CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I DON ’ T WANT to be a burden,’ Mel said for what seemed the five hundredth time in the past hour as she sat amidst the team of lawyers and advisers while everyone carried on talking around her, discussing outcomes and strategies to deal with the PR nightmare that her life had become. ‘And I definitely don’t think I should stay in His Majesty’s home in Colorado…’ she added, the thought of going into hiding in North America for the next two weeks, in the home of Isabelle’s consort whom she barely knew, only making the situation seem more surreal. And depressing.
It already felt surreal enough being in Isabelle’s library office, surrounded by leather books and the scent of lemon polish and old paper, with Travis Lord now seated behind the desk co-ordinating the team he had assembled. This place had always been so familiar because it was where she and Isabelle conducted their morning briefings, to discuss schedule commitments for that day and any other important business. But it had always been just the two of them and she had been the one supporting the Queen, not the other way around.
‘Mel, please stop saying you’re a burden when you’re not.’ Isabelle sat beside her on the leather sofa and covered the hands Mel had clasped in her lap to stop them trembling.
‘Yeah, and please stop calling me His Majesty. It freaks me out,’ her new husband added with a theatrical shudder, his smile encouraging Mel to share the joke. ‘Travis works, seeing as we’re family now, right, Belle?’
‘Yes, of course, Vis,’ Issy joked back.
Mel forced a wan smile to her lips. Her heart lifted, though, at least a little, at the latest evidence that her concerns for her friend and her newfound love were unfounded.
Mel had never seen Issy so confident and relaxed in anyone’s company before, except maybe her own. And certainly not when her courtiers or advisers were in attendance. But it was clear she and Travis Lord really were mad about each other, the intimate looks, the shared jokes and the casual touches—not to mention the nicknames—a testament to how much they not only supported each other but enjoyed each other’s company.
Mel had decided in the past hour she liked Lord, a lot. And she trusted him. He not only appeared to adore her best friend, but his irreverence and playfulness was something Issy had always needed more of in her overly structured life.
At least that was one less thing Mel needed to worry about, she thought miserably.
‘How about we wrap this up now?’ Travis said, giving her a watchful look before nodding to Arne, the Queen’s chief courtier, and the six other people in the room, who Mel had been introduced to but whose names she had instantly forgotten in the blur of stress and embarrassment. ‘Miss Taylor is clearly exhausted, and we have a plan of action now to handle this situation,’ Travis continued with more confidence than Mel felt. ‘Belle and I can talk in private with Miss Taylor about travel arrangements.’
Arne ushered the team of lawyers and the Hollywood crisis management consultant and his assistant out of the library.
‘Thank you,’ she said, stupidly grateful for all the work these people were willing to do on her behalf, once the room was cleared, and the door closed behind Arne.
‘Listen, Mel, my place in Colorado is the best option as your bolthole…’ Travis began.
Mel opened her mouth to suggest again she find her own refuge for the next few weeks—because surely Travis and Isabelle had already both done more than enough—when Arne burst back into the room.
‘Mr Lord, Your Majesty, Miss Taylor—’ he addressed them all, looking flustered, which for Arne was unheard of, because he was the most unflappable man on the planet ‘—I have just been informed that Prince Rene’s helicopter has landed at the Palace helipad.’
‘Rene’s here ?’ Mel gasped, the foolish bubble of hope swiftly quashed by a surge of panic and distress.
Why on earth would she be happy to see him, when his arrival would only exacerbate the crisis they’d spent the last hour trying to solve? And anyway, what was he doing here when he’d made no attempt to contact her for twenty-four hours?
‘I see,’ said Isabelle, looking grave, because she had to know all the reasons why Rene showing up unannounced was not good.
At the exact same time Travis snarled, ‘Oh, yeah? It’s about time that entitled bastard showed up.’
‘Travis, did you ask Rene to come here?’ Isabelle said as she stood, the concern in her tone making the emotions in Mel’s stomach twist into a tight knot.
‘Of course not, Belle. The last damn thing I want is that guy making this even worse,’ he said. He cradled his wife’s cheek, the tenderness in his eyes so vivid Mel’s stomach rebelled more. ‘But don’t you think he ought to take some of the flak?’ he added, casting a fierce look at Mel that made her feel both grateful for his support but also ashamed. It felt wrong, not just to need Travis Lord’s protection but also to accept it, considering she’d doubted his integrity only a few hours ago.
‘Because, let’s face it,’ Travis continued, ‘if that bastard hadn’t taken advantage of your best friend—and had made more of an effort to protect her in the twenty-four hours since those photos were taken—she wouldn’t be in the press’s crosshairs in the first place.’
Taken advantage of?
Mel was still struggling to process that assertion when Rene strode into the room and her emotions went into freefall again, for the second time in a single day.
He’s shaved off the beard that made him mine.
The idiotic thought popped into her aching head as she struggled to contain the inappropriate thrill at seeing him again.
He looked commanding and unapproachable, like the Prince he was—the autocrat who had insisted he drive her into the storm—instead of the man she had discovered, or thought she had discovered, in their cabin.
‘Leave us, Arne,’ he demanded, then marched across the room, straight towards her, unaware of Isabelle’s tentative greeting and Travis Lord’s furious scowl.
‘You need to pack,’ he said without any greeting. ‘I have a plane fuelled and waiting at the airport in Saltzaland to take us to the Caribbean,’ he went on, the clear, calm tone making it hard for her to process the command, or even what he was asking.
‘What?’ she murmured, wondering if she had somehow leapt into an alternative reality and this was all an insane dream that she would wake up from… Hopefully very soon. Because the pain in her stomach was getting worse, the knots of tension and panic and hurt now tangling with a surge of longing which made no sense.
They were over. In fact they had never even begun. He’d made that very clear by disappearing yesterday.
He took her arm to haul her off the couch.
‘I’m taking you to a private island my father owned near the US Virgin Islands. But we need to go now.’
Everything was happening so fast she couldn’t even formulate a question before he was marching her out of the room, his grip firm on her upper arm.
‘Rene, what are you doing?’ Isabelle began, her voice rising. ‘You can’t just…’
But then Travis laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder and stepped into Rene’s path.
‘Back the hell off, buddy, and let the lady go, right now,’ he demanded, the sharp tone finally snapping Mel out of the weird dream state she seemed to have lapsed into.
‘The hell I will…’ Rene shouted back.
Mel wrenched her arm free.
‘What are you even doing here?’ she managed, her voice surprisingly lucid considering her insides were in turmoil. Seeing him again, which had triggered the inevitable physical response, had been humiliating and shocking enough, but having him drag her out of Isabelle’s study as if she were a piece of baggage was even worse.
She concentrated on her anger to control the new wave of pain and panic.
Why had he appeared now? Was he concerned about her reputation or his own? He hadn’t even said goodbye at the cabin and now he felt he had the right to order her about.
And why on earth would she want to go anywhere with him when she knew he didn’t care for her, not really?
‘We need to talk,’ he said, his voice grave and his eyes dark with something she couldn’t even begin to process, because it looked weirdly like possessiveness and concern. ‘But we’re not doing it here. A press release is going out today, and I want to be on that plane before it happens, so we don’t have to deal with the fallout.’
Mel’s mind was still reeling, her heart galloping full tilt into her throat, when Travis stepped between them and grabbed Rene by the lapel of his suit jacket.
‘You seem to forget, pal, the lady gets to decide where she goes and who she goes with. Not you.’
‘Take your hands off me, pal,’ Rene roared back, his eyes wild as he slapped Travis’s hands away, ‘or I will knock you flat. The lady is my concern, not yours.’
‘The hell she…’ Travis began.
But then Isabelle flattened a palm on her husband’s chest to stop him from retaliating. ‘Travis, back off,’ she demanded like the Queen she was.
Her husband cursed loudly but did as his wife demanded, and stepped back.
Isabelle turned to Rene, her voice still firm. ‘What on earth is wrong with you, Rene? You’re behaving like a barbarian. You’re scaring Mel. You’re scaring me , and I won’t stand for it.’
It was Rene’s turn to swear profusely.
Mel realised she wasn’t scared, just hopelessly confused and very wary, because the feelings inside her didn’t make any sense. And she needed them to make sense if she was going to deal with the situation.
She had a right to be furious with him for turning up here unannounced and making a scene after leaving her high and dry twenty-four hours ago. But when his gaze landed on her again, something else joined the tangle of raw emotions in her gut… Guilt.
Because she realised that, along with his fury and the possessiveness, she could also see hurt in his golden gaze.
‘I apologise, Isabelle,’ he said tightly.
‘Lord,’ Rene added, giving Travis, who was standing next to his wife but still looked as if he was spoiling for a fight, a curt nod. ‘I appreciate you think you have to protect Melody,’ he added, his voice still tight with anger, ‘but you don’t. Because I’m here to do that.’
‘What makes you think you have the right to…’ Travis began, before Mel finally found her voice.
‘Melody happens to be standing right here, and she can protect herself,’ she cut in.
Everyone stared at her, but she didn’t care. Because she suddenly felt a little less panicked, a little less fragile and pathetic. She’d been behaving like a complete wet blanket ever since she’d found out about those photos. Heck, ever since she’d discovered that Rene had left her again. But that was not who she was.
She didn’t let other people stand for her because she stood for herself. And she didn’t let other people fix her problems because she fixed her own problems. And she didn’t let other people protect her because she protected herself—and that also meant protecting her heart from reckless, careless men like Rene Gaultiere. Because she had learnt that lesson as a little girl, when her father had walked away without a backwards glance.
Maybe she’d forgotten that in the last week, after having to rely on Rene to save her from the storm, but she wasn’t about to forget it again.
‘What press release are you talking about, Rene?’ Isabelle asked quietly, breaking the silence with a question that hadn’t even occurred to Mel. ‘What does it say? Perhaps we could combine it with the one we’ve worked out with our crisis management team,’ she added, ever the diplomat.
But Rene simply shook his head, his gaze still fixed on Mel as he dropped another bombshell. ‘It’s a press release announcing my engagement to Melody Taylor.’
Isabelle gasped. Travis swore again.
‘But we’re not engaged,’ Mel said, hating the jump in her pulse and the burst of adrenaline which she had to quash.
Was this some kind of trick? Or simply a sick joke? She couldn’t marry Rene and, even if she could, he hadn’t asked her.
‘It’s the best way to protect your reputation,’ he said. ‘Until the press are off our backs.’
‘So, it’s a fake engagement?’ she said, hating that brief spurt of excitement even more.
‘I’m not sure how faking an engagement is going to improve this situation,’ Isabelle mused.
‘Me either,’ Travis concurred, looking as if he was ready to punch Rene again.
But Rene simply ignored them both to stare at Mel.
‘We need time to talk, Melody.’ His eyes narrowed, the accusation clear in his expression—as well as the vicious blast of heat which made her nipples tighten and throb. ‘Because I remember everything that happened now, including our first night in the cabin.’
Guilt yanked at the knot in her abdomen.
He knew ? About the sex they’d had, which she’d denied and then completely forgotten about until this precise moment, thanks to the tumultuous events of the past two days.
She barely had a chance to process how she felt about the revelation, though, when he added, ‘And now I know exactly what happened, we need to discuss the possible repercussions and how we are going to deal with them.’
What possible repercussions?
For a split second she had no clue what he was talking about, but then his gaze dipped pointedly to her belly.
And suddenly she understood. He hadn’t come here to rescue her reputation, and he wasn’t issuing a press release stating they were engaged because he wanted to marry her, but because he thought there was a slim chance she might be carrying the Saltzaland heir.
Instinctively, she placed her hand on her midriff, even though she was sure she couldn’t be pregnant. But she hadn’t had the chance to take a test yet. She hadn’t even thought about it, because she had been too busy dealing with the emotional repercussions of his latest desertion.
‘We can have that conversation here, in front of the Queen and her husband, or we can have it in Mermaid Cay in private. Up to you.’
Both Isabelle and Travis protested, but Mel knew that Rene wasn’t giving her a choice. She couldn’t talk about the intimate details of their misguided relationship in front of her friend, and she didn’t want to involve the couple any more—because this was her problem to solve.
She would have to accept Rene’s invitation. And his protection. Even go along with his lie about an engagement and travel with him to a private island on the other side of the world, where she would be completely at the mercy of desires and passions she had never been able to control around him…
All because she’d made a stupid mistake, and then compounded it by lying.
It took her a good ten minutes to cut through Travis’s protests and Isabelle’s concern, while Rene remained silent. Eventually, though, she managed to persuade them to let her go with him.
Half an hour later, with a hastily packed bag at her feet and Rene, who had barely exchanged a word with her once she’d agreed to accompany him, sitting stiffly beside her as the noisy helicopter lifted off, Mel stared down at the crowd of photographers and reporters still parked outside the Palace gates. She brushed away an errant tear with her fist, feeling trapped but determined not to let him see how vulnerable she felt.
The helicopter journey across the Alps to Saltzaland took over an hour, but mercifully the noise in the cabin was too loud to have a conversation, which gave Mel some precious time to gather her shattered emotions. And think.
By the time the chopper settled in the courtyard at the back of Gaultiere Castle she had managed to get enough of a grip to formulate a plan of sorts.
A sleek black limousine was parked on the other side of the helipad, dwarfed by the Castle’s imposing three-hundred-foot facade. As Rene spoke to one of his advisers in hushed tones and a parade of footmen arrived to take her one bag to the vehicle, which was transporting them to the airport, Mel stared, transfixed by Rene’s home. Even in the daylight, the dark brickwork and grandiose mix of Gothic and Byzantine architecture made Gaultiere Castle look much less welcoming than the White Palace where she had spent so much of her childhood. Isabelle’s home had a similar six-hundred-year-old history, but the white limestone and fanciful turrets made Androvia’s Palace seem like a fairytale in comparison to this, which was more like the castle of an evil king straight out of childhood nightmares.
The forbidding architecture fitted her mood, though—and Rene’s, it seemed, from the scowl on his face—when he took her arm again, as he had done in Isabelle’s study, to escort her to the limousine like an errant child.
She allowed herself to be led, determined not to speak too soon or lose her temper. She needed privacy for what she had to say.
As soon as they were cocooned in the back seat of the luxury car, though, and the door had been closed by one of his many footmen, a tinted screen shielding their conversation from the driver, she broke her silence.
‘Rene, this is unnecessary. We don’t need to fly all the way to the Caribbean to have a private conversation,’ she said, trying for reasonable.
He barely glanced her way. ‘Put your belt on.’
The echo of the dictatorial way he had treated her the last time they’d been in a car together made her temper spike. She forced herself not to react, though, and snapped on the belt.
She hated having to appease him, but she couldn’t gauge his mood. He’d always been a forceful man but the emotions swirling in his eyes now seemed more volatile than any she had ever seen before. Plus, she had put herself in this situation by lying to him about their first night in the cabin, so she did have some explaining to do.
‘How long is the drive to the airport?’ she asked.
‘Thirty minutes,’ he said, all his attention on the view through the window of snow-covered pines.
He’s sulking. Just say sorry and make him see reason.
She took a careful breath and tried to remain calm, despite the lungful of his scent—bergamot and cedarwood and man—which triggered memories she did not need.
The good news was that half an hour should be more than enough time to apologise for her white lie and then put his mind at rest about any lingering ‘repercussions’. The bad news was that she needed to find a way to defuse his temper first, which had never been her forte. Especially when her own temper was threatening to erupt.
She cleared her throat, struggling to find the right words, the right tone, which would allow her to keep her pride while also de-escalating the tension making her stomach hurt.
‘Look, I’m sorry I lied when you asked me about that night…’ she began.
His head swung around, but what she saw in his eyes shocked her. Not anger but raw emotion, reminding her of the look in his eyes when she’d asked him about his nightmares.
‘Why did you?’ he demanded, his tone hollow as his gaze raked over her.
She shrugged, trying not to overreact. But why did he look so upset…in the grip of emotions she didn’t understand? If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she’d seen fear in his eyes.
‘I guess… I don’t really know,’ she said, struggling to remember exactly why she’d been so determined to cover up that brief misguided interlude. ‘It just seemed like a mistake that we shouldn’t dwell on. And talking about it would give it more significance than it deserved.’
Instead of placating him, her clumsy explanation only seemed to upset him more.
He leant across the car and cradled her cheek in his palm. She jolted, the sudden touch, the tender, tortured look in his eyes as he searched her expression like a lightning strike to all those emotions she was trying to keep under strict control.
‘Damn it,’ he said, his tone raw. ‘Don’t lie to me again. Just tell me… Did I…’ She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. ‘Did I have your full consent?’
His tone was so low with self-loathing it took a moment to register what he was asking her. But when it did, her heart rammed her throat and guilt blindsided her.
Had he thought…?
‘Yes, Rene. Of course ,’ she whispered, feeling sick that her white lie had ever made him think… ‘That’s not what happened.’ She covered his hand with hers and held on, her gaze locked on his, desperate to reassure him.
He pulled his hand out from under hers, his gaze still fierce, still searching as he framed her now burning cheeks. ‘You’re sure? I didn’t take advantage of you?’
‘No, you didn’t, Rene. I helped you out of your boxers. I wanted you inside me, desperately. It had been four years since the last time, and I guess the adrenaline rush from surviving a near-death experience made resisting the hunger impossible.’
At last, she seemed to get through to him. He released her cheeks and slumped back in the car seat. Relief washed over his features.
She placed her hand on his knee. When his gaze connected with hers he looked hollowed out, vulnerable still, but the fear was gone.
‘I’m sorry, Rene. I didn’t… It didn’t even occur to me you would think something like that…’ she finally managed.
He nodded, then scrubbed his hands down his face. But when he met her gaze again his expression had changed. The shutters had returned, and the frown. He didn’t look vulnerable any more, he looked determined.
‘Thanks for clarifying that,’ he said, but there wasn’t a lot of gratitude in his voice. ‘So, my next question is, when was your last period?’
Her cheeks flared with heat of a very different kind. ‘Why do you need to know that?’
‘You know why,’ he said curtly. ‘I didn’t use protection and I happen to know you weren’t taking the contraceptive pill while we were there.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because we didn’t bring any toiletries from the car,’ he said flatly, the implacable, frankly condescending tone only disturbing her more. His gaze dropped to her abdomen. ‘You could be pregnant.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ she said, her indignation building. ‘How do you know I wasn’t taking the pill before that?’ she began, trying desperately to regain ground. She realised her mistake though when his gaze narrowed.
‘Were you?’
‘Well, I…’ she faltered.
‘Don’t you dare lie to me again,’ he said.
‘I’m not going to lie,’ she protested.
His angry scowl deepened. ‘Given your track record…’
‘Okay, I’m not on the pill,’ she murmured.
‘So, when was your last period?’ he asked again.
Her face burned. But then she remembered her plan had always involved divulging this information. So, what exactly was she getting embarrassed about?
‘Actually, that’s precisely the point I was going to make,’ she said, trying to sound confident and in control. ‘I’d literally only just finished my last period when we…’ she stumbled, his gaze still locked on her face ‘…well, you know. So, it’s extremely unlikely I’ll be pregnant.’ She paused, ready to deliver her coup de grace. ‘But I’m more than happy to take a pregnancy test today to put both our minds at rest. So, there’s absolutely no need for me to travel to the Caribbean with you.’
‘When exactly did your last period finish? I want a date,’ he said, not sounding impressed with her coup de grace.
‘Why does that matter? The point is I can take a test. And then we’ll both know I’m not pregnant.’
‘The date,’ he demanded again.
She threw up her hands. ‘Fine, the twenty-eighth. Okay, satisfied?’
‘Not at all. Because male sperm can live inside the womb for up to five days,’ he said.
‘So what?’ she countered, getting mightily sick of that patronising look, and the third degree, while also having absolutely no clue what he was getting at.
‘So if you finished your period on the twenty-eighth, and we had sex on the first of January, you would have been over a week into your cycle when my sperm died.’
‘But a pregnancy is still extremely unlikely…’ she countered, scrambling to rescue her reasoning while her head was starting to explode. ‘And the test will prove that…’
‘No, it won’t.’ He cut her off again, the patient tone deliberately condescending. ‘Because if you do a pregnancy test less than nine days before your next period is due you have at least a thirty percent chance of a false negative…’
‘When exactly did you become an expert on the female reproductive cycle?’ she snapped, even as her heart began to clatter against her ribs as she could see her foolproof plan to avoid this trip—and guard against all the ways he could hurt her again—going up in flames.
‘When I woke up this morning and realised my memory of that night wasn’t some weird erotic fantasy, the way you’d made me believe,’ he snarled, the patient tone gone. ‘You should have told me the truth about what happened. If not after that first night, then when we spent that last night together, all night . You had hours when you could have said something. Why the hell didn’t you?’
She turned away from him to stare out of the car window, bitter tears stinging her eyes again and blurring the sight of the airport sign, telling her she still had at least another ten miles of this torturous conversation to get through. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, terrified that he would see her break.
He was suggesting they spend well over a week together before they could take a reliable pregnancy test. She did not want to spend another week with him, given her aptitude for doing delusional, self-destructive things when she was with him.
She folded her arms around her midriff, desperately trying to hold the panic at bay.
‘Talk to me, Melody,’ he said, his voice low with frustration, but lacking that accusatory edge.
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, then turned to him, and the truth spewed out.
‘You left me there, Rene, alone, without even bothering to tell me you were leaving. I had to find out from one of the police officers.’ She pressed a hand to her chest, could feel the thundering beat. And forced the anger to the fore, to cover the turmoil of other emotions. Why should she be ashamed of the fact the sex had meant something to her? ‘I know what we shared wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But it still made me feel like nothing. That you didn’t even think I was worthy of a goodbye. Again . You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with…’ she blurted out. He’d asked for the truth. And now he’d got it.
But, instead of looking surprised, he simply nodded. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘You… You know ?’ she gasped, shocked by the flare of something fierce…and possessive in his eyes.
What the hell was that about, given that he had discarded her so easily less than two days ago?
He sent her a wry smile that only confused her more. ‘If it helps, I haven’t been able to take another woman to bed since the first time we made love either.’
Her heart gave a giddy leap. But then she got a clue.
‘Now who’s lying?’ she said bitterly. ‘Don’t forget your amorous exploits have been all over the media for the past four years.’
‘Been keeping tabs on me?’ he murmured, but his fierce expression did not look amused.
The pulse throbbed in her sex, almost as if her traitorous body was preparing itself to take him. And she hated herself even more.
‘This isn’t a joke,’ she fired back, determined not to give in to the yearning this time.
‘Dammit, Melody.’ He reached over and brushed his thumb across her cheek. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘Then don’t lie to me ,’ she said, pushing his hand away.
‘The press doesn’t know everything,’ he replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. ‘I didn’t say I hadn’t dated other women. I said I hadn’t slept with any.’ He pushed out an unsteady breath, looking strangely unsettled. She knew how he felt. ‘I wanted to forget you. I tried. It’s why I proposed to Isabelle. It drove me nuts that I couldn’t think about anyone but you when I was with other women. It still does, in fact, because, let’s face it, we’re not exactly good together anywhere but in bed,’ he said, sounding exasperated as well as frustrated.
How flattering.
‘Telling me you haven’t been able to get over sleeping with me for four years, but you really wish you had, isn’t quite the compliment you think it is,’ she said, determined not to be swayed by the deep-seated longing for his attention which had tripped her up too many times before.
He wasn’t saying he cared about her, he was saying he wanted to have sex with her. One thing which had never been in doubt was their chemistry. But, frankly, what had that insane chemistry ever really got her? A few mind-blowing orgasms. And the same fear of abandonment, that hideous feeling of not being enough but never knowing why, which had dogged so much of her childhood.
‘You know, my father walked out on me and my mum when I was eight years old—’ she forced the words out ‘—and I never saw him again.’
Why not tell him all of it? Make him realise this wasn’t her first rodeo when it came to having men treat her like nothing. She’d once blamed herself for her father’s departure, and she’d done the same thing, subconsciously, with Rene. Because she had always been so ashamed of being hurt by his thoughtless behaviour, but why should she be ashamed when she wasn’t the one who had been callous and careless?
‘One day my father was there,’ she continued, because he hadn’t replied, his expression carefully blank, ‘and the next he wasn’t. My mum tried to make it okay. She kept insisting the divorce wasn’t about me, it was about them. I guess they must have argued before he left. But I don’t remember that. All I remember is birthdays and Christmases going by for years afterwards with no cards, no gifts, nothing. Not even a phone call from him.’
She took another deep breath.
Rene was staring at her now, his reaction unreadable, the only sign what she had confided had affected him at all the muscle in his cheek which kept clenching and releasing. Maybe he was embarrassed with her oversharing, maybe he was bored, but even if he didn’t need or want to hear this, she needed and wanted to tell him.
‘So yes, I lied about that night,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry I made you think, even for a moment, you might have done something terrible…’ Although she couldn’t help wondering now why he would have gone there, assumed he would even be capable of something so unconscionable. Perhaps that overreaction was a clue to all the things he had never been prepared to talk about to her. The monsters he had fought in those nightmares but refused to admit were real.
She was too weary now, though, and too scared—at the thought of having to spend days with him on some private island, knowing the yearning was still there—to think about any of that.
‘I was protecting myself, Rene. I didn’t want to get in too deep. To rely on you at all. And I was right. So, if you think I’m going to go to this island with you—on the outside chance that I might be pregnant, after the crappy way you’ve treated me…then I’m telling you now. I won’t. Not until you at least give me an explanation as to why you thought it was okay to abandon me again without a word.’