‘No.’
He’d answered too tersely. Now he sensed her biting back follow-up questions. Of course she was curious; he would be too. He walked away so he couldn’t see her expressive eyes. He might as well get it over with; she’d have to find out eventually. Obviously she hadn’t done the stalker-style Internet search on him that he’d done on her. He shouldn’t feel put out by that. He shouldn’t feel half of what he was feeling. The nightmares had left a residue of discomfort which left him tired and irritable. Telling her would be good. It would be the beginning of the end.
‘My mother is dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘My father killed her in a jealous rage because she dared try to leave him. The police shot him.’
His blood rushed to his head, making the room spin, and he put his hand out to the wall. He’d not had to say it aloud for a while. He’d forgotten how much it impacted. He tried to count in his head. That numbness that he’d employed for so long came in handy now.
‘What?’ Her voice was a shocked whisper. ‘Alejandro...’
‘Everyone knows,’ he said brusquely. ‘There’s no point trying to hide it. It happened. I was a child. I have accepted it and moved on.’ He licked his very dry lips. ‘I was sent to the States to live. I was very lucky.’
He had been very lucky. After the first two shots, his father had pointed the gun at him. He’d been seconds away from death when the police had killed his father. His mother had been lying just in front of him; she’d stepped forward when she’d seen what his father had in his hand. Nothing could take that image away from him. Nothing could lessen the impact. Nothing could change it.
And he could never be the man his father had been.
‘Where were you?’ she asked.
‘That’s why they shot him. He was pointing the gun at me.’
Alejandro turned to look at Kitty in time to see two fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her simple, heart-rent reaction touched him more than words ever could.
‘I’m okay,’ he muttered quickly, his breath shortening. ‘Better than okay. I was fostered. I focused on school. It was my way out. I got good scholarships. I studied really, really hard.’
Somehow he was standing right in front of her and his arms were around her. She leaned in.
‘You’re not supposed to comfort me—it’s supposed to be the other way round.’ Kitty wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tight as she could, wishing she could absorb even some of the pain that was intrinsically bound within him.
He’d told her that truth so baldly, so mechanically.
She wanted to ask so much more. Wanted to know when, how old he’d been, who’d helped him... But it all seemed so inane, those details unnecessary, because they couldn’t change the pure horror of what he’d endured. It couldn’t make it better. Nothing could make this any better. What about the poor child who’d witnessed that brutality? Who’d lost his mother at the hands of his father?
No wonder he lived his life determined to skate along the superficiality of good times and simple fun. He didn’t want complicated. He didn’t want emotional.
He didn’t want to be hurt again.
‘So that’s why you don’t want marriage or children,’ she said when she lifted her face.
‘Why would I?’ he answered bluntly.
Why, indeed.
‘Don’t try to change me,’ he said softly, his voice a little rough.
‘I wouldn’t presume to think I could,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t pity me.’
‘Don’t try to dictate how I’m supposed to feel.’ How could she not feel sorry for him, knowing this?
‘You only need to feel pleasure.’
His hedonism made total sense now. He only wanted pleasure. Only light and easy fun. But life was never like that. Not in the end.
He’d built an impenetrable shell around himself. Always out, always with people, always having fun. Always that superficial delight. No real emotional intimacy.
‘I only want fun,’ he warned her one last time.
She gazed at him, then slowly nodded. ‘Then let’s have fun.’
* * *
Alejandro jolted awake. Again he froze so he didn’t disturb her, but his heart raced as he blocked the lingering image in his mind. He tried to focus on work instead. But that didn’t help much either. Alejandro stifled a groan of despair. He had to go back to New York tomorrow but he was dreading it. He already knew time and distance from her weren’t going to help him regain his perspective. He’d thought that if he indulged in her for a couple of days, he’d have had enough. Instead he just wanted more. He liked the way she teased him. He liked listening to her talking about the house, the theatre, the restaurants. He liked her. Maybe telling her about his past had been a mistake—it had broken a barrier within him and she seemed to be able to slip closer than before.
Now he was worried.
He didn’t want to feel the gaping loss he’d felt the last time he’d left her—not that massive ‘something’s missing’ sensation. He didn’t want that worry, nor the nagging jealousy of nothing. If she was with him, he wouldn’t feel that.
Too tired to resist the temptation, he turned and gently roused her. It only took a moment. ‘Come with me.’
A twinkle lit her slumberous eyes. ‘I did already.’
‘No. To New York. Come with me.’
She froze mid-stretch, suddenly looking unsure. He hated that wariness in her, as if she couldn’t trust or believe what he was saying.
‘I don’t want to have another night without you,’ he said, her vulnerability forcing him into honesty. Then he smiled. ‘Come wear your ridiculous dresses over there. I dare you.’
* * *
He made himself work for a while on the plane—just to prove he could. But the rest of the time he sat comfortably as Kitty curled next to him, engrossed in the movie she’d selected. The limo ride to his apartment took too long and it was dark when he finally led her into his building. It wasn’t until he’d flicked the lights on and turned to see her reaction that he realised her pallor.
‘Are you okay?’ He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. She looked as if she was about to fall down at any second.
‘I’m just really tired.’ She grinned apologetically. ‘Like really,
really tired. I think the flight got to me more than I thought it would.’
‘Then straight to bed.’ He led her to the guest bedroom and put her bag just inside the door. ‘Come on.’
‘I want to explore first.’ But she stepped into the room. ‘Wow, fancy.’
He glanced around at the sleek interior, with its private bathroom with his-and-hers basins. This wasn’t his room; this was the room he used when entertaining.
He frowned as he followed her back into the living area. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s very tasteful. Very different to Parkes House.’
‘Less full of stuff, you mean.’
‘Yeah.’ She winked at him and made a beeline for the bookshelf.
But it wasn’t the books she was checking out. It was the photo.
‘My mother,’ he explained, even though he knew it was obvious.
‘She looks like you.’ She smiled at him shyly. ‘Except for your eyes.’
An acrid feeling burned in his throat. ‘I have my father’s eyes.’
She glanced at the shelf but of course there was no photo there of his father. No other photos at all. For the first time he thought about how boring his apartment must look. The only personal things in it were his books.
‘I think you’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘I really need to get some sleep.’
He looked at her; she’d paled again. And suddenly he didn’t want her in that bedroom. He didn’t want the memory of other women in there with them. He wanted it to be theirs alone.
‘Come with me.’ He led her up the spiral staircase to his secret space and opened the door to let her past him. ‘This is where I usually sleep.’
Her eyes widened as she looked at the small room, her mind processing. ‘When you’re alone.’
‘Yes.’ It was small and very simply decorated, safe and quiet, up high on the mezzanine floor. ‘You’ll sleep better in here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s darker—the curtains are...’ He was making excuses. He just didn’t want her in that other room.