‘Rosa!’
She kept walking. There was only so much a woman could take. She’d reached her limit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FOTIS’ STRIDE SLOWEDas he negotiated the throng. He’d known this renowned European book fair attracted crowds, but the vast complex teemed.
Impatience rode him, adding to the potent mix of anticipation and fear churning inside.
In the ten days since Rosa had left, his life had turned on its head. He’d let deadlines slide or alternatively micromanaged projects to the extent that he’d almost lost one of his best staff, unable to work with his suddenly interfering ways.
Fotis couldn’t get the balance right. He’d thrown himself into work because for years that had been his prime focus. Since Rosa’s departure it filled the empty hours. That and long workouts.
But nothing worked. He was strung out, jittery and operating on too little sleep.
He couldn’t banish the memory of Rosa’s dazed eyes when he rejected her. Or her gallant courage when she confronted him, forcing him to hear things he didn’t want to hear, even as he read the hurt she tried to conceal. He’d never felt so emotionally stripped bare.
She loved you and you pushed her away.
He’d told himself it was the right thing. He couldn’t give her what she craved. He couldn’t be the man she wanted. He hadn’t dared hope she was right and he could reach out and grasp the sort of happiness she promised.
Was he a coward?
He’d rejected her words the instant she said them. Because he always faced the truth about himself. He knew he had feet of clay. He’d failed his brother. In the past he’d picked himself up and kept going, even when it felt like he’d lost everything.
But as time went on her words had gouged deeper, eating through his certainties, leaving him in darkness.
Until yesterday when he’d heard she was appearing at the book fair. Not in her royal capacity but as the author of the Princess Lily books. The surprise announcement of her identity had taken the world by storm.
He’d been stunned when he’d looked them up the night she’d left. They were a worldwide phenomenon, translated across the globe.
A unique talent…wonderful world-building…engaging and utterly authentic…a humorous but honest voice for today’s young readers.
He’d burned with pride at the praise. Her stories blended a lush fairy-tale world with a relevance to today’s society that hooked children and adults. Her fans had gone wild when her identity was announced.
Fotis was sorry he hadn’t been with her to tell her how proud he was, of her work and of claiming her place as the author of the much-loved books.
But she wouldn’t want to hear from him. What right had he to offer praise after what he’d done?
Yet circumstances had altered when he’d learned she was appearing here. He’d contacted Leon, ostensibly to discuss progress in their lobbying, but Leon had seen through that ruse. He’d complained his sister had accepted the barest minimum security arrangements for her appearances. He’d also tried to quiz Fotis about their time together.
Fotis shouldered his way through the throng, quickening his step. He’d brought in top security staff to blend in with the crowd but wouldn’t be happy until he saw she was safe. Ricardo might be locked up but there were some dangerous people out there.
He slammed to a stop as he rounded a corner and saw her at a desk, dwarfed by the queue of people waiting have books signed. Others clustered, taking photos. Behind her two images filled the wall, a book cover and a photo of her, light dancing in her eyes.
Air backed up in his lungs as the noise faded. It was like the first time he’d seen her. That moment of absolute shock because he recognised this woman at a cellular level, knew her in the way of a man recognising his mate, though he hadn’t realised it then.
The longing was just as fierce now, worse, because he knew he’d destroyed his chance with her.
Forcing himself to breathe, he moved in.
Rosa’s hair was loose around her shoulders, its glow drawing him like a beacon. He hated that her face was pale against her cornflower-blue jacket, though her smile was bright as she chatted to a pair of teenagers.
She’d always been good at putting on a public face. Was she doing it now? Or had the thrill of connecting with her readers pushed aside the pain he’d inflicted?
Maybe she’s already moved on.
Maybe she realised it wasn’t love. Perhaps she’s relieved to have left. She’s embracing a new life that doesn’t include you.
