Chapter 28
The evening soirée at Frederico’s chalet was already well underway when they arrived.
Cassian had foolishly imagined this would be a private affair—a quiet reunion where difficult truths could be spoken without an audience.
Instead, stepping into the salon the butler led him into, he found himself in his worst nightmare.
The room blazed with candlelight and conversation. At least two dozen guests filled the crimson damask salon—gentlemen clustered near card tables with brandy in hand, ladies arranged on settees nearby like exotic birds in silk.
Cassian’s hands unconsciously flexed at his side.
“Cassian, you came. Thank you.” The lightly accented voice had him turning from the window. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Cecilia straighten too as the raven-haired woman entered.
She remained every inch the vision that had once undone him—tall and elegant, her royal blue gown molded to slender curves and a nipped-in waist.
“Isabella…” he managed as he inclined his head.
The lady’s hazel eyes flickered to Cecilia while she tucked an errant dark lock behind an ear adorned with delicate gold filigree. “And who is your companion, may I ask?”
Cassian braced himself for her reaction. “This is my wife, Cecilia.”
“Tua moglie!” Shock painted Isabella’s feline eyes. “I did not realize you were… married.”
“That is why I came. Isabella—”
The signoria started to backtrack toward the door, her unorthodox reaction drawing a couple of eyes to her, and when she spun on her heel and dashed out, about half the room had begun prying into the conversation.
After muttering a curse, Cassian was a few steps behind her, feeling cut right down in the middle that he had caused more shame upon Cecilia.
He caught up with her as she slipped through the doors to a room a floor above, and he took the steps two at a time. Rushing to the doors, Cassian slowed as Isabella spun around in the small drawing room, tears in her eyes.
“Isa—”
“Férmati!” she cried out. “All this time, Cassian, all this time I hoped you were not one of those… those ciarlatani who give their word to a lady with no intention of making it true. But now—” her voice broke—“you have a wife? I… I was meant to be your wife!”
She drifted languidly to a nearby chair and sank into it while Cassian sought for the right words.
Her shoulders wilted into herself, as did her face.
A tear escaped her red-rimmed eyes as she whispered, “A part of me always believed you were too much of a wild horse to tame, but I—I’d hoped… You said you loved me.”
“I…” Cassian tried as he kept his distance. “It burns my heart to say this, Isabella, but as I reflected on it, I realized that I did not love you. I thought I did, but your home and presence were simply a safe haven—comfort in a time when everything else was falling apart.”
“…But no longer, I suppose,” Isabella swiped a knuckle under her eye.
“No,” Cassian replied quietly, guilt and pain cutting through him. “I apologize.”
She breathed in softly. “This is why I had to try and speak with you. I had to see if there was still a chance.”
Cassian rubbed his face. “There are no words I can give you to make up for the hurt I have inflicted upon you over the past years, and I only hope that one day you’ll find a man who will treat you as you deserve and not be a coward as I was.”
She shook her head. “No, I… I feel the fool. My head was telling the truth, but my heart could not hold onto it.”
Dragging a hand through his tousled hair, Cassian asked rather futilely, “Is there any way I can make this right?”
“Unless you can rewind the wheels of time and undo the thoughtless words you said, non credo che tu possa,” Isabella mumbled.
Cassian took her dismissal with grace and bowed away, heading to the door. Isabella stopped him the moment his hand landed on the doorknob, “Wait, there is one thing you can do.”
He pivoted. “Name it.”
“Treat your wife better,” she said after a painstaking breath. “At least one lady shan’t walk away with heartbreak.”
Her simple, calm words had the effect of ramming a stake through his heart. That right there reminded him of why he had avoided commitment all these years.
And now I have put Cecilia in the crosshairs.
He left the room, feeling as if he were trudging underneath the deepest water, with how heavy the weight on his shoulders felt. He returned to the grand salon to find Cecilia nursing a glass of champagne, standing alone from the rest of the crowd.
At first, she looked fine, but as he came closer, he saw how tight her jaw was clenched and how blistering her gaze was. If weaponized, it would have carved a hole through the glass. He knew why—the gazes flickering over her and the not-so-subtle whispers behind champagne flutes and fans.
By morning, all of Town will be abuzz with the news of how I ran after another woman while leaving my wife to wear the shame of my past indiscretions. Another thing I am responsible for.
“I assume she was displeased knowing you are married?” Cecilia asked.
“I don’t think displeased does justice to her temperament,” he said tiredly.
“Let’s just say I have made more of a muddle of things than I had ever thought would happen.
I wish I could undo my careless words which made the poor woman hang her hat on me for years.
It is something I will never forgive myself for. ”
She faced him fully and rested a hand on his arm. “Let’s leave. I don’t think staying here will help.”
“I’m sorry,” Cassian managed, his eyes flickering over the people behind them. “I never expected this.”
“I did,” she replied calmly. “And frankly, at this point, I’m impervious to scandal. It will blow down eventually.”
They headed out of the house and to the line of carriages waiting down the freshly-paved driveway.
When they arrived at theirs, she settled across from him and retrieved a book from her satchel, granting him the silence to wrestle with his past. How had everything gone so wrong from those few days trapped in the outbuilding when he was a child?
Something broke in me.
His eyes dropped on the book on her lap, and his lips flickered at the sight of the book’s title. Cecilia.
She deserves so much better than what I can give her.
“What’s that look for?” Cecilia asked, even while turning a page.
“Just that you must have read that book a thousand times,” he mumbled.
“Actually, only fifty-four times,” she answered matter-of-factly. “There are so many other books out there.”
Snorting, he cocked an elbow on the windowsill and popped his chin on it. You are a strange one, sweetheart.