“Oh. Right. That.” She huffed a laugh. “Well, Michael is an ass.”
“You’ve seen the online gossip since this morning. I know you have.” The shit with Michael had gone public fast, and the worst part is that every article dragged Persephone into it.
Was she saddling herself with a violent man?
Was Charleston’s belle of the ball married to a man who would eventually find himself behind bars?
Was I a domestic violence case waiting to happen?
Every headline had been worse than the last.
“I’ve seen them, and I don’t care.” She shrugged.
“You don’t care?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been tabloid gossip since I can remember, and though I’ve tried my best not to give them much fodder, Andromeda’s antics have taught our family to roll our eyes and move on.”
“Right, but marrying me—for real this time—would give them that fodder you tried so hard not to.”
“Okay.”
My stomach sank. I was going to drag her very good name through the mud. The name that got her the job as the head of the charitable foundation and opened doors into a society that I had thought only existed in movies.
“Cannon, those reporters don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve suffered for your family. Or how much of your salary you give to the women’s shelter downtown. Or that your favorite book is Wuthering Heights.”
I balked. “My favorite book is not Wuthering Heights.”
She grinned. “I know. Because you’d never stand by and watch the woman you loved marry someone else. I remember. I was just checking to see if you were listening.”
“That stuff isn’t anything the world needs to know about me. I don’t want people talking shit about you because I can’t contain my temper.”
“I’ve never cared much what strangers think about me,” she said with a whisper. “I know the truth. I know the man you really are.”
Did she? Had I shown her the best and the worst of me while we’d been married. Married. The ring on my finger mocked me. It was a fucking tease.
The silence stretched between us to the soundtrack of the band in our ballroom next door.
“We’re not really married.” The words tasted like sand.
“I know. I still can’t believe it, but I know.”
“We can call this whole thing off,” I offered slowly. “We were only doing it to make your mom happy.”
“But we ended up making ourselves happy, didn’t we?” She brushed her finger along mine.
I couldn’t lie to her. “We did. But I don’t think it’s the kind of happiness that lasts.”
The door opened, and a crack of light filled the room as Mrs. VanDoren walked in. “You two! I swear, you can’t stay away from each other!”
“We just needed a minute, Mama,” Persephone replied.
“Well, you have exactly one minute, and then I’ll be back in here. Cannon, your job is to stay and entertain this rowdy lot as long as they’d like to dance.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded.
“Persephone, your job is to come home with me and get some beauty sleep…and maybe give Anne a piece of your mind for that little stunt she pulled.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“One more minute. You understand?” She pointed her finger at us, but she was smiling.
“I’ll send her right out,” I promised.
“Good. And that suit looks mighty handsome on you, Cannon. You should wear ties more often.” She winked.
Fat chance in hell, but if either of these women wanted me to, I would.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Mrs. VanDoren gave us a little wave and closed the door behind her as she returned to the party.
Persephone sighed, then lowered herself from the table and faced me.
“Okay, I’m going to talk now, and you’re going to listen.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“I want to marry you.”
My lips parted, but her fingers covered them before I could speak. I barely kept myself from darting my tongue between her fingers out of sheer habit. Fuck, touching her, kissing her had become so common to me I couldn’t imagine not doing it.
“Nope. I’m talking,” she reminded me. “I want to marry you, and I’m not afraid to say it, to put my heart out there on the line. I know you think I’m weak—”
My eyes flared, and a growl worked its way up my throat.
“But I’m not. I’m strong enough to stand here and tell you that I love you, even though you…” She shook her head. “I want to marry you, Cannon. I’ve never been happier in my life than I have been as your wife. I want to sleep next to you, make love to you, walk Cerberus with you, cheer you on at games, have babies with you—all of it. I want everything with you.” Her face fell, and so did her fingers from my lips. “But you just keep listing all the reasons we shouldn’t be together instead of everything we have going for us.”
“Persephone,” I pled. For her to stop? For her to continue? Fuck, I didn’t know. The only thing I was certain of was the ache in my chest, ripping my soul from my body when I thought about the rest of my life without her. But how many painful moments like this morning would I bring her if I selfishly stayed?
Would I be stealing away her real chance at happiness with someone who was a better fit for her just because I couldn’t bear to let her go?
“So here it is, Cannon.” Her shoulders straightened, and her chin rose. “I love you. That’s my reason for wanting to marry you. I love you, whether you believe me or not. I’m sorry that I haven’t had to make the sacrifices you have. I’m sorry that my life has been so much easier than yours, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, because I do. If that’s not enough of a reason for you…” She sucked in a breath that stilled my heart. “Then maybe you’re right, and we shouldn’t be married because I’m realizing that the more I love you, the surer I am that I can’t walk down the aisle toward someone who doesn’t love me.”
She didn’t wait for me to reply or give me time to process. She just turned and walked out of the room with her head held high, and shut the door, leaving me alone in the darkness.
Where I’d been before I’d fallen for her.
Telling her the truth in my heart wouldn’t solve our problems. It wouldn’t make this easier. It would be the tether that bound her to me. The fuse on a lit bomb that would eventually destroy her.
My phone buzzed for the millionth time that day, and I finally slipped it from my pocket. A text message alert from my personal publicist—one of at least a dozen lit up the screen. Eventually, I was going to have to call her back. Eventually, I was going to have to deal with the shitstorm I’d created because Michael had been successful in pushing my buttons. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted when I lost my shit.
Eventually wouldn’t cut it for the timeline on my biggest problem.
I had less than twenty-four hours to figure out if I was strong enough to walk away from the only woman I’d ever truly wanted.
My hand rested over that burning patch of skin on my chest.