by Olivia Gates
He’d been trying to put the past into its inaccessible corner, never to touch the present or future again.
He hadn’t expected to end his own world.
His knees gave way under the enormity of the conspiracy the cold data spun.
“Durante!”
Durante heard the booming voice, the powerful footsteps’ escalating tempo as if through a separate consciousness. It felt as if it were another’s body that was dragged to its feet, that stumbled backward to hit something soft and yielding that broke its falling momentum.
“Durante, what’s wrong?”
He stared up out of eyes that felt alien, at a stranger with concern and anxiety blazing on his face. Somewhere in the black cascade that eclipsed everything, he knew this was Leandro, his cousin. But was he really? Did he know who anybody was anymore? Hadn’t it all turned into one big, convoluted lie?
“Did something happen? Is Gabrielle all right? The king?”
“Something happened. Gabrielle. The king.” Durante heard the stifled echo droning in a monstrous parody of his voice.
“What is it, Durante? Tell me.”
Durante wanted to tell him. He felt sure that uttering the words would finish him. And he wanted it all to be over. But his mind and tongue had lost their connection.
Leandro sat down slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement would make him crumble. He pried free something Durante was crushing in his fist. The report. The end of his world.
Every nerve in his body snapped. He fell back like a skyscraper coming apart in an earthquake.
Numbness crept over him like an army of spiders as Leandro looked at the papers. Nothingness expanded in his skull until he thought he felt the lines connecting its bones separate, widen, as if in preparation for explosion.
He pushed back against the inexorable pressure. “Read it. Out loud. From the beginning.”
Leandro gave a grudging nod and began to read.
“Investigations reveal that when King Benedetto was newly crowned, he had a secret lover, Clarisse LeFevre, a French-Canadian ballerina in an Italian ballet company that frequently performed in Castaldini. He broke off the affair over reports that she was cheating on him with a business rival, and almost immediately married Countess Angelica Boccanegra. Ten years later, the king, after investigating and proving the falseness of the allegations that had caused him to cast away his lover, finally located her. She was now married, but he became a constant presence in her family’s life, supporting them all after her husband, Andrew Williamson, suffered bankruptcy and depression. He had them all relocated to Cagliari, where he also kept a private home, where it was revealed after intensive investigation that he met with her regularly and in utmost secrecy a few months before her death seven months ago.”
“And a month later he had his stroke.” Durante heard the whisper, didn’t recognize it as his voice. “He weathered my mother’s death without a tear, but almost died when his lover did. The lover he named his own daughter after. The daughter of the woman he was betraying, the woman he broke in mind and spirit. And that lover’s daughter is now my bride-to-be. The love of my life.”
Leandro fixed him with a blank stare. Durante knew his lightning-swift mind was calculating all possible outcomes of every comment he could make.
Leandro finally exhaled. “I admit, this is totally unexpected. I can imagine how shocked you feel.”
“Can you, Leandro?” Tendrils of fury began to rise among the ashes of deadness. “Can you imagine what it feels like to surrender your heart only to find out you’ve fallen for your enemy?”
Leandro’s jaw hardened. “That is shock talking, Durante. Gabrielle has nothing to do with your parents’ affair.”
And the fury ignited. “She lied. She pretended she didn’t know my father—Dio, she blinded me so completely I never suspected a thing. And all the time she’s been lying…about everything.”
“Don’t start jumping to conclusions,” Leandro said, like a father chastising sense into an overemotional son. “There could be a perfectly good reason why she couldn’t reveal their connection.”
“There is a perfectly good reason. Gabrielle’s reputation includes a warning not to let her within a mile of you. She knew I would never have met with her had I known. She played me so seamlessly, she had me groveling for believing the rumors about her instead. Dio! The hurt she poured out, the act I bought to the last tremulous treacherous gasp. I trusted her so much I didn’t even think of investigating her. And she’s been deceiving me all along. She’s—”
“Durante, stop.” Leandro’s growl was like a pressure bandage slammed on the hemorrhage of his rage and agony. “I once jumped to conclusions, listened to my fears and prejudices about Phoebe, and I ended up wasting eight years of our lives. Eight endless, miserable years of our living apart and in emotional exile. Don’t make the same mistake. The price is incalculable.”
And the torrent of pain gushed again. “Did Phoebe turn out to be the daughter of the woman your mother died of a broken mind and heart over? Did she keep lying to you until she had you depending on her for your every breath so that you wouldn’t be able to break free once you learned the truth? Is she a cold-blooded, manipulative cheat?”
Leandro’s gaze hardened to flint around the core of burning empathy. “All I can say is that this is circumstantial evidence, and I’ve learned the hardest way possible how misleading that can be. But as impossible as it may be for you to think right now, there are more important things at stake than your heart. Castaldini is in danger. The financial dangers are the least of our problems and the easiest to deal with. Political and ethnic conflicts are brewing, and as regent I don’t have the influence of a king. Everyone believes they can wait for my proxy to be over—they don’t feel the necessity to bow to my power. Castaldini needs a king.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“It has everything to do with it. The king has forbidden anyone to reveal to you his intention to approach you with his demand before he judged the time right to do so himself, but I believe none of us can afford to wait anymore. I can see that your personal situation is about to blow to kingdom come, and you cannot let that interfere with your decision.”
“What decision? What the devil are you talking about?”
Leandro looked as if he were about to stab him, hating to do it but knowing there was no escape. “After I declined to become crown prince, the king had the Council make an exigency amendment to the laws of succession. By this new amendment, he can now make you his crown prince. If you agree.” Leandro took him by the shoulders, shook him. “As you should, Durante. As you must.”
And it all made sense. Sick, macabre sense.
His father had set out to make him agree.
He’d known nothing would bring Durante back—nothing except an irresistible woman armed with thorough knowledge of him so she could project the image of his soulmate.
And she’d manipulated him to the point where they would achieve their objectives. At his expense. His father would get back the son who’d rejected him, would pass the crown to his line through Durante, while Gabrielle, the king’s partner in crime, the daughter of the woman he’d loved above all else, would be that son’s worshipped wife and queen, as his father had failed to make her mother.
His father was going to make his demand today. He knew it. And if he’d still been blind and fathoms-deep in love and trust, he would have agreed to anything to keep peace and harmony.
He exploded to his feet, rage and agony boiling his blood.
Leandro shot up, caught him. “Don’t do anything in this state, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“What life?” Durante roared as he pushed his cousin away with all the violence tearing apart his insides before staggering away, a mortally wounded beast bent on slashing apart the two people who’d killed him before he surrendered to oblivion.
Gabrielle stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, whimpered as she b
rought the ice cube again to her swollen eyelids, trying to ameliorate the swelling.
She’d been back in her quarters for an hour now. She’d run there to get a hold of herself, but she’d failed miserably.
Shock and misery still wracked her. It felt as if acid were gushing through the gaping cracks of her shattered world.
How could they? Her mother, and King Benedetto? All these years, lying to her, to everyone?
Now everything made sense. Why her mother had always had that look of apology, why she’d sent her to a boarding school in Napoli when she was old enough to suspect what was going on.
Betrayal ate at her. But it was nothing compared to the dread that tore at the tethers of her mind. If she felt this way, what would Durante feel when he found out?
The king had said he should never find out. But this couldn’t be hidden. Not anymore. And she had to be the one to tell Durante the terrible truth.
She had to do it now. Before their meeting with the king. Come what may. Even if it was something she might not survive.
The icy feeling had reduced the telltale signs of weeping, but she still looked like she had on the day she’d lost her mother. She felt as if she had lost her all over again. She might lose her life now. She would, if she lost Durante.
No. No, she wouldn’t. Durante believed in her now. He’d know she had nothing to do with any of it. He trusted her.
She staggered out of her suite…and was almost knocked off her feet by the wall that materialized in her doorway.
Durante! God…here…no, she needed a few more minutes…
Stop it. This had gone on long enough. It ended now.
“Durante…I need to tell you something.”
“What a coincidence. I have something to tell you, too.”
His voice. She’d never heard his voice like that. Emotionless. Lifeless. He looked as if he’d been crying, too, his eyes shards of brilliant blue simmering in angry redness.
She clutched at him, her heart bucking its tethers. “Durante, what is it? God…are you okay?”
“I will be.”
Then he turned and walked away. She rushed in his wake, a fireball of fear and confusion exploding in her mind.
The king was waiting for them at his reading table, the first time she’d seen him out of bed. His face started to tug into that skewed smile. It fell back into bleakness at the sight of Durante.
Silence settled over the scene. Something terrible radiated from Durante. She stumbled sideways as if out of the path of a lethal ray.
He couldn’t already know. She had to be the one to tell him.
But he looked…rabid. He…he did know. Was incensed. But not at her. It couldn’t be at her.
“You wish me to become your crown prince.” The hiss that emanated from him sounded inhuman. Shudders started to creep over her. “What do they say about being careful what you wish for? You manipulated me to get me back here only for me to find out your secrets, crimes that I will expose. I’ll tell the world what a sadistic, adulterous husband you were. And I will take the crown now, not after you die.”
Gabrielle’s heart had stopped with the first salvo out of Durante’s lips. Now it beat like the wings of a hummingbird, yet pushed no blood to her brain. The world constricted into a pinpoint of darkness.
Something wrenched her from the edge of oblivion. Durante was dragging her away.
He was so angry at his father. She had to defuse his shock and agony. Had to mend this horrific breach.
“Durante…don’t do this to yourself…it’s not like you think…” His abrupt stop had her crashing into him. She leaned on him, for support, for both of them, her lips trembling into his heaving back, with love, with desperation to explain before one more minute passed. “Your father’s only crime was loving my mother, hiding their affair, from everyone, starting with me, but he did it so that he wouldn’t hurt anyone…he loves you…but was so afraid you hated him, made me promise…”
He wrenched away, turned on her. “You were congratulating yourself, weren’t you? As each phase of your seduction worked on me like a spell?”
Seduction? Spell? What did he…?
“Now you’ve reached the point where you believe your hold on me is unbreakable, that I’d sooner let go of all my pride and fortune, of my very life, than let you go, don’t you?”
He-he believed…the worst? Again? He didn’t trust her? Didn’t think she deserved a chance to defend herself?
“And you were right.”
Wha…? She’d misunderstood? He wasn’t saying that he doubted her?
“I would give my life for you, the woman, the treasure who shares my soul and mind, the owner of my body and heart.”
He wasn’t! He didn’t doubt her. Her churning world stilled, quaked with relief. “Oh, God, Durante, oh, my love…”
“But that’s not you.” His hiss froze her jubilation. “That woman was a role you played to seduce me, reading the lines my father taught you. That woman doesn’t exist. So now, my bride-to-be—you’re no longer my bride-to-be. I cancelled the wedding. I’ll tell the whole world why. I’ll show anyone who had any doubt about you how the worst so-called rumors were only the tip of the iceberg. I’m cancelling the book deal, too, and if you try to play any of the penalty clauses, I’ll crush you and your precious company under my foot.” He gave a hideous laugh. “Oh, wait, I’ll crush you and everything you hold dear, anyway.”
A stranger. She was looking at a vicious stranger. One who’d played an elaborate game of make-believe, of knowing her down to her last thought, caring for her with his every breath, respecting and trusting her with his every fiber. It had all been empty. All the proclamations, the promises of forever.
The world started spinning again, swinging her away with it. He receded as everything drowned in a sea of distorted images.
“Gabrielle.”
That growl, a predator enraged to find his prey about to escape his talons. She turned back, no survival instinct left.
And he delivered the killing blow. “If you have any shred of self-preservation left, you will make sure I never see you again.”
She stared into his cruel eyes, and everything came to an end.
Fifteen
Leandro had been right.
He’d warned him. Durante hadn’t listened. He’d been deaf. Blind. And totally out of his mind.
Madmen didn’t realize the depth of their insanity. Didn’t see it at all. Saw it as justified action, inescapable reaction.
He’d foamed and fermented in the delusion, thrashed and plummeted down a spiral of intensifying agony. Then he’d hit bottom. And he’d remembered them. Gabrielle’s eyes. In the blood-red haze of his fevered memories. The shock of letdown there, the horror of loss. The realization that the one who’d pledged to protect her from all harm, the only one she’d trusted with her true self, was the one dealing the deathblow. And he’d known.
She had nothing to do with any of this. Hadn’t known most of it. What she’d hidden had been the burden, the pain he’d seen in her eyes. That she couldn’t tell him what wasn’t hers to tell. She’d tried to tell him that.
He believed her. Without question. Now. When it was too late.
No. He couldn’t let it be. He wouldn’t. He would do anything to turn back the clock. Erase the hurt he’d inflicted on her.
But he’d resurfaced from his madness to find her gone. Two days ago. He’d learned that she’d left within an hour of his throwing her out of his life with a threat he wouldn’t have hurled at his worst enemy. But he’d thought her far worse than that then. He’d thought her his murderer. When he’d been the one who’d stuck a knife in her heart. And twisted.
He didn’t deserve her forgiveness.
But he would. Whatever and however long it took, he would.
Gabrielle counted her steps, her breaths. The seconds.
It was the one way she could go on from one to the next. She had this conviction that if she stopped counting, she’d sto
p moving, stop breathing. Stop moving forward in time. Be trapped forever in a second of pure agony.
She wished she would. But couldn’t. Not before she made sure her employees were safe from Durante’s wrath.
She cared nothing for what he would do to her.
She opened her office door, stepped inside, the plush wall-to-wall carpeting absorbing the sound of her steps, amplifying the feeling that she’d ceased to exist.
But it wasn’t insubstantiality that engulfed her now. It was something else. Something overwhelming and all-encompassing.
Him. Durante. Here.
She dropped the count. She’d been right. Her breath stopped. Time. The second held her in its grasp—and crushed her.
“Gabrielle. Perdonami.”
Forgive him?
The second fractured. Breath tore into her lungs. She spun around. And there he stood.
A god come down to earth, in an immaculate suit the color of the night of his hair, he made the crisp blues and grays of her space—made existence—pale into colorless nothingness.
His scent, his eyes on her. They made her forget everything. Every muscle in her body quivered like a bound bird’s, the blinding urge to fly to him tearing her apart.
Weak, self-destructive moron. She might never truly live again, but it was his doing. He’d crushed her.
What more did he want?
Anguish almost ripped her chest open. “You didn’t cut me into small enough pieces to satisfy your self-righteous rage? You want to see me a bloody mass on the ground before you’re satisfied?”
“Gabrielle, no.”
His urgency exploded into strides that obliterated what remained of the flimsy safety of distance, brought him against her, around her, hard and hungry. Then he was taking of her, taking her into him again, spreading her against him, pressing her between the persistence of his passion and something as un-yielding, drinking in her moans, absorbing her shudders, draining her of will and memory and pain.
He was the air that would make her breathe again. But he was also the poison that would asphyxiate her if she did.
