst of getting divorced. You would have told me about your grandfather. But it was always going to be just a one-night stand for you – an illicit bit of fun on the side with no strings, no complications, no consequences. Right?”
He looked away from her, his expression impossible to interpret.
“That’s why you crept out while I was still asleep.”
“I took precautions. And I left a note,” he muttered. “And a clear way for you to contact me.”
“But you were glad when I didn’t, right?”
He didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. She knew she was right.
“You got what you wanted. I gave that to you. No strings. No ramifications of that night.”
“You think I would have chosen this?” He demanded, jerking his eyes back to hers. “You think I would have chosen not to know my son?”
She looked towards Jack for a moment. He’d found a line of ladybugs on the bench and was crouching down studying them, his expression intent.
Love burst through her, but it was a sad love, because he didn’t deserve this – to be pulled between two parents as she suspected he was going to be.
“No. Neither of us would have chosen this, Fiero.” Tears made her voice uneven. “I love Jack with all my heart but, oh my God, please believe me when I tell you I wish I’d never met you.”
Chapter 10
HIS THOUGHTS WERE A hammer, smashing into his brain. He had replayed their conversation a thousand times in the hours since it had taken place. He’d seen the anguish on her delicate features, the pain as she swallowed away tears, the hurt in her words, and he’d forced himself to examine what she’d said, to listen to her words.
And to see her perspective, which was a skill that wasn’t particularly innate to him.
