The relief I feel when I see her standing just outside, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around herself, is palpable. She’d left my jacket inside, handing it back to me just before we’d gone in, and now I hold it out as I walk towards her. Her head is bowed, her hair falling around her face and hiding it, but I can see from the way her shoulders are trembling that she’s still crying.
“Isabella.” I reach out, touching her arm. “Here, lass. You need this. You need to come inside, as a matter of fact, before you catch a chill. April in Boston isn’t all that warm, if you hadn’t noticed.”
She pulls away from my touch, not taking the jacket. As she lifts her head her hair falls away from her tear-streaked face, and I see how red and swollen her eyes are, her nose running, her lower lip chewed to bleeding. Even so, she’s stunningly beautiful, and the urge to reach for her and pull her into my arms grows like a weight in my chest.
“Why do you care?” She sniffs, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “You heard them in there. I manipulated you into everything, just for a ride to the States and my freedom. You should just toss me out on my own, let me fend for myself.”
I let out a sigh, gently reaching out and maneuvering her away from the wall enough that I can drape my jacket over her shoulders. “Ignore Connor,” I tell her firmly. “He hates me on account of Saoirse, the woman I told you about. His wife, now, and the mother of their child, soon enough. He won’t let what happened between us go, or the fact that I fought hard for Liam to keep the head seat of that bloody table on his own.” I settle the jacket over her shoulders, stepping back a little to give her space. “Liam is my best friend since childhood. Connor resents the closeness between us, resents what happened between Saoirse and I, resents a great deal. This is all Kings’ politics, nothing more. Ignore it, lass. It has nothing to do with you.”
Isabella sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she looks sideways at me, her eyes still brimming with tears. “Of course it doesn’t,” she says hoarsely. “I’m not really your wife, right? Not for any meaningful length of time.”
I rub a hand over my mouth, letting out another long breath as I meet her eyes tiredly. “For now, Isabella, yes you are, in every way that matters. Like Connor said, we have a legal marriage, blessed and signed and consummated. Youaremy wife, at this moment. And I’ll take care of you, both now and after we’re no longer married. I promised I wouldn’t abandon you, and I meant it, aye? You’re the mother of my child.”
Isabella presses her lips together into a thin line, looking at me cautiously. “You really believe that? Even after Connor—”
“Forget bloody Connor,” I tell her sharply. “Yes, I believe you, lass. I believe that I was the only man you laid with before Diego kidnapped you, and I know you wouldn’t have willingly gone to Diego’s bed or let Javier touch you. If you say they stopped short of forcing you to do such, then I believe you.”
Isabella gives me a small, watery smile, reaching to tug the edges of my jacket closer around her, and I relax a fraction. “The tests to determine paternitywillhappen,” I tell her gently. “They’re necessary to mollify Connor and the rest of the Kings. ButIbelieve you, Isabella. I do.” I know better, but I reach out anyway, touching her stomach gently as I shift closer to her. “I know the baby is ours. Yours and mine.”
She presses her lips together, tears still dripping off her thick black lashes. “If you can believe that,” she asks softly, her voice slightly trembling, “why can’t you believe the rest? That I really did—do—care for you, that what was between us in Mexico was real? Why can’t you trust that?”
I feel my chest tighten, a sudden ache to tell her that I do believe it rising up in me. “I know there was something real between us.” I ignore her sharp intake of breath, pushing forward. “But I’ve known what it’s like to be burned before, Isabella, by something that felt real, too. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t, and maybe what there was between us is stronger than that could have ever been—but it doesn’t matter. A marriage—the kind of marriage I want, and that I know you would want too—has to be founded in trust above all. Built on the kind of rocky foundation we started out on, we’d never make it. I—” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to continue even as I see her face crumple in front of me. “I can’t give you my trust, my love,allof me, after everything that’s happened. It’s not possible.”
“Niall—”
“Isabella.” Her name comes from my lips sharper than I intended, cutting her off abruptly. “Listen to me.”
I shift in front of her, blocking the cold wind, and I’m not insensible to how this looks, how it feels. It would be all too easy to close my eyes and lean in to kiss her, replacing the Boston chill with warm desert air, the concrete wall with theSangre de Angel, to breathe in the scent of tequila and smoke as Isabella’s finger hooked into my shirt and I leaned forward to kiss her for the first time. That was a beginning, but this is—itmustbe—an end.
I reach out, wiping away her tears with my fingers. “I know what it’s like to love someone, and have your heart ripped out on account of it. I can’t bear that again, Isabella, and I can’t bear to do it to you, either.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“You lied to me from the start.” There’s no accusation in my words, only flat truth. “From the very first night, Isabella. I didn’t even know your real name. We started our relationship on a lie. There’s no denying that, and that’s no way to begin, either. That’s not a foundation for a marriage.”
Isabella’s lips part, but she says nothing. I can see the pain in her eyes, the ache, and it wounds me to my core. I want to comfort her, to pull her into my arms and whisperall will be well.But I can’t lie to her, or to myself. I can protect her, provide for her—but I can’t risk loving her. My hand trails down her cheek, aching to keep touching her, my thumb stopping just short of brushing over her lower lip, full and damp from tears.
I drop my hand abruptly.I can’t do it again.
“Now that we’re in Boston,” I tell her gently, “you’ll have your own apartment, and I’ll go back to mine. I’ll check on you regularly, make sure you and our baby are taken care of. I told you that I won’t abandon you, Isabella, and I meant that. But what happened before—”
“On the plane,” she whispers, her dark eyes fixed on mine, a well of hurt and unspoken emotion. “Us—sleeping together.”
“It can’t happen again,” I tell her firmly, willing myself to stick to it this time, to keep what feels like an almost unsurmountable promise. “It can’t, Isabella.”
“I know.” Her voice cracks as she says it, and her eyes slide away from mine. We’re so close, so very close, and I ache to close the breath of space between us, to press her into the wall and claim her mouth, haul her into my arms—hell, all the way back to my apartment and into my bed.
I crave her in a way I never knew was possible. But thishasto be the end.
I lean down, kissing her gently on the forehead, and the shiver that goes through her threatens to undo me. “You’ll be safe here,” I murmur softly to her. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
Isabella’s eyes flick up to mine, then. “No one except you,” she whispers, and her words cut straight to my heart.
My jaw tightens, and I step back. “I’m doing all I cannotto hurt you, Isabella. But I can’t let myself love you—and I won’t touch you again.”
I step away from her, opening the door. “It’s time to go inside. You can wait while I finish up with Connor and Liam.”
She doesn’t look at me as she steps into the building, shrugging off the jacket and handing it back to me once we’re back inside the warmth. I take it without a word, tossing it over my arm—but not before the scent of her, light and sweet, reaches my nose from where it’s buried itself in the leather, mixing with the scent of my cologne and bike.