He sounded almost anxious, and a tingle whispered up her spine—another curious déjà vu, and again she pushed the sensation away, attributing it to her own fragile emotions.
She opened her mouth, wanting more than anything to say that she was in love with Tony. Wanting to say his name out loud and make it truly real, make it final.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t give up the life Harold had offered her, couldn’t sacrifice everything her family had worked so hard for, couldn’t turn her back on her promises to her mother.
“Kyra,” he repeated, his voice firm. “Tell me who you’re in love with.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’ve got a fiancé back home. I’m going to marry him.”
“You’re in love with him?” Disbelief laced his voice.
She pressed her lips together, unsure how to answer. But then she looked up into his eyes and knew he deserved the truth. “No. But I like him. I trust him, and I respect him.” She tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Michael. I just can’t do this anymore.”
“But if you don’t love him? If you love someone else…”
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. True, their relationship had been mostly physical, but they’d shared so much. She owed the man an explanation at least. She’d told Tony about her fantasy. At the very least, she should tell Michael as well.
“I never really told you about my fantasy,” she said, “about why I’m here, about why I wanted you to be anonymous.” She stroked his roughened cheek, running her thumb along the bottom of his eye patch. “I’ve got obligations. Family stuff. Promises I made. IneedHarold.” She shrugged, accepting her fate, knowing what she was giving up, but certain she was doing the right thing. “I need him, and I’m going to marry him.”
* * *
SHE STOODin front of him, her back straight, perfectly calm. But she might as well have just kicked him in the gut, just reached in and ripped his heart out.
Certainly, he couldn’t feel any worse.
She loved him. Tony. Him. He was certain of it. His amazing Kyra had looked past the scars and seenhim. And she loved him.
But that didn’t matter. Kyra loved Tony, but Harold had won anyway. Good old Harry got the girl, was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman Tony loved.
He started to open his mouth, wanting to argue with her, to beg, to plead. Wanting more than anything to tell her he loved her and to urge her to stay with him forever.
But he said none of it. Tony didn’t have the right stuff, and Harry did. Good old Harry could rescue the girl, could secure the castle and keep out the barbarians. Tony didn’t have a damn thing to offer. Nothing except love, but why even open that door? In the end, it would only hurt more, because Kyra had already made it clear that love wasn’t calling the shots where her life was concerned. It would hurt him, and it would hurt her.
Better to keep their friendship alive, even if that meant he died a tiny death. Better to see her, to laugh with her, to spend time with her. She’d need a friend, after all. And in the end, that was the most he could do. Be a damn good friend to her. Or Tony could. Michael needed to just leave her alone.
He reached out for her and, after a moment of hesitation, she slipped into his open arms. He held herclose, then kissed the top of her head. After a moment, he pulled back and looked at her red and puffy eyes.
“I’m going to go now.”
She nodded, and he slipped out of the cabana, shutting the door behind him. He walked along the beach to his own room, stopping only once to hurl a rock into the churning waves.
Numb. He felt numb. He’d lost her today. Ever since the accident, he’d expected to lose any woman he got close to. But this had blindsided him. He hadn’t lost Kyra because of his face or his back or anything. All those problems, all those hours of self-pity, and at the end of the day, his physical appearance wasn’t the problem. He should have known Kyra wouldn’t care about that.
Trouble was, what she did care about was way out of his league.
As he opened the door to his cabana, the theme song fromThe Lone Rangerrang out. His cell phone. It had to be Alan, and he snatched it up.
“Moretti.”
“Yo, Tony. You keeping the babes satisfied?”
“All the time,” he said.
“You okay?” Alan’s voice turned serious.
“Fine,” he said. Then, “No. I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.”
