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And yet, now, watching the pain etched into his beautiful face, made more beautiful still by the wretched despair twisting it, my hatred drains from me like a poison being sucked out of my bloodstream.
Taking his chin in my hand, I raise his face to me. He looks up, a silent plea in his eyes. Tears stream down the smooth brown plains of his gorgeously chiselled cheeks. I wipe them away with my fingers.
“Why are you crying?” I ask him.
“Because.” His voice is thick and raw. “Because I was so—so fucking scared. And because I missed you, and because I thought you were gone, and because—because I’m so angry at you.”
“Angry? At me?You?”
“Me—yes,me. Angry at you, yes. You, Theodora Dorokhova, cruel goddess that you are. Do you know the fucking pain you’ve put me through?”
I grab his jaw in my hand. “And what about the pain you put me through?”
“I’d cut my own hand off before I ever used it to hurt you.”
“And what about your tongue?”
I glare down at him. Tears still shimmer in his eyes as he frowns up at me. Then, the searching look in his eyes is replaced with sudden realisation.
“You think it was my fault. You thinkItold your father about us.”
“No, I don’t.” My fingers tighten around his jaw. He’s so beautiful, and I adore him so much, but part of me wants to hurt him. “I think you told someone who took that information back to my father, whether directly or indirectly. I don’t think so—Iknowso.”
He gazes up at me, and I feel the shudder of his throat as he swallows hard and the tensing muscles of his jaw as he clenches his teeth.
“Who do you think I told?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I sneer. “There was only one of your friends who stayed at your house at the same time I did, and it’s not a coincidence he lives in the same country as my father.”
“You thinkIakovbetrayed you?”
“No. I never put my trust in Iakov. I put my trust inyou.”
“And you really think I would ever betray your trust? What reason could I possibly have for doing that?”
A memory flashes through my mind: opening my phone to frantically search for that accursed list the Young Kings keep of their conquests. Scrolling through the names hoping with every fibre of my being not to find what I was looking for, and then the sharp fangs of despair biting down on my heart when I reached the end of the list.
My name never looked so much like a stranger’s name as it did then.
I finally let go of Zachary’s jaw. “I suppose I can’t blame you. You had to wait a long time to get rid of that nickname of yours, and your contribution to that stupid bet must have been a great one indeed: you’re the man who conquered the virgin of Spearcrest, after all.”
He climbs to his feet and gathers himself to his full height. I realise at that moment how much he’s changed since the last time I saw him, even though it was only a few weeks ago. He’s taller, for one, and there’s a hardness in him that wasn’t there before—a palpable inner strength that makes me take a step back.
“You’re an intelligent woman, Theodora.” The wet track of his tears still gleams on his cheeks, but his voice is hard and cool as marble. “Far too intelligent to believe what you’re saying.”
“My father didn’tguesswhat happened. Heknew. How could he have known?”
“If someone found out about what happened from me, they could only have guessed, or I might have let it slip by accident without realising. I can swear to you that I never purposely told anyone.”
The conviction in his tone, burning with that same intensity he was always full of when he was younger, makes me almost waver.
“Swear it on what?” I ask, shaking my head. “You don’t believe in anything.”
“You’re wrong. I believe inyou—I swear it onyou, Theodora. On you and your soul, which I love more than my own. If I ever let slip our secret, it was by accident.”
“And the bet?” I ask, my voice cracking even though I’ve been so strong so far. “Why was my name on that disgusting list?”
“Your name was on the list?” His eyes widen, and then his fists clench at his sides. “Luca,” he bites out. “That fucking sociopath.” He shakes his head at me. “He joked about putting your name on there—but he jokes about it all the time. It’s his way of reminding me I can never have you. He just likes getting under people’s skin.”
