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“I’m astounded that you know Julian exists in the first place,” she managed to say. “Or that my uncle does, for that matter. And I’m awash in pure astonishment that you have ever bothered to consider the business interests of men you so clearly disdain.”
“I know other people exist, Timoney.” His arrogant expression intensified. “I don’t care that they exist. There’s a difference.”
“Only if you’re a raging narcissist.”
He shrugged, looking wholly unbothered by that. “Narcissists claim power that is not theirs and attempt to profit off of it by any means necessary. My power is earned. And it doesn’t take more than a cursory examination of the financial pages to know that your uncle has grand ambitions.”
In all the intense and heartbreaking dreams and daydreams she’d had since leaving London, Timoney had not thought to imagine what it might be like to finally see Crete again...only to discuss her uncle. Or Julian, for that matter.
She had imagined, fervently, that if he came for her, it would be to declare his undying love at last. To beg for her to come back to him. To tell her that he’d missed her terribly, that he couldn’t live without her, that he would do anything if she would only come back to him...
But none of those words seemed to be forthcoming. And the longer she stared up at him, waiting for him to even hint a little in that direction—she had that little pride, apparently—the more arrogant he looked.
And the more a new sort of stone hardened into shape inside her.
“What does it matter?” She shook her head, trying to keep it clear. It didn’t matter how he kissed. What mattered was how he’d disposed of her when he was done. She needed to remember it. “The choice was made.”
“Unmake it,” Crete urged her.
Her heart, her poor heart, broke. Then melted. Then broke anew as he reached over and cupped her face in his hands.
As if this was a romance. As if this was the part where that pretty music rose to a crescendo while the credits rolled and happiness was assured all around.
When she knew better.
“The guests are already here,” she told him, furious that it was so hard to keep her voice even. To fight back the emotion that threatened to spill out from her eyes. “The contracts have already been signed.”
“And yet we do not live in the Dark Ages, where such things might be considered irrevocable. Do not marry him, Timoney.” His thumbs moved against her cheekbones, spreading warmth and heat spiraling through her. Once upon a time, she had confused that for affection. Once, she’d imagined that no matter what he said, moments like this told a different tale. Back then, when he’d told her he could not love, she’d been so sure that she knew better. Because she had known so much love from her parents, and how could that all have been lost forever? She had been certain she couldshowhim. “Come back to London with me. Surely you want that more than this.”
And the truth was that Timoney wanted nothing else.
In the distance, she could hear music from the house, the piano’s sweet melody spilling out into the dark. Silent night. Holy night. Yet all was not calm. She had felt nothing for so long that it was like being much too cold only to leap into hot water. Everything tingled, so sharp it was very nearly painful.
In some ways, it was worse than pain. Pain would have taken over and blocked out everything else.
She was entirely too aware of the things she felt.
Each and every one of the things she felt.
“You don’t want me,” Timoney said quietly, though she didn’t want to. Oh, how she didn’t want to. But she couldn’t hide behind convenient fictions any longer. If she couldn’t tell the truth now, when could she? And if she couldn’t tell the truth...who was she? “When you had me in every possible way, you threw me out.”
“Timoney—”
“Have you changed your mind, Crete?” she asked him then, cutting off whatever excuse he might have offered. If, indeed, he would have bothered to make any excuses. “Have you come here to tell me that you love me, after all?”
And her curse was that even though she knew he had not—that he could not—she wished he had. That he was about to drop to his knees, make speeches, pull out a ring. Make any or all of the grand gestures she would have sworn she neither wanted nor needed...but, it turned out, she would very much have liked to have experienced. With him, the only man she had ever loved.
The only man you ever will love, a voice within her intoned.
As if her heart wasn’t already broken enough.
His face didn’t change. And he was such a magnificent specimen of a man. She had never seen his like, his beauty so ferocious it hurt to look upon. Yet once she had, it was impossible to look away. She felt as if he’d burned himself into her, a terrible brand, and yet the fact that she could smell her own charred flesh didn’t keep her from tracing her fingers over the marks he’d left.
Again and again and again.
Something softened in his gaze, but his mouth stayed in its usual hard line.
“Come back,” he said again, more command than entreaty. “I don’t have to tell you how good we were together. You already know. I do not pretend to understand why you would walk willingly into a marriage that can give you nothing you need. Or want. Come back and we need never speak of this chapter again.”
