Greyson forced himself to continue.
“She loved him more than anything. More than sense, more than reason. And when he died, something inside her went with him.”
His jaw clenched. That suffocating feeling was still there. He could still barely breathe. But he pushed through the pain and anguish, knowing there was no other way.
“She has not been herself since. She barely speaks. She barely eats. She stares at the garden window as though waiting for him to walk back through it.”
Greyson’s chest tightened as rage, grief and guilt all swirled in a venomous knot.
“My brother’s weakness stole him from us,” he said. “But it stole her, too. And it left me to pick up the pieces he shattered.”
Jasper’s expression softened. “Greyson…”
Greyson shook his head once. “Do not pity me.”
“I don’t.”
“Then do not speak as though falling in love were harmless,” Greyson snapped. “It is a disease. A vulnerability men cannot afford.”
Jasper watched him with unusual seriousness. “You think love killed him.”
“I know it did.”
“And your mother?”
Greyson’s throat tightened. “He broke her heart. And she never returned from it.”
Silence settled heavily between them. Greyson took his glass and downed it.
“So, understand me well, Jasper. I will not let Hazel Thorne, or any woman, for that matter, pull me into that kind of ruin. I cannot afford it. Iwillnotallow it.”
Greyson leaned back in his chair, and his eyes glowed with that cold, controlled anger Jasper had seen only a few times in their long friendship. He knew somewhere deep down that he was being harsh, but he didn’t care.
“Love,” Greyson continued, “is a poison, Jasper. A sickness that blinds people to reality. It pollutes their minds with foolish fantasies until they cannot see reason.”
Jasper lifted his brows. “Pollutes?—”
“Yes,” Greyson snapped. “Young men ruin their lives for it. Young women fill their heads with novels promising fairy tales and happy endings. They are all lies and all distractions.”
Jasper raised a finger. “You do realize your fiancée reads?—”
“Hazel Thorne,” Greyson cut in quickly, almost defensively, “is practical and sensible. Her mind is not stuffed with romantic nonsense.”
Jasper’s lips twitched. “You sound very confident about a woman you’ve met exactly twice.”
Greyson ignored him entirely. “Romance is a story meant to pacify the masses, nothing more than a pretty trap.”
“Trap,” Jasper repeated slowly. “Greyson, good God, listen to yourself.”
“No,” Greyson barked. “You listen. My brother believed in all that drivel: devotion, destiny, love greater than duty. And where did it lead him? Into a grave.”
Jasper’s expression softened with concern. “Edward didn’t die because he loved, Greyson. He died because he was suffering. Because he was alone.”
Greyson’s icy eyes snapped toward him in fury. “Do not make excuses for him.”
“I’m not,” Jasper said gently. “I’m saying his pain was more complicated than?—”
“It was weakness,” Greyson hissed. “And weakness destroys everything it touches.”
