19. Drake
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A few teasing comments passed back and forth as Helen and I lapsed into an essential conversation that covered our years apart.
We started with the simple things, almost awkward through the small talk aspect of it.
She asked about my time at Harvard, my studies, and my continued interest in rugby in my (rare) spare time.
I inquired after her years at Columbia University, where she remained close to home so she could learn from her mother when not drowning in classes and events.
I wondered if we’d stayed together in secret, if we would have tried to go to university together. And I wondered how long we might have lasted in that world.
Helen told me that she frequently went fencing with Brooke.
Outside of work and weekends, she admitted to still spending an exorbitant amount of time in bookstores and reading.
I asked what she was reading about, getting lost in a long-forgotten dream as she dived into a rapid retelling of her latest favorite.
Her hands fluttered around as she talked, and her eyes were alight, positively animated as she regaled me with an in-depth insight.
I didn’t much care for reading, but I ate it up—her passion and enthusiasm made my chest swell.
Wine poured freely, coursing through me as sweet and as intoxicating as the flow of our conversation.
Away from the pressure of our families, we melted into a serene familiarity I thought I ruined a decade ago.
This is what we should have been doing since the moment we were reunited; talking, catching up, and learning about one another all over again.
While the arranged part of our marriage had given me a second chance, it was on me to take the reins.
Whatever bud of a relationship existed between us needed water and sunlight to bloom.
With the veil of night draped over the cottage and wine-loosened lips, there was my chance to bridge the gap and fix whatever vital thing I’d broken between us.
Helen and I worked in tandem, conversing as we put up the leftovers and washed the dishes. I washed, and she dried, and we talked, and talked, and talked.
I told her about a mission Dad sent me on to Canada to silence a blackmailer. About how I got stabbed for the first time, and how many of my bones I’d broken.
I jokingly offered to show her my scars.
She seemed interested, but a sort of sadness lingered in her eyes.
I changed the subject, asking for more information on what she’d done for her family over the years.
Absolutely nothing was wrong with me when she admitted to overseeing torture.
Except for the half-hard state of my cock.
I promptly hid myself behind the dish towel until we drifted into the living room.
With wine glasses refilled, we settled on opposite ends of the couch. Helen chronicled adventures with Brooke, vacations with distant relatives in France, and her history of traveling when not bogged down in the family business.
I admired her long, lean legs clad in black leggings.
The way she tucked her cold little toes under my thigh sent an odd twirl through my chest. Her loose olive-green top slipped off her shoulder, revealing hints of fading bruises that proved she’d been mine in a dream.
I listened, hanging on her every word, but my eyes wandered to every place I wished to set my mouth to again.
Places I wanted to mark, to bite, to lick, to claim her as mine.
She’d tamed her riotous curls in a loose bun.
I ached to pull it free and run my hands through it, to hold her head and pull her into a kiss.
I longed to lick into her mouth and taste the red wine on her tongue.
And as she drained her glass, her body moved across the distance, pulled by conversation and compulsive chemistry.
“You never shared this much detail… before.” The soft light from the fireplace flickered in her eyes, featuring them prominently on her lovely face.
The golden glow of fire and a flush from the wine accentuated her sensual allure, drawing me ever closer.
She cross-examined me as if seeing me for the first time—or seeing me anew.
It made me feel vulnerable to be pierced by such brilliant, calculating eyes. The strength of her gaze left me wholly unguarded. I’d let down every wall and leave myself utterly unguarded for her to probe and prod and discover every nook and cranny of my unworthy self.
“Before,” I sighed, dropping my head on the back of the couch.
It meant something that she was willing to talk about those years.
Or maybe it was the wine. Admissions came easily with wine.
“Before. I saw you differently in those years. You were a balm to my rotten soul. Every moment with you purged the sickness growing within me. You looked at me with those sapphire eyes and I felt like you were purifying me—because I saw you as pure.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“No. Not really. And I know that now. You have this viciousness to you. Which is what I should have expected from a mafia princess. That was my error. I always wanted to confide in you about the things Dad made me do, but back then, I didn’t want to scare you.
Not when I convinced myself that your very presence purified me. ”
Our hands collided on the middle cushion. A brushing of fingers at first, then digits twinned together, leading to her dainty hand enveloped in mine.
Her thumb brushed over the back of my hand, and a frisson ran down my spine.
“Your father treated you like a soldier. I always hated that,” she said.
“He did. He does. But that’s how our world works for guys like me. I am my father’s soldier, and I must live with the blood on my hands.” I turned her hand over, tracing the lines in her palm with my opposite fingers. “We don’t dwell on it.”
“I suppose so. I noticed something change in you that year when you left me alone.” Her rueful huff of laughter made me cringe.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Sorry for leaving me alone?” The curve of her lips made me falter.
“For ever hurting you to begin with,” I continued.
She sucked in a soft breath. “You know, even back then, you never really apologized for how you treated me. We got so wrapped up in the excitement of a secret relationship and just moved past it like it had never happened. You hated me?—”
“I never hated you.” Her teeth clicked shut as I blurted at her.
“I wanted you to pay attention to me from the moment we met, and it wounded my young ego that you didn’t.
Even after you bit me, I was curious about you, fascinated by you, and I mistook that for loathing.
Add our family history on top of that and it felt like an obligation to torment you.
We both had our parts to play. So, I played mine until I couldn’t bring myself to trudge through it any longer.
Until I couldn’t face you without torturing myself with wanting you. ”
“Drake,” she exhaled my name. The blue of her eyes washed over me.
“I’m sorry. I meant it before the wedding, and I mean it now. I’ll spend the rest of our lives apologizing if I have to.” The words spilled out of me, spewing between us.
Helen withdrew her hand from mine. She wrung her fingers together, chest rising with her increased breath. Her pretty eyes cut to the fire, and I almost tumbled to the floor to remain in her line of sight.
“That’s not what I’d want an apology for, Drake.” Her watery inhale hurt. Fuck, it hurt.
“You didn’t come back,” she sniffed, shoulders shaking as she shifted further away from me. “I waited for you. I waited so long. You didn’t come back. You never came back.”
“I am so, so sorry, Monty.” Risking it all, I bridged the distance with a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to me, eyes wet with unshed tears. “You have to know why I left. Please tell me you understand.”
“I can sit and speculate for years.” Helen shot off the couch.
“In fact, I have. I spent months crying and wondering why. Why did you leave me behind without a word? What was so bad that you skipped graduation?” The tears broke free, cascading down her cheeks.
“Why wasn’t I worth it? Why you didn’t—why you didn’t love me. ”
I followed her off the couch, surging after her. Helen stopped, shaking with everything tearing her apart from within. But she stood her ground, even as I towered over her. She wasn’t intimidated. Never.
“I did! I loved you. Fucking hell, Monty.” I carded my hands through my hair, tugging at the ends.
“That’s why I left! Our families wouldn’t have accepted us, and you know that.
That’s why I couldn’t choose you then. I had blood, so much blood, on my hands and I didn’t want to stain you.
I wanted to keep you safe. But I also had to keep you safe from my family.
My dad would have sent people after you.
And you can’t tell me that your family wouldn’t have had me fucking skinned alive just for touching you. ”
She reeled back, sucking in a gasp. The subtle quiver of her lip and wide eyes made me want to wrap her up in my arms and never let her go.
“So, yes, I made the hard choice to separate us, Monty. And it hurt—it fucking hurt so much to let you go. But it would have been worse, far worse, to see you dead because of my family. I already told you it was the greatest regret in my life, and I did it to keep you safe. That didn’t change.
” I grabbed her bodily, pulling her into my chest and gritting out, “I wanted to protect you—from everything. From myself, even.”