Page 182 of In Love and Revenge

My breath hitches. ‘What do you mean,everyone?’

His gaze roams over my face. ‘I’ve watched them since the first time Dove started talking about you. Telling us all about this brilliant new friend she’d made. I thought my reaction to you was a passing attraction. Something I’d never act on because you were my sister’s friend.’

‘You never told me you watched them all before ... I thought ...’ I stare at him, struggling to process what he’s telling me. ‘I thought you always hated me.’

‘I wanted you first. I wanted you so damn much, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Until the day I lost two hundred and forty million pounds. And suddenly watching your videos became acompulsionthat I couldn’t feed enough, no matter how hard I tried. I was obsessed, trying to figure out how I’d been deceived. I thought you must have known about your father – how could you not? I questioned whether I’d been blinded by lust, fooled by this attraction. I don’t get fooled,Aurora. I calculate for every risk, every possibility. I didn’t understand how there could be one I missed right under my nose.

‘And I was angry at myself. So goddamn angry. I kept hearing my father’s words circling in my head. Telling me I was a disappointment, a failure. Like the Wyndham case all over again. So, I continued watching you, telling myself it was a way of seeking revenge. But all it did was root you deeper inside me until I couldn’t imagine existing in a world that didn’t have you in it. I found my reason for everything instead.You.’

I nod, hot tears streaming down my face at how raw and honest we’re being.

This is what we need.

This is our new start.

‘I thought I hated you every time you made a comment about my father. But, really, I hated myself for not being able to get him out of there. Except when you actually were an arsehole, and then I think I actually did hate you.’ I sniff through a small laugh. ‘At least, as much as I could, knowing the way Dove talks about you. I knew you weren’t as awful as you were being. I knew there was a good man underneath it all. I just didn’t know why you wouldn’t let me see him.’

I step closer and Rafael breathes in slowly, watching me.

‘Letting you close to me meant having a harsh look at myself. And I wasn’t ready, not in the beginning,’ he rasps.

I nod again, a sob breaking free.

Rafael reaches up and gently wipes my tears away with his thumb. I lean into his palm, savouring every millimetre of where our skin connects.

‘I cried for two days straight after you flew away in that helicopter. Some were tears of sadness that you’d gone; some were happiness that I had my father back. You gave him back to me. You thought you weren’t the man I deserved, but you always were. I just needed to process thehurt first. I hated that you lied to me, but I never blamed you for what you did. It was a job, like your father said. It’s probably one of the only things I’ll ever agree with him on. But I didn’t really blame you. I just wanted to hurt you, because you’d hurt me.’

‘You’re the only woman, other than my mother, whose tears have ever meant anything to me. And the one who I hope I never cause to shed them ever again. I’m so sorry. Lying to you was the biggest regret of my life. I’m not—’

‘Don’t tell me you aren’t a good man.’ I sniff. ‘Dad told me how hard you campaigned to get him out. That you visited him every week and took it public. And he showed me this.’ I pull the newspaper clipping from the back pocket of my jeans.

I unfold it, but he doesn’t need to see it to know what’s on it.

It’s him. Looking determined, dressed in an impeccable navy suit and matching waistcoat as he strides out of number ten Downing Street.

‘Only you could get a bloody meeting with the prime minister about my father’s case,’ I snort.

He doesn’t even acknowledge the paper in my hand. His eyes are trained on mine like he never wants to look away.

‘I wish I’d done it months ago.’

‘Sometimes the right things still happen. Even if they’re delayed.’

His brow creases, notching the intensity in his gaze up to blistering as he searches my eyes. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. And I still love you. I always will.’

I place my hand back over his chest and it’s there, beneath my palm, a stutter in the rhythm of his heart as he processes my words. As heunderstandsthem.

‘You love me, Beau—’ He catches himself, wincing like he’s in physical pain.

‘Say it,’ I urge. ‘I’ve missed you saying it.’

His pupils flare.

‘You love me ...Beauty?’ he whispers, all deep, and gravelly, and delicious, as he finally slides a hand around my lower back and pulls me into him.

‘I do. More than anything.’