‘What I suggested last night, about us seeing each other again after this week—it wasn’t just because I enjoy having sex with you. I like being with you. I like spending time with you and getting to know you.’ She shook her head with frustration. ‘No, not getting to know you. I feel like on a soul-deep level I know everything there is to know about you. I feel like if it’s possible that one person could be designed to fit perfectly with another person, then you’re my person.’
His jaw shifted as though he were grinding his teeth together; he said nothing.
Bravely, she pushed on, her voice soft now, thick with emotion. ‘I lied to you last night, Ares, but only because I’ve been lying to myself. It turns out I gave you my heart the first night we met, and I want you to keep it for ever.’ She only became aware that a tear had slid down her cheek when it landed on her wrist.
‘I can’t believe this.’ The words were short, his own emotions colouring the sentence so it emerged with obvious disappointment. ‘I was so clear—’
‘I know you were,’ she agreed, a part of her withering at his clear-cut condemnation of how foolish she was being. ‘But did you really think that would be enough?’
His eyes flared wide and something sparked in her chest. Hurting him felt good. What was wrong with her? How could she want to hurt the man she loved?
Because he was hurting her, and she was so tired of that. So tired of being hurt and ignored by the people she loved.
‘Did you think that telling me I couldn’t love you would mean a damned thing when you invited me, every single night we spent together, to do exactly that? Your words told me not to care but your body made it impossible not to.’
‘That’s just sex,’ he said, but his voice was uneasy, guilt evident in every line of his face.
‘Wow.’ Now it was Bea’s turn to feel pain—more pain than she’d known. ‘Just sex. Good to know.’
‘Beatrice, that isn’t what I meant.’
‘I thought you didn’t say things you don’t mean.’
He compressed his lips. ‘Stop trying to trap me. I’m attempting to explain—’
‘But that’s just words again,’ she interrupted, panic making her voice high-pitched. ‘You say I can’t love you, but do you even stop and think about whether or not you love me too?’
He wore a dismissive mask, his eyes glittering grey. ‘I do not need to think about it.’
Her chest ached. Tears caused her throat to sting. ‘So you don’t love me.’
A muscle flexed near his jaw. ‘I’ve said this from the first night.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she groaned. ‘You did. But that was almost a month ago. Do you really still feel that way?’
He stared at her for several seconds and then nodded. ‘Yes. It’s exactly how I feel.’
He was being so clear and emphatic. Only a fool would continue this conversation when it could result in just one thing: more hurt. More rejection. Yet still she stood there, allowing the screws to be tightened, a glutton, apparently, for punishment.
‘I came here wanting to hate you for kidnapping me, and then I saw you with Danica and I saw you with me and everything changed. I fell so completely in love with you, Ares.’
‘Stop.’ He shook his head. ‘Stop saying that, Beatrice. It’s a betrayal of everything we agreed. I don’t want your love. I don’t want you to need me. For God’s sake, I don’t want anything from you—got it?’
His outburst surprised them both. His words were so much more certain than she’d expected. She’d hoped for a hint of doubt. For a sign that on some level he might be torn, or starting to comprehend his true feelings. But this was adamant and determined. No one who felt even a hint of love could speak like that.
She angled her face away from him, the enormity of their situation and her error, first in loving him and second in telling him, spreading through her.
‘Hurting you is the very last thing I wanted.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Then why are you?’
‘Do I have an alternative?’
She looked deep into his eyes, trying to fathom his meaning.
‘I don’t love you, Beatrice. Should I lie to you, just to avoid making you cry?’
Even now, his words were so cutting. Devastation wrapped around her. It wasn’t only from what he was inflicting on her; it was the culmination of every feeling of worthlessness she’d ever known.