Chapter Eleven #3
You would be in a castle full of strangers. Again.
Was it selfish to dread that? To hold her here purely because he couldn’t bear to let go the one person in all the world who knew him the best and who loved him despite everything?
Perhaps it was. But he couldn’t keep lying to her, not now he knew that that’s what all his protestations had been. Lies.
All he had left was the truth.
‘Wren,’ he said, his voice sounding as if it had been dredged up from the bottom of a riverbed. ‘I…don’t want you to go. I don’t think I could bear it if you did. But I understand if—’
‘I don’t want to go.’ Her eyes were full of unshed tears, glittering like diamonds.
‘I don’t want to ever leave you. I want to stay with you, and love you.
’ Her thumb moved over his cheek again, a slow stroke that felt as if she was tearing him apart.
‘You don’t have to feel the same way. I won’t demand anything of you, or ask—’
‘No,’ he interrupted as something deep and powerful caught him by the throat.
A fierce, protective feeling. A possessive feeling.
A yearning that tugged at his soul. ‘You should demand something.’ He covered her hand where it rested on his cheek with his own as the feeling deepened, widened, and he let it.
Welcomed it. ‘You should demand everything.’ The words came out fierce, like a growl, but he didn’t try to soften them, because the feeling inside him wasn’t soft in the slightest.
Wren swallowed, uncertainty flickering suddenly in her eyes. ‘Isandro—’
He moved, gripping her before turning and lifting her up on the desktop behind her.
Then he shoved his hips between her thighs, watching her eyes go wide, hearing her soft gasp.
He put his hands on the desktop on either side of her, leaning in so they were nose to nose, her darkening gaze searching his in confusion.
He knew what this feeling was now. He recognised it.
It was what he’d felt for her all along, but he’d dismissed it, called it a sexual obsession to minimise it.
Yet it had never been mere sexual obsession.
It had always been something more, something deeper.
He’d made a mistake, that was indisputable, and he wasn’t excusing himself from that.
But it hadn’t been only sex that had made him cross those lines.
It was love. He could see that now. And yes, she was right, he was terrified of the vulnerability that brought with it. Yet he couldn’t keep pretending, keep detaching, keep minimising something that couldn’t be minimised. It was too strong, too deep, too overwhelming.
He loved her. He’d been in love with her since the day she’d walked into his office.
‘You deserve more than anything I can give you,’ he said fiercely.
‘You deserve the entire world. But all I have is myself. And yes, I’m afraid to admit my feelings for you.
I’m afraid of failing you, of hurting you, of doing anything that would make you unhappy.
I’m afraid I won’t be a good enough husband to you, that I won’t be a good father to our child.
Wren…’ He took a breath, staring into her eyes.
‘I’m afraid of so many things. But… I want to try.
’ He lifted his hands from the desktop and cupped her face between his palms, the pressure in his chest unbearable.
‘I thought I was obsessed with you, that it was just sex, nothing more, yet… It’s not, little bird.
It’s not obsession. I would never have taken you in my arms that day if it had been.
No, it’s love.’ He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, unable to stop himself. ‘It’s always been love.’
She gave a little sob and pulled away, staring up at him, and he could see a fearful kind of hope in her eyes. ‘Do you believe that? Really and truly?’
‘I didn’t, not at first. But I was wrong, Wren.
And I didn’t know I was wrong until you confronted me, challenged me, then showed me what actual love was all about.
’ He reached for her again, pulling her closer, and she let him, a tear sliding down the side of her nose.
‘I love you, Wren Weaver. I have loved you for years.’ He bent once more and kissed the tear away, moving down to her mouth and brushing his lips over hers again, wanting to show her that he meant it, that he believed it with all his heart.
She gave another little sob then she lifted her arms and slid them around his neck, her mouth opening beneath his, kissing him back with all the passion she was capable of.
Which was a lot. And when she finally pulled back, she whispered, ‘Actually, it’s not Wren Weaver, not any more. It’s Wren de Monteveras, remember?’
‘I stand corrected.’ He kissed her again. ‘In that case, I love you, Wren de Monteveras, Queen of Valdora.’
Isandro hadn’t planned on having his wedding night on the same desk that had caused all their problems, but he wasn’t unhappy about it. No, he wasn’t unhappy at all. Because happiness lay where he’d always thought it would lie.
With her.