“Yes,” she whispered. She shook her head. “No wonder he hates you.”
“He intends to destroy me,” Vladimir said shortly. “But not if I ruin him first.”
Her expression became bleak. “Neither of you will ever give up, will you? No matter who gets hurt.”
There was no way she was working with Kasimir, Vladimir thought. No way. He exhaled. “Forget it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Sibling relationships should be my last topic of advice to anyone, clearly. Or relationships of any kind. What do I know about loving anyone?”
But his attempt at an olive branch failed miserably. Her eyes looked sadder still. She glanced down. “I’m tired.”
“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s go home.”
As soon as we get back to the palace, I’ll seduce her, he told himself. They would get everything sorted out in bed.
But once they arrived there, Bree was even more distant, colder than he’d ever seen her. Colder than he’d ever imagined she could be.
She didn’t fight with him. She just withdrew. She moved away when he tried to pull her in his arms. “I want to go to bed.”
“Great,” he murmured. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She practically ran up the stairs, then looked down from the top landing, a vision in a blue gown, like a princess. Like a queen. “Tonight, I sleep alone.”
Her voice w
asn’t defiant. It wasn’t even angry. It was inexpressibly weary.
He frowned, suddenly puzzled. None of this made sense, but he knew one thing: somehow, some way, he had screwed up. “Bree,” he murmured, “what you said to me, back on the dance floor—”
“Forget about it.” She cut him off and drew a deep breath, her hands tightening at her sides. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
But it did matter. He knew that from the way his heart seemed about to explode in his chest. But he couldn’t let himself feel this. He couldn’t…
Anger rushed through him, and he grabbed at it with both hands. Climbing the stairs, he faced her. “You can’t keep me out of our bed, Bree. Not tonight. Not ever.”
She looked at him coldly.
“Try it, then, and see what happens, Your Highness.”
Turning on her heel, she left him. And if Vladimir had had any hope that he might be able to warm her up, as he climbed naked into bed beside her ten minutes later, those hopes were soon dashed. Bree lay on the other side of the large bed, pretending to be asleep, creating a distance between them so clear that the space between them on the mattress might have been filled with rabid guard dogs and rusty barbed wire.
Their romantic, magical night hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Lying in bed, Vladimir tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. The reason for her coldness was all too clear. She’d said she loved him, and he hadn’t said it back.
But he couldn’t say it. He didn’t feel it. He didn’t want to feel it.
There. There it was.
He didn’t want to love her.
He’d done it once. He’d given her everything, believed in her, defied his brother and all the world for her sake. And he’d only proved himself a fool. He would never let himself feel that way again. He would never give his whole heart to anyone.
Especially not Breanna. No matter how much he admired her, or how much he cared. He wouldn’t let her have the power to crush his heart ever again.
But as a gray dawn broke over the first day of the New Year, Vladimir looked down at Breanna beside him in bed, listening to her steady, even breathing as she slept. He saw trails of dried tears on her skin.
Tomorrow was her birthday, he remembered. She would be twenty-nine years old. She’d saved herself for him for ten years. She’d been brave enough to give herself to him completely, holding nothing back.
I love you. Her words haunted him. Even when I hated you, I loved you. You have always been the only man for me. And what I need to know is—can you ever love me?
Instinctively, his hands pulled her sleeping body closer. He breathed in the vanilla-and-lavender scent of her hair.