“And in the middle of that dinner, I realized that my entire childhood was simply that. Enduring the insults of an insecure man who was afraid I might be better, or more interesting, or more worthy of the attention he might someday get. Trying to save a woman who would rather be the victim of that than stand up for herself.”
Stand up for me.
And he had not saved his mother. He had never gotten through to her, never protected her, never turned himself into something more powerful than his father. “She did not wish to be saved by the likes of me, and perhaps that was her right. It is your right.”
She looked up at him then, and something there in her hazel eyes sent a bolt of fear through him. That everything would change now that she knew him. Saw him.
Now that she had showed him this softer side of herself. Not just the heat behind the ice, but the warmth, the soft spots he’d once been so sure he’d expose and use…
Now she had some twisting power over him instead. He had been drunk on actually saving her and now he was drunk on that look in her eyes. Soft. Vulnerable.Mine.
“No one has ever stood up for me before. Not like that.”
He did not want to hear that. It was a power that was too big. Too much. She would come to realize, as everyone did, that he was no one’s savior. And then where would they be?
But he had stepped in and saved Serena last night from some small piece of hurt. Clearly, it had caused him to lose his damn head. Because she now knew more about his inner workings than anyone else in his entire life. It left him feeling exposed and vulnerable and disgusted with himself.
Perhaps his father hadn’t been jealous, but right. Because if Luciano wassmart, he would have unveiled none of that to her. His enemy. His rival. The woman who he would someday certainly betray.
She sighed and finally looked away. At the windows, even though the drapes hid any view out of them. He could not begin to imagine what she was thinking about, but he found himself bracing for it all the same. Because somehow he knew… He knew it would be too close to a truth he did not wish to acknowledge.
“We are alike, it seems,” she said quietly, her gaze still on the drapes. “More alike than different when all is said and done.”
He refused to respond, but it didn’t seem to matter. She kept talking.
“I knew… I do not think my mother is fully wrong about me, per se. In her world, Iamdull and not as beautiful. This is not an…insult to me. It is simply a fact. I… I like what I like. I am who I am. It is hard sometimes to harden myself against the way she wants to belittle me in front of others, but I might be able to weather it better with your interpretation of her behavior, because I think you are right. She is insecure.” She gave a little nod, as if it would solidify the truth of the statement.
But he could see the tears starting to collect in her eyes. Particularly as she continued to speak.
“It seems… That we both did the same thing in response to these people in our lives. We created characters.” Her gaze moved back to him, shiny but direct. “But we did not fully believe them to be true because we knew ourselves well enough not to.”
A revelation he did not want thundered through him. He certainly didn’t want to share it withher, when everything about her was already too damn confronting. So he did not touch that truth with a ten-foot pole.
“For the love of all that is holy, you will not cry again.”
She lifted her chin. “I shall cry whenever I like.”
But she didn’t. She blinked the tears away, sitting in the middle of his bed, looking like a queen—royal and in charge.
“Perhaps there are more similarities than we first conceived of, but that changes nothing.” He said this firmly, wishing he believed it.
She nodded, which felt like a dagger to the heart. A heart he didn’t want. Wouldn’t accept. A heart got a man nowhere.
“I suppose we should avoid complications then.”
He agreed, wholeheartedly, but couldn’t get his mouth to work. She moved her hazel gaze back to him again, studied him in that way of hers. It spoke of that brilliance she had, but there was warmth under it.
An understanding that he didn’t want under it.
She moved to the side of the bed, the sheet moving off of her. He should not watch the smooth silk of her skin come into view, but he could not help himself. She walked toward him, completely naked, her hair a compelling mass of waves around her shoulders. There was nothing but confidence in her stride, and she never once let her gaze dip from his.
A challenge. Not just to him. But to his words. Even though she’d agreed.
He refused to clear his throat, so his words were rasped. “My thoughts exactly. This is complicated enough, after all.”
She gestured behind him, to a chair where he’d settled her discarded dress from last night. “I believe that’s my dress. If you’ll move or hand it to me.”
She was only inches away from him. Naked and perfect. Not an inch of embarrassment or carefulness in her gaze.
