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“Then we aren’t actually married.” I laugh sharply, giddy and dizzy and confused. A deep, dark sadness overwhelms me. “It was fake to begin with, and now you’re telling me it’s even faker than I thought.”
“Camille—”
“Stop talking to me. I need to think.” I turn my back on him, trembling.
For the past few days I’ve walked around this house like I belonged. Everyone smiled at me, nodded their heads respectfully, and treated me well, but now I’m finding out it’s a farce. Even worse than I believed. I actually started to like being Evander’s wife—I started having delusions about calling this place my home—but I can’t even have that stupid daydream.
“Gareth is going to fix this,” he says thickly, his tone twisted with emotion. “I promise you that. You are mine, my woman, my wife. Paperwork—”
“That was the whole thing!” I say, shaking my head. “The whole reason we didn’t try to fake it from the start. It was supposed to bereal. Now you’re telling me it’s not.”
“I’m telling you there’s a delay. Youaremine, Camille. You are my wife. You wear my rings—”
“But do you?” I snap, turning my rage on him. “Do you wear the ring? Hold up your hand, Evander. Let me see.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Whether I wear it or not, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters and you know it. Symbols mean something. You keep talking about how your family would never accept me unless we were married, which means you understand. Rings are important. All this time, I’ve been wandering the grounds thinking I’m really married to you. Now I find out that I’m still married to Christopher, and this thing we have is worse than a lie. And you still won’t wear the damn ring.” I blink back the tears that threaten to overwhelm me.
“I already told you—”
“I don’t care what you said.” I rip the door open then step into the hall. “You lied to me. You should’ve told me from the start.”
“I’ve been busy killing Italians,” he says darkly. “Killing them foryou.”
“Maybe you should’ve been busy dealing with your family. God, you people hate each other so damn much, why can’t you figure out a way to heal the wounds in your own house before you go murder your enemies?”
“They tried to take you,” he says and steps toward me. “Camille—”
“No,” I say sharply. “Don’t come closer. I never asked you to go on a rampage, murdering people for me. I just… I need space right now.”
His dark eyes meet mine. They’re flooded with rage and pain, but I won’t let that sway me. I won’t try to comfort him, not now, maybe not ever again.
I feel more betrayed than I ever have before.
“Camille,” he calls out as I storm away, ignoring the looks I get from the maids cleaning nearby, feeling so humiliated, so embarrassed, so belittled, with nowhere left to run.
Chapter39
Camille
The guards don’t try to stop me as I walk down the long driveway, tears streaming down my face.
I don’t look at the trees, at the bushes, even at the ground. I keep my chin up, my eyes forward, and my hands balled into fists.
None of this is mine. None of it ever will be.
This was a joke from the beginning. I let myself be seduced by him, by his words, by that stupid nickname, by the way he kissed me and fucked me. I let myself start to think this could work.
I was always lying to myself.
Evander is what he is—a mafia lord.
Maybe not as bad as Christopher, but heartless.
He’ll never care about me the way I was beginning to care about him.
He’ll never love me.
