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No, after the physical and emotional closeness of yesterday, it was hard to keep the feelings that had been growing for the past year at bay. From making her breakfast and listening to her past to his happiness at her name suggestion for the baby and the incredible intimacy they’d shared last night, she was struggling to not let her emotions have free rein.
What, she asked herself for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours, was she feeling for her husband? Was it a naturally developing affection for her new partner? Or was it something more?
She heaved a frustrated sigh and headed for the door. She stepped out into the hall just as Alaric walked around the corner, one hand wrapped around his phone, the other curled into a fist.
“What happened?”
He shook his head.
“The old man’s a damned fool. He’s refusing most recommendations. Said he knows the end is near and he’s going to live it on his terms, not some damned doctor’s.”
She reached out slowly and laid a tentative hand on his arm. When he didn’t pull away, she moved closer and moved her hand to his back, rubbing gently at the tension knotting his muscles.
“I was about to go on a walk, get out and move a bit. Why don’t you join me?”
He started to shake his head again.
“Alaric. I think it would be good for you. You’re no good to anyone, especially yourself, if you’re wound up.”
Finally, he nodded. Five minutes later they were walking down the stone path that led to the house’s private dock. She stayed silent, soaking in the sounds surrounding them: the distant chirping of a bird, the soft lapping of the water against the shore as a brisk wind danced across the water, the creak of the dock as they stepped onto the wood decking.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the end of the pier, gazing out over the water, that he spoke.
“I hate him.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. She’d never known anything but love for her father. She couldn’t imagine having a father like Daxon, let alone fathom how Alaric had turned into the man he was today with such a selfish sire.
“I hate him,” Alaric repeated, his eyes distant as he stared at the mountain peaks on the other side of the lake, “yet when I heard that he was so close to death, I felt sad.”
She reached out, grabbed his gloved hand. His fingers lay limp for a moment before entwining with hers.
“Understandable.”
His harsh bark of laughter echoed out over the water.
“How? How is it understandable that I feel anything akin to regret for that sad excuse of a human being?” His head whipped around, his face thunderous. “He killed my mother. Not outright murder, but he brought on her heart attack. Every time he ended up in the papers, one of his mistresses on his arm, she withered away a little bit more until there was nothing left. I have no doubt that his actions caused her heart attack. The bastard didn’t even visit her in the hospital, just showed up at her funeral to be in the pictures.”
Clara’s lips parted in shock. Daxon hadn’t been as prolific in his romantic conquests in the years she’d been with the palace. She’d heard plenty of rumors, seen old copies of newspapers. He’d leered at her the few times she’d interacted with him personally. But she’d never personally been subjugated to the torment he’d put his son and wife through.
“He couldn’t have known when he created that marriage contract that Celestine would turn into the woman she became. But sometimes, when I saw the pictures of what she was doing, it was like reliving the worst years of my father’s debauchery.”
“Why didn’t you break it off sooner?”
“I couldn’t. Linnaea needed the money our marriage would bring in. It wasn’t until Cass’s offer of a dowry in exchange for marrying Briony that the possibility of breaking it off was on the table. Even then, I didn’t want to break my word.”
He said it matter-of-factly, the prince who had long ago accepted his fate to benefit his people. Her heart broke for the man who had sacrificed so much even as she felt herself falling over the edge, falling deeper for someone who had suffered time and time again to live up to his commitments.
“The more she appeared in the tabloids, the more I built my walls up. I felt nothing for her because by then I had closed myself off. But Daxon...” His voice trailed off. “There were moments growing up, times when I saw what my mother must have seen in him. It created a longing that, to this day, I still can’t shake.”
“He’s your father.” She squeezed his hand. “Even if it doesn’t make sense logically, it’s natural to want their love no matter how much they hurt us. There’s a lot to mourn in a situation like this.”
“Did you mourn Miles?”
The random question threw her. She started to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip.
“Don’t pull away from me, Clara.” Sorrow made his voice heavy. “Not now.”
She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.
