And even if I did, I wouldn’t, because love makes you fucking weak.
My father’s for my mother killed him and broke our family.
My love for my mother fuels me just as much as it cripples me.
I narrow my gaze at Emilia, pinning her with it. “What would you do if you felt love? What good is it?”
She frowns and worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Love is…it will make you do something for someone you’d never consider otherwise.”
Her green eyes search mine in an almost pleading manner. Is she trying to get me to understand something? Or is she seeing my newfound lenience as an opportunity to influence me?
“Sounds manipulative,” I snap. “As I said before, what good can it be?” When she opens her mouth, I cut her off. “That was a fucking rhetorical question. Love is only used to grab some poor asshole by the balls so he’ll be forced to do things. And the stupid motherfucker might not even realize it.” I sweep my arm, gesturing to the thousands of locks surrounding us. “Cocksuckers, every single one of them. So if you want to feel that, go ahead, but it won’t come from me.”
Emilia blinks rapidly as though attempting to dry her tears and dips her chin in a subtle nod. Afterward she turns her back to me and plants both hands on the rail, gazing at the water. The sun has already begun to set, and every last ray bathes Emilia in a golden hue. She looks angelic, unreal, if not for the blank stare. It’s haunted and dead.
I curse under my breath and take up a spot next to her but leave a foot between us. She doesn’t move, not even to bat an eyelash, and gives no indication she acknowledges I’m standing there.
This was for the best.
Emilia needed to know not to expect anything like that from me. I’ve already given her more than any woman, starting with a place in my bed—the one I actually sleep in—and ending with my time. I’ve never bestowed more than necessary on anyone and certainly never indulged them with my time in order to do frivolous things, such as dine at a bistro or walk along the Seine. However, there is nothing superficial about her smiles.
And I want them to return.
But I’ll have to wait.
“I can’t give you what you want,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. When she doesn’t respond, I turn to face her. “Emilia?”
Only because I take a step toward her does she speak.
“I wasn’t talking about your love.” She says the words softly and not in an accusatory way like I expected. Then she proceeds to throw me off-kilter like she always does. “I wanted to come here because I’d seen all the pictures of the couples in love, and I thought if I stood here for a moment, I could—”
She grimaces and presses her lips together, shutting me out.
Fuck that.
“Tell me,” I say, my voice near a growl.
“I thought I could feel love for the first time since my mother’s…” She breathes deeply several times before continuing, and when she does, my eyes go wide. “My mother’s murder. I thought if I were able to be here, right in this place, to soak up the love coming from these locks—I stupidly hoped I’d feel something. Paris is the city of love, so this was my last hope.”
Emilia gives me a rueful smile that makes my chest cave in on itself. “I wanted to be one of these stupid motherfuckers who felt loved.”
A knife to the stomach would’ve been less painful than the guilt assaulting me.
And her smile has returned, but like all things in my life, I destroyed it.
How much longer until I ruin my wife completely?
Emilia
Ididn’t speak for the rest of the day.
But neither did Maximus.
My sigh hits the air, and it’s a small sound, a fraction of the emotions pent up inside me. The last twenty-four hours in Paris with Maximus were turning out to be my every fantasy come to life. He was attentive whenever I talked and patient for however long that took. And sometimes it was a long while. Yet he was always interested, his gaze never clouding over with boredom, or worse, irritation.
Then I ruined it by telling him about my yearning for love.
I pick up my uneaten dinner, along with the fork, and make my way to the balcony in hopes the view of the city will calm the feelings roiling within me. After I settle onto one of the chairs outside, I lose myself in the beauty of Paris.
