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‘I didn’t even think about them.’ He was standing so still, as if he’d been turned to stone. ‘Until I saw them get out of the car. And then there he was—my son. And Anna. De Riero’sfamily.’
He said the word as if it hurt him, and maybe it did, because it was definitely pain turning his green eyes into shards of cut glass.
‘They are happy, Leonie. My son is happy. And going through with this will hurt him. Publicly. I have no issue with doing that to de Riero, but I cannot do that to my child.’ He paused a moment, staring at her. ‘And I cannot do that to you, either.’
She blinked. ‘What? You’re not hurting me. And as for my father—’
‘It won’t bring my son back,’ Cristiano cut her off, and the thread of pain running through his voice was like a vein of rust in a strong steel column. ‘It won’t make up for all the years I’ve missed with him. And I’ve already hurt him once before, years ago. Revenge won’t make me his father, but...’ A muscle ticked in his strong jaw, his eyes glittering. ‘Protecting him is what a father would do.’
Something twisted in her gut—sympathy, pain.
How could she argue with him? How could she put herself and what she wanted before his need to do what was right for his son?
Because that was the problem. She wanted to marry him. She wanted to be his.
‘I see,’ she said a little thickly. ‘So what will happen? After you cancel the wedding?’
He lifted a shoulder, as if the future didn’t matter. ‘Everyone will go home and life will resume as normal, I expect.’
‘I mean what about us, Cristiano? What will happen with us?’
But she knew as soon as the words left her mouth what the answer was. Because he’d turned away, moving over to the window, watching as the last of the guests entered the chapel.
‘I think it’s best if you return to Paris, Leonie,’ he said quietly, confirming it. ‘It’s no life for you here.’
Why so surprised? He was only ever using you and you knew that.
No, she shouldn’t be surprised. And it shouldn’t feel as if he was cutting her heart into tiny pieces. She’d known right from the beginning what he wanted from her, and now he wasn’t going to go through with his revenge plan he had no more use for her.
He’d told her she was his. But he’d lied.
Her throat closed up painfully, tears prickling in her eyes. ‘No life for me? A castle in Spain isn’t as good as being homeless on the streets of Paris? Is that what you’re trying to say?’
He glanced at her, his gaze sharp and green and cold. ‘You really think I’d turn you back out onto the streets? No, that will not happen. I’ll organise a house for you, and a job, set up a weekly allowance for you to live on. You won’t be destitute. You can have a new life.’
She found she was clutching her bouquet tightly. Too tightly. ‘I don’t want that,’ she said, a sudden burst of intense fury going through her. ‘I don’t wantanyof those things. I’d rather sleep on the streets of Paris for ever than take whatever pathetic scraps you choose to give me!’
He looked tired all of a sudden, like a soldier who’d been fighting for days and was on his last legs. ‘Then what do you want?’
She knew. She’d known for the past few weeks and hadn’t said anything. Had been too afraid to ask for what she wanted in case things might change. Too afraid to reach for more in case she lost what she had.
But now he was taking that away from her she had nothing left to lose.
Leonie took a step forward, propelled by fury and a sudden, desperate longing. ‘You,’ she said fiercely. ‘I want you.’
His face blanked. ‘Me?’
And perhaps she should have stopped, should have reconsidered. Perhaps she should have stayed quiet, taken what he’d chosen to give her and created a new life for herself out of it. Because that was more than enough. More than she’d ever dreamed of.
But that had been before Cristiano had touched her, had held her, had made her feel as if she was worth something. Before he’d told her she deserved more than a dirty alleyway and a future with no hope.
Before he’d told her that she was perfect in every way there was.
‘Yes, you.’ She lifted her chin, held his gaze, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed. ‘I love you, Cristiano. I’ve loved for you for weeks. And the kind of life I want is a life with you in it.’
For a second the flame in his eyes burned bright and hot, and she thought that perhaps he felt the same way she did after all. But then, just as quickly, the flame died, leaving his gaze nothing but cold green glass.
‘That settles it, then,’ he said, with no discernible emotion. ‘You have to leave.’
