“So it’s about duty.” Some selfish, egotistical part of me likes hearing it’s not a love match. That Izzy’s not enamored with her fiancé. “What about duty to yourself? Making yourself happy and chasing your own dreams.”
Her eyes search mine, still glittering with tears. “Is it ever really that easy?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re asking me about duty?” She shakes her head slowly. “If it were that simple, you’d be an Army doctor. Your sister might still be stuck in an unhappy marriage, and your mother—your mother would have faced your father’s death alone. You do understand duty, Bradley.”
Her words land like blows, but soft ones. I get her point, and yet— “Changing career plans isn’t the same as sacrificing your own happiness for someone else,” I say slowly. “I’m happy as a private practice doc. I’m glad I came home to Oregon.”
Glad because it means I met Izzy, which I don’t say out loud because the last thing she needs is more guilt piled onto her sagging shoulders.
“You don’t understand.” Shame twists her features like she’s heard my thoughts. “I owe them. My family, it’s the least I can do.”
“Why?” I ask. “You’re technically not even the Duke’s heir, and your mother—surely she wants you to be happy?”
She shakes her head, searching my face like she’s waiting for me to get it. Like this should all make sense. “It’s my fault he’s dead,” she says softly. “My brother. I killed him.”
“What?” I trip over the word, recognizing its inadequacy in the face of so much pain in Izzy’s eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” she says. “I was in charge. I was watching him when he died, and everyone knows it’s my fault. My mother, the Duke—”
The sobs that seize her this time are unlike the ones before. She’s wracked by huge, heavy waves of shame, crying so hard that her whole body caves in on itself. I’ve never seen anything like this, not even when I’ve delivered terminal diagnoses. It’s like her heart is breaking right before my eyes.
Holding her tight against my chest, I reach up and stroke her hair. I want to ask more, to wrap my brain around how she could possibly blame herself for whatever claimed the life of a child. But interrogating her now would just fan the embers of guilt, and I’m not that cruel.
So I just hold her. I’m not sure how long we stand like that. Ten minutes? Ten hours? When Izzy draws back, her eyes are red and raw. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but right now, she’s a hollow shell of herself.
“I need a tissue.” She takes a step back, putting distance between us. “I need to wash my face and maybe you should—maybe you should go.”
“Izzy, no.” I start toward her, then stop. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
“You need to.” She bites her lip. “The more time we spend together, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye in a few days.”
Harder for her or for me? I’m not sure which she means, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I cast a glance around the room, gaze landing on Kevin snoring in his jaunty bowtie.
“Maybe we should slow down and talk things through.” I’m fighting for more time, but what else can I do? “If we just stop and talk about—”
“You’ve been so good to me.” Her voice is choked and high. “So kind and caring and wonderful. You brought me dinner and a pig, and I’m sending you away like some ungrateful—”
“Iz, no.” I shake my head, struggling to understand how we got this far off track. “You don’t owe me anything. What we have together, it’s not some quid pro quo. I don’t do things for you so you’ll be indebted to me. I do them because I love you.”
There, I’ve said it again. If she feels the same, this is her chance to say it.
But she bites her lip instead. “I’m so sorry, Bradley. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
The words land like sharp blows to my sternum. I take a deep breath, ignoring all the things I want to say.
Please stay.
Please fight for us.
Please give us a chance.
But if she did that now, she’d be doing it for the wrong reasons. She’d be sticking around out of guilt and obligation, not love.
And that’s not how I want this to go.
I take a shaky breath. “So that’s it.”
I watch her hesitate, and for an instant, hope blooms bright and feathery in my chest.
“That’s it.” She holds my gaze, and those words are like a hammer slamming one last nail into the coffin. “I’m sorry.”
So there’s nothing left to say. “All right.” I swallow back my own bitterness. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s not what I want. But it’s what I need to do.”
“I don’t buy that.” It’s an asshole thing to say. I’ve never been in her shoes, and I can’t pretend to understand what she’s facing.
“My family needs me,” she says. “Surely, you understand that.”
I do. I hate that I do, and I don’t think it’s the same thing at all. But I find myself nodding anyway. “Yeah. All right.”
She bites her lip “If you want, we could still go to the wedding together. I owe you that much, to be your date.”
“Stop saying you owe me something.” I take a deep breath against the anger building inside me. “I don’t want to be with someone who’s with me out of obligation.”
“I understand,” she says. “I truly do.”
I’m not sure she does, but there’s no point belaboring it. She’s made her decision.
But I’m not one to walk away without saying my piece. “Let me be clear.” I brace a hand on the counter, locking my eyes with hers. “I love you, Izzy. I want you to stay in Oregon. I want you to choose to be with me because it’s what you want for you and not out of guilt or obligation or some sense of what’s expected of you. If you’re not prepared to do that—”
I break off because part of me’s still hoping she’ll put a stop to this. That she’ll change her mind, see reason, decide her own happiness matters just as much as her family’s.
Instead, she shakes her head. “I wish I could,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Not for the same things, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing does.
We’re done, and no miracle cure, no magical, healing powers are going to change that.
I take a deep breath and a step toward the door. “Goodbye, Izzy.”
I move away before she can say it back. Before I throw myself on the floor at her feet and beg her to change her mind.
Because I know in my aching, shredded heart that’s not happening.
So I find the strength to walk out the door.
Chapter 13
Isabella
I cry myself to sleep that night. The next night, too, and the night after that.