CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HISARMSAROUNDher waist were almost too perfect to bear. She allowed herself the weakness of sinking back into him just for a moment, one last sublime second of physical closeness, one last moment in which she could pretend that everything was just as it should be, before shattering the illusion with the truth.
Her heart stuttered in her chest, the enormity of what she was about to do dragging on her like a stone.
You could stay, a little voice in her head taunted. Stay for the rest of the week, enjoy the intimacy he was willing to offer, gather the crumbs of his affection for Afterwards, when he was no longer a part of her life and she needed to line her heart space with as many gold dust recollections as she possibly could.
At what cost?
Another sob welled in her chest and she pulled away from him, moving towards the corner of the kitchen, her palms pressed to the counter, her spine straight as she rallied every iota of strength she possessed. Fortunately, Bea had a lot of experience with difficult goodbyes, and even more with heartbreak.
‘Beatrice?’
God, she loved how he used her full name. He was the only person who did, and the way he said it, with his accent, spiced with desire...
She swallowed, turning around and forcing her eyes to meet and hold his. She saw the speculation in them, and then the concern.
‘Something’s wrong.’
She’d asked Ellen to take Danica for a walk in the pram, having given the little baby a tight squeeze and a kiss on the tip of her nose, her heart breaking with the abundance of affection she felt for a child she had known for less than a month. So much for never wanting children! Never wanting to fall in love! What a fool she’d been to think she could dictate such basic human emotions.
‘What is it?’ He crossed the room, catching her hands in his, lifting them between them as he’d done the night before. It was a strange and fitting gesture, bridging their hearts in some way.
A thousand words swirled through her brain but she struggled to pluck the right assortment to form a sentence that would explain the realisation she’d had, and why that meant she had to leave immediately.
‘When I graduated from university my parents sent their personal assistant to take photographs and give me a gift,’ she said softly, recalling the delicate diamond bracelet in the turquoise box. ‘The assistant was as awkward about it as I was devastated. He took the photos, gave me the gift and left as quickly as he could.’ Her throat felt as though it were closing in on itself. ‘I was so angry, Ares. It was a simple graduation ceremony only an hour’s drive from their house, and they couldn’t even make it. They didn’t want to.’
He frowned, nodding slowly, though the reason for Bea divulging this obviously made little sense to him.
‘My life has been filled with this horrible feeling of loving people who’ll never love me back. Of knowing that nothing I do will ever make them proud, or even really make them aware that I exist. They supported me financially—they gave me anything I wanted materially—but they had, and still have, no idea who I really am. And yet I love them, because they’re the closest thing to parents I’ve got.’
Her eyes swept shut as so many memories and hurts battered her, swelling within her, demanding to be shared.
‘I know what it feels like to live in a void of uncertainty. Loving and not having that love returned is a horrible way to live, so I swore I’d never risk it. Why would anyone love me, anyway?’
His hands squeezed hers. ‘Stop that. You know what an incredible woman you are. Any man would be lucky to have you.’
‘Don’t.’ The word whipped between them, fierce and furious. ‘Don’t lie to me. Don’t placate me with empty words.’
Surprise etched its way across his features.
‘You say that but, as I’ve learned, words are cheap. It’s easy to say one thing when you feel exactly the opposite.’
Something like proud defiance lit his eyes. ‘I never say what I don’t feel.’
‘But you don’t love me,’ she challenged him.
His features grew taut, his lips tight.
‘You say any man would be lucky to have me, but you don’t want me. Are you not “any man”?’
‘Beatrice...’ He said her name like a plea, and her gut ached because this was all too familiar. How often she’d been made to feel guilty for complaining. Oh, not recently, but as a young girl, before she’d learned to accept the reality of her situation, when she’d still thought there could be an explanation for the inequities of her parents’ treatment of her versus the twins, she’d argued for her cause, only to be made to feel as though she were being overly dramatic.
‘Don’t gaslight me,’ she snapped, earning herself a look of complete shock.
He pulled his hands away, lifting his palms to her. ‘I’m not. I’m simply trying to understand—’
He didn’t finish the sentence. His brows drew together as he scanned her face, as though he might find answers there.