And as much as she loved this man standing before her, as much as she’d always loved him and always would, she didn’t see any reason why she should do any differently now.
She could, she knew. She could back off. She could say something placating, or try to smooth things over. She could continue this half-life she’d been living since she’d come to Rome with him. Wandering about aimlessly half the time, and then living for those moments when she woke up in his arms, and could pretend she was horrified to find herself there.
There were a thousand games that she could play, but she didn’t want any of that.
She wanted him, not games.
She wanted their family.
She wanted everything that she’d told him she wanted, but she was greedy. She wanted him to want it, too. She’d grown up with a family of nuns, so she knew her way around a martyr. And she didn’t want any of that, either.
She could accept anything. She could make anything work, and had.
But here, now, in this marriage that she could have resisted, but hadn’t—all so she could have the pleasure of pretending he’d forced her into it—she was done accepting things. Working with whatever came her way. Making the best of it.
He tasted like everything she’d ever wanted, and that was what she wanted now.Everything.Cecilia had no intention of settling for anything less.
“No,” she said.
Pascal stared at her in that frozen, arrogant way he had as if he assumed he must have misheard her. Because certainly no one could possibly dare cross him.
“No?” he echoed as if he didn’t quite understand.
“I told you what I want.” Her voice was distinct and steady. And she held his gaze. “And for once, Pascal, I’m not willing to settle for less. If it’s too much for you, I understand. But I’m not running away from anything. If you can’t handle this…”
And then her voice cracked, because she wasn’t a machine. She was a woman, flesh and blood, and fighting for the man she loved the only way she knew how.
“If you don’t know how to fight for us, I can’t help you.”
“Cecilia—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him. “Dante and I are staying put. But I won’t stop you if you need to run away, Pascal.Again.”
Then, before she could change her mind and beg him all over again—and in a whole different way, possibly involving tears—Cecilia turned her back on him.
No matter how much it hurt.
And this time she was the one who walked away.