“But you did.” I try not to speak the question mark at the end, but she still hears it.
“Yes,” she says. “I fell hard. So hard I don’t know what hit me. I wanted this to just be a fling, but I failed so hard I don’t know what happened.”
I’ve never been a guy to relish anyone’s failure, but I like hearing that. It’s not enough to ebb the pain of watching her cry, watching her break down so completely, but it’s something.
I take a deep breath and offer a confession of my own. “I knew we could never be just a fling. I agreed because it’s what you wanted, but deep down—” I bite off the rest of that statement, knowing it’s not helping. “We were always more than sex.”
She closes her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “I know that.” She shakes her head slowly. “But there’s no room in my life for that. I can’t—I can’t fall in love. I just—that’s not in the cards for me.”
Can’t or won’t?
I don’t ask because it’s hardly the right question at the moment. I’m hung up on the betrayal, on the fact that she had so many opportunities to say something.
“I wish you’d told me.”
“I wish I had, too.” She opens her eyes and looks deep into mine, those green depths bright and watery. “So much. If I could go back in time, I would. I’d—I’d—” She chokes on another half sob, half laugh. “You know what? I might not change it. Because I’m greedy and selfish, and if it meant having only a few weeks with you, I’d still have chosen that. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
I bite back a retort about Izzy’s fumbling grasp of the truth. She had weeks to say something, but I understand why she didn’t. Hope can make people do strange things. I’ve watched cancer patients deny chemo, convinced their sister’s nanny’s aromatherapy regimen will be the cure. Even in the face of scientific facts, they’ll cling fiercely to their hope for a magic solution.
“You’re not awful, Iz.” Confused. Trapped. Maybe even a little imprudent, but she’s still the same big-hearted person I know. “I just wish you’d trusted me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “So sorry. It was wrong. I should have been honest from the start. I should have told you and Bree and Mark and James and—”
“Wait, your siblings don’t know?” I blink in astonishment. “But—how?”
Izzy wipes her eyes, then fumbles on the side table for a tissue. “No one outside Dovlano knows.” She hesitates, biting her lip. “Well, Dante.”
Oh. A puzzle piece clicks into place. “Was he sent here to make you come back?”
“I don’t know.” She wrings the tissue in her hands. “I thought so at first, but he’s had ample opportunity to force me to return. When he didn’t do that, I thought maybe…maybe my mother had a change of heart. That perhaps they sent him to watch over me while they worked out some way I could stay.”
I can see how she might cling to that fantasy. Hell, I wish for the same thing. “But that’s not the case.”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly, sadly. “My family drew the line in the sand. I’m required to return next week.”
Anger washes through me, and I’m not sure who I’m mad at. Izzy for keeping me in the dark all this time? Her parents for placing absurd requirements on a grown-ass woman?
Or this Prince Whatever asshole, the guy who gets to marry her. Thinking of him sets my blood boiling again, and I blurt my next question without thinking.
“Do you love him? Is there some part of you that wants to marry this guy?”
She blinks in astonishment. “What? No.” She says it like it’s the last thing in the world that crossed her mind, which points to a pretty major cultural gap. “He’s nearly twenty years my senior. I’ve heard he’s a decent enough man, but I have no frame of reference. We literally met twice—once at a regatta event, and another time at my mother’s birthday gala.”
Her eyes sweep mine, and I see the moment she hears the question I’d never be rude enough to ask. “He’s never laid a hand on me,” she adds. “We haven’t touched or kissed or—anything.”
“Okay.” I need to tread carefully. It’s not my place to mansplain free will, to downplay someone’s cultural heritage. “Izzy, you’re an adult. You get to make your own choices.”
She shakes her head slowly and swipes at the trickle of moisture on one cheek. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Why not? Explain it to me like I’m three. Like I’ve never heard of the concept of arranged marriage or like I’m not the guy in love with you.”
Her mouth falls open, and she stares at me.
Oh, Christ. I really said that, didn’t I?
But I’m not taking it back. In fact, I take a step closer. “Izzy, I love you. If you feel even a fraction of the same, we can figure this out together. We can find a way for you to stay.”
“Oh, Bradley.” A fresh wave of tears descends as the crumpled tissue falls from her hand. She starts to reach for it, but I close the gap between us.
Catching her by one elbow, I reach up to cup her cheek. “Iz, what? Tell me all of it. Please, you owe me that much.”
I feel her stiffen, and wish I could take back the word “owe.” That’s not what we’re about, especially now that I’ve laid out my cards. I love this woman, and unless I’m nuts, she’s not far from feeling the same.
“I—I can’t.” She whispers the words, then closes her eyes. “I care about you so much—a million times more than I expected to. But that’s not enough.”
She didn’t say love, but she didn’t run screaming from the room at my declaration. “The hell it’s not enough.”
“Bradley, no.” She opens her eyes again and shakes her head, tears shimmering on her lashes. “My brother, he was supposed to marry Stefano’s sister.”
“Your brother.” I stare into her eyes, trying to understand. “Not one of your Bracelyn brothers?”
She shakes her head and swipes a sleeve under her eyes. “My brother, Oliver. He was born when I was twelve and he was the best baby in the world. Always laughing and smiling and grabbing my hair in his little fist.”
There’s a dimness to the light in her eyes, and I reach up to swipe away a freshly fallen tear. “What happened?”
“He died,” she whispers. “He was only a baby, and he died. But before that, the Duke promised him to Caroline. Stefano’s sister; she was four at the time, though they wouldn’t have married for many years.”
“Okay,” I say, struggling to follow. “So this was a strategically arranged marriage, like you said.”
“Right, but more significant because Oliver was the biological child of my mother and the Duke. They both come from powerful bloodlines, but together—” She shakes her head, not bothering to complete the thought. “Once Oliver died, it fell to me to carry on the legacy. It’s my duty as their only daughter.”
She sways a little on her feet, so I reach for her again. I expect her to flinch, but she leans into me like my touch might be the only thing holding her upright.