There’s a very lucid texture to her voice, and I have to look away from her eyes, which seem to be searching me for something, though I can’t say what.
“Is that why you and Lucian don’t communicate much?” It’s a tricky question with Laura, given the way she obviously feels about her son.
Instead, she sneers at my question, staring off toward the yard. “He resents me. He felt I forced him into marriage.” Rolling her shoulders back, she lowers her gaze toward her hands resting in her lap. “As if I had a choice.”
“You loved Amelia, though. Didn’t you?”
“Love is a strong word, child. Best saved for your own children.”
“You don’t believe in romantic love, then?”
“If I did, I suppose my husband might still be alive, assuming the heart grows stronger when you love.” She rubs her hands together and tips her head. “Has my son fucked you yet?”
My God, her blunt questions will never cease to keep me on edge. Even now, there’s a thrum of anxiety beating through me.
While my mind scrambles for something to say, short of lying right to her face, she waves her hand in the air. “Never mind that. I’m sure he will eventually. A young thing like you is far too much temptation for the appetite of a Blackthorne man. His father was the same way. The younger ones always seemed to draw his attention most. Disturbing really. Had Lucian been a daughter, instead of a son …” She seems to stare off for a moment, her eyes glassing over with each passing second, brows creeping toward a frown. “I’m tired. I’d like to go lie down now.”
Chapter 52
Lucian
Four years ago …
A rush of cold air casts a chill across my skin and drags me out of the void. At the sound of wind, I push up onto my good elbow and double blink the sleep away. Across my dark bedroom, the door to the balcony stands open, fluttering the sheer white curtain beneath the drawn drapes.
‘The hell?
I roll to my side and clamber out of bed, the frigid ambient air becoming painfully apparent outside of the covers. The cast on my right side was finally removed, but the ache of pins and plates seems more intense in these cooler temperatures. As if the cold has an affinity for the metal through my layers of skin and flesh.
Hobbling toward the door, I notice the flickering movement on the balcony, and find Amelia standing there in nothing but a silk, pink nightgown, her blonde hair dancing in the breeze.
“What are you doing?” Sleep still clings to my voice as I approach her from behind, and I rub my eyes, to be sure this isn’t some strange nightmare. It wouldn’t be the first, but they’ve settled some in recent weeks.
“Do you remember that night in the atrium … when we kissed?” she asks, not bothering to turn around.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I blink hard to focus. “Yes.”
“It was the best kiss I’ve ever had. For weeks, I dreamed about it. About you. I was certain that I was going to be the girl who won Lucian Blackthorne’s cold, unattainable heart.”
Though the anger that I feel toward Amelia still courses through me, it’s lessened with time, as I’ve watched her slip into depression alongside me. I know now that it was a mistake on her part, leaving those pills out. A simple, human error. But I can’t bring myself to forgive her, and whatever this is she’s doing, it only solidifies my feelings, as I can’t bring myself to care about a childish kiss, either.
The death of my son has turned me into a broken husk of a man. If ever I was capable of such frivolities as love, that time has long since passed.
“When I got pregnant with Roark, I had a choice. Keep the baby, the son of the man that I knew I was destined to marry. Or destroy it and, along with that, all ties to you.” Her hands reach out, gripping the railing of the balcony, and she stares downward, the sight of which sets my teeth on edge.
“Why don’t we talk in here?”
“This is what excites you, isn’t it? Staring death in the face?”
“Amelia. C’mon. Talk inside.”
She turns around, and with the red, puffiness of her eyes, I can see she’s been crying. “I loved Roark. I know you don’t believe that, but I did. Every morning, I woke up and thought, Today is the day I’m going to be the mother he deserves.” The crack of her voice sets off another round of tears that she quickly wipes from her cheeks. “And every day I failed him. I failed him because I was distraught over how to understand and please my husband.”
Of course, she’d blame that on me, but I don’t risk igniting her mood, seeing as I don’t know what the hell she came to do out on my balcony yet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a chance. Come inside.” I hold out my hand to her, flicking my fingers. “We’ll talk about this in here. In my room.”
“I think I get it now, though,” she says, continuing to ignore my request. “That freedom of knowing that, in the next breath, you could easily cease to exist. Do you think Roark felt that?”
Heart pounding in my throat, I step toward her, and that’s when she hikes her leg over the railing, literally straddling the line between life and death.
“Amelia, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk. We can start over.” I don’t even know what I’m saying to her, or if I even believe such a thing is possible, but the urgency to get her back on this side of the balcony seems to have taken over my vocal chords. I take another step, and she shifts, the abrupt movement forcing me back to keep her from doing something stupid.
“There’s no starting over. The night Roark died? I saw pure hatred in your eyes. If you ever felt anything for me, it died alongside him. And I don’t blame you.” Her gaze lowers from mine, as she seems to catch her breath. “But I kept loving you in spite of it. There’s never been a time when I stopped loving you, Lucian.” She slips, tumbling over the edge of the railing, and panic explodes through my muscles, jerking me forward on instinct as I reach out and grab her arm. It’s not until I capture her hand that I realize my mistake. Pain bullets up my wrist and into my shoulder, while the full weight of her dangles from my once-broken arm.
“Ah, fuck!” I grit out through the agony tearing up my muscles. “Somebody, help me!”
Tears shine in her eyes, as she stares up at me, captured only by her delicate wrist. “You can let me go now.”
“No.” Bracing my foot against the edge of the railing, I reach out with my good arm. “Take my other hand. Please, Amelia. I can pull you up with this hand.”
“I want you to let me go. I want to be with Roark. I promise I’ll be a good mother to him this time. You won’t have to worry.”
My arm trembles as I lean further over the railing and attempt to reach for her with my stronger arm. I can’t even lift her enough to capture her wrist. “Please, take my hand. I’m begging you.”
With intense focus, I try to flex my shoulder, to pull her up so I can grab her, but an agonizing sensation tears through my muscles, as if it’s separating from my body.
She manages to wriggle loose.