Chapter Nine #2
‘Of course, because of your feelings.’ He stepped close to her all of a sudden. ‘I may not know love, Wren, but I do care about you. I care about your happiness, and I want to make sure that your life with me is a happy one.’
Her throat closed with a sudden and sharp grief. She could see now, the issue that she’d always known about, the issue that had him in his grip. ‘But don’t you want to be happy?’ she asked.
His gaze flickered and he turned away as suddenly as he’d faced her. ‘My happiness is unimportant in the greater scheme of things.’ He walked on, glancing at the exhibits but not stopping, and she watched his broad back, seeing the tension in it and his shoulders.
‘Is that because of your father?’ she asked, feeling suddenly angry, but not at him.
At the parents who hadn’t cared about him, who’d made him feel as if he’d grown up in a palace of strangers.
No wonder he thought his feelings didn’t matter.
That’s exactly what he’d been taught. ‘Because of your parents?’
Isandro stopped, but didn’t turn. Ahead of him was an exhibit showcasing yet more medieval weaponry. Not that he needed to see it when the woman behind him was deploying her own particular kind of weapon.
Since the evening before, when she’d walked out, he’d been thinking about it over and over. Her asking him if he’d marry her if there weren’t a baby, and his own frank answer. No, he wouldn’t.
That had hurt her, which was exactly what he hadn’t wanted, so he’d spent the whole day thinking about how to make it up to her.
To do better. He’d remembered how much she’d liked the Valdoran Museum—she’d talked to him about it several times—so he’d thought that she might like a visit, especially since she hadn’t been out of the palace since she’d arrived.
Initially, he’d been pleased and almost a little triumphant at her pleasure when they’d drawn up outside the museum.
He’d arranged for them to have it all to themselves, and he too had enjoyed himself, wandering through it with her and answering the questions she had about Valdoran history.
It was good to be alone with her, to have no one else around, to just be a man with a woman he liked, wandering together through history.
But then she’d started asking questions, saying that she didn’t want to be his responsibility, that she didn’t want to be a burden, and he didn’t know what to say to that.
Yes, she was his responsibility, as his wife she always would be, but that couldn’t be helped.
He was a king and there would always be burdens, that was the job.
He hadn’t wanted to talk about it any more and had walked on quickly, hoping she’d leave the subject alone, but naturally she didn’t.
Now he just stood there, gritting his teeth, feeling her gaze on him drilling between his shoulder blades.
‘Of course, it’s because of my father,’ he said shortly, turning around. ‘He was a terrible king and that was my mission in life. To be better than he was.’
She stood not far from him, in her soft, loose blue trousers and an ivory sweatshirt, casual clothes that somehow made her look so impossibly sexy that his breath caught every time he looked at her.
Tonight. He would have her tonight, no matter what they talked about now. She wouldn’t refuse him, not given how she’d been looking at him all evening.
‘You’re already a better king, Isandro,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest.
‘Perhaps, but there is always room for improvement.’
‘That doesn’t apply to everything.’
His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing. ‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ he said sharply, tired of the conversation. ‘You don’t want to be a burden, but I can’t help that you are. And now you’re talking about the future and my parents and happiness… What else can I say?’
Something that looked like grief flickered over her face. ‘You take responsibility for so many things, for your country and your people, and I know those are important. But your happiness is important too, Isandro.’
It wasn’t, though, as he’d already told her. His feelings were irrelevant when it came to ruling a country, and besides, why did they matter so much to her?
Because she loves you.
Love. It always came back to that, the one thing that he could not give, and now it was hurting her.
You’ll never be able to make her happy. You’ll try and try and you’ll fail. The way you failed Carlotta. The way you failed your parents.
The thought was cold as ice, sharp-edged and painful.
He hadn’t failed his parents, what a ridiculous thing to think.
They’d failed him. They were supposed to have loved him, as a parent should love their child, and they hadn’t.
They hadn’t shown him what love was or taught him how to feel it himself, and he’d known he was missing out.
That there was something vital that other families had, that his family had lacked.
He had never known why. Never known why his father had preferred other women and drinking, rather than spending time with his own son.
Why his mother had preferred gardening and complaining about his father to asking him how he was.
It had been easier for him, in the end, to detach himself from the people around him. To tell himself he didn’t need them.
To tell himself that he would be a better king than his father because he had detached himself. And he’d thought, until Carlotta, that he was better.
Then he’d married, and he’d met Wren, and he’d understood then that he wasn’t any better. He was just the same.
Some father you’re going to make.
That nagging ache somewhere inside him, which he didn’t want and had been trying to ignore for days, deepened. But he shoved the pain of it away. No, he would be a better father. He might not be capable of love, but he would try and try and try for his child.
It will never be enough…
‘Fine,’ he said, ignoring the thought. ‘My happiness is important. Is that what you want to hear?’
Wren came closer, her grey eyes silvery. The neckline of her sweatshirt was loose and had fallen off one shoulder, baring her pale skin. She stood in front of him for a long moment. ‘What if I did leave the baby with you?’ she asked unexpectedly.
He frowned, not understanding. ‘What do you mean leave the baby with me?’
‘I mean, once the baby is born, you take full custody.’
Pain slid through him, sharp as a thorn. ‘What about you?’
‘I would leave. Go home as I originally planned.’
The pain deepened. Automatically he said, ‘No. No, you have to stay here. You can’t leave your child.’
‘Why not? My mother left me. My mother chose my father over me. What if I choose my child over you?’
A strange kind of shock rolled over him. ‘You want to leave our child?’
‘No, of course I don’t. But you said you wouldn’t have married me if not for the baby, so I’m giving us both the chance to escape. You will have your heir and, when you’re ready, you can marry someone else. And I’ll…find someone else to love.’
The shock deepened and he found himself searching her face, looking for whatever it was that had prompted this.
You prompted it. Last night. See? You’re already failing her.
‘I don’t understand why you would do that.’ Anger sparked in his gut. ‘Our child needs a mother who will be present in their lives.’
‘Your mother wasn’t present in yours, and neither was mine,’ she pointed out. ‘We both survived.’
Did you though? Is this survival? Or is this denial?
The questions echoed through him, questions he couldn’t seem to escape no matter how hard he pushed them away. ‘You told me you loved me,’ he said, unable to help himself. ‘Yet you want to leave?’
Her eyes looked liquid in the light, her throat moving as she swallowed.
‘It’s because I love you that I’d leave.
Because your happiness is important to me and I can’t bear you having to be responsible for my feelings.
You, constantly trying and trying to be better.
I’ve done that, Isandro. That’s how it was with me living with my grandparents, and I don’t want you having to suffer the same thing.
’ A tear slid slowly down her cheek. ‘I want you to be happy, so maybe it’s better if I take myself out of your life. ’
The denial was instant, and he’d closed the gap between them before he was even aware of doing so, his hands gripping her upper arms, pulling her close. ‘No,’ he growled. ‘No, you’re not doing that. I’m not done with you yet.’
She didn’t move, didn’t protest, just looked up at him, tears in her eyes.
Fail and fail and fail. That’s all you’ve been doing for the past five years and look at you, failing yet again.
He pushed the thought away, bending and taking her mouth in a hot, hard kiss, because that’s all he could do. That was the only weapon he had at his disposal, her hunger for him and the pleasure he could give her.
‘This is my happiness,’ he growled against her soft mouth. ‘You, naked, under me.’ Then he kissed her again, harder this time, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he pulled her against him, devouring her, the kiss turning savage at the sweet taste of her.
Because yes, this was where he’d found happiness, the only happiness he’d ever had. With her in his arms, kissing her, being inside her. He didn’t want to marry someone else. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted this one.
She was soft in his arms, and didn’t protest, taking his kiss and giving him back her sweetness in return. Her hand cupped his jaw, her palm soft against his skin.
‘It’s not your fault they didn’t care,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘It’s not your fault, Isandro.’
The question echoed in his head, abruptly loud. Was she talking about his parents? About how they hadn’t cared? And if so, why? He already knew it wasn’t his fault, not that it mattered. He hadn’t let it matter for a very, very long time.
So long, you’ve almost convinced yourself.