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“I’m n-not yet done.” Her still-fierce tone silenced him, his intense gaze never leaving her face.
Her fists curling against his shirt, Mary asked him haltingly, “If you d-don’t think I’m stupid, then you should trust me to know if I really love someone or not. If you don’t think I’m stupid, shouldn’t you just believe that Iloveyou?”
Tears choked her voice as she asked, “If you don’t think I’m stupid, shouldn’t y-you keep b-believing that I can make you love...me?”
A wealth of insecurities lied in her question, and he remembered the last time he had made her feel this way.
Mary was in her dorm, shaking and injured, her stepfather’s corpse on the floor. She was pale from shock and loss of blood, but more than that, she gazed at him like she was seeing the world without her rose-colored glasses for the very first time.
“My piranha’s not a vegetarian...”
The words sounded like a joke, but Rathe knew they were anything but, knew it was his little pearl’s way of coping with the fact that her stepfather had tried to rape her and her pet piranha had come to her rescue.
After calling 911, Rathe approached her with care. She looked so lost it made him feel so bloody helpless.
“Mary?” He didn’t dare say anything else, feeling like if he said the wrong thing, she would break down completely.
Hearing her name on his lips seemed to make something in Mary snap, and her next words proved it.
“And I’m not your mistress, am I?”
Rathe’s heart broke at the words, and his heart broke another time at seeing the pain in her eyes. This was girl who had loved him so selflessly despite the fact that he had been a bastard to her so many bloody times.
She had only loved him, and all he had been able to do was hurt her.
In front of him, Mary’s eyes began to swim with tears.
“I’m your whore, right?”
He remembered how she looked that time when Mary called herself his whore. It was exactly how she looked now.
His chest spasmed, and he hauled her down to him. “I’m sorry.”
Mary started to cry even as their lips meshed with each other. This time, she welcomed the apology. Not because she wanted to hear it, but because this time it didn’t feel like he was also saying goodbye.
His fingers sinking in her hair, Rathe rained kisses all over her face. “I believe you.”
She cried harder at the words.
Another painful spasm hit his chest at the sound of her sobs. “Mary...” Again, a sense of helplessness struck Rathe. Why, God, why? Why was it only with her did he feel so bloody powerless? It was as if he was destined to hurt her over and over.
“Do you regret being with me now?” Rathe forced the words out. He had to ask it, even though it killed him to do so.
And if she said yes—-
If she admitted to regretting being with him—-
Mary’s blurry gaze found Rathe’s at the question, and his drawn face made her feel weak for a whole different reason.
This man was the Duke of Flanders. One of the famous Pussketeers. England’s #1 Heartthrob. Yet at that moment, she saw that he was just an ordinary man, too, one who had been through too much hurt that he had chosen to turn himself into ice.
She wanted to tell him she would love him forever, wanted to tell him she would never leave him, but words failed her and in the end, she could only say his name.
“Oh, Rathe.”
Love rang so clearly in those two words it made Rathe’s heart race like he had just finished a damn marathon. Relief burst inside him at hearing those two words, and unable to help himself, he cupped her face, angling it down for another kiss.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as she returned his kiss. Passion flared up, like it always did, and Rathe suddenly felt all the layers of clothing between them painfully restrictive.
