by Maisey Yates
But all they had done was mask the loss.
He couldn’t replace his mother with art, with cars, with money.
And he couldn’t make Charity love him by forcing her to stay with him. She was right; she would never be anything but a prisoner as long as he made her stay.
You have to let her walk away. You have to give her the choice.
Everything inside of him rebelled against that. He wanted to lock her up. He wanted to keep her in this room, this room that was kept shut and secure with a code that only he knew.
But then everything between them would be empty. None of it would be real.
None of it was real at all until she made the choice.
She might say no.
He ignored that voice and walked out of the room, into the corridor. Yes, she might say no. But he had never given her the chance to say yes. And if she said yes...
He needed her to say yes.
He walked down the stairs and prowled through the main part of the house, unsure as to where he might find Charity. She had been avoiding him since their confrontation after the dress fitting, but only because he had been allowing it. He was not allowing it anymore.
And you are back to behaving as though you own her.
He gritted his teeth. Old habits die hard, especially when he didn’t want to break them. But he had to. Because this was not about him anymore. It was about her.
He looked out onto the terrace and saw her standing there, her elbows rested on the balustrade. She was wearing a short, bright blue dress, her dark curls blowing in the breeze. She had never looked more beautiful. He had never felt a greater sense of her importance in his life.
And he was about to offer her freedom.
He was a fool.
He strode through the living area and out onto the terrace. “I will not send you to prison,” he said, the words coming out clipped, rushed.
Charity looked up, whirling around to face him. She said nothing, her lips parted slightly, her brows raised.
“You are free. What I mean is you are free from any threat I have made to you. I will not press charges against you for the con you and your father ran. I do not care if he returns the money or not. You don’t have to marry me. We will work out a custody deal with the child. I will pay child support. We will work out visitation. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“You’re letting me go?”
“Yes. I am letting you go.” He swallowed hard, heavy, leaden weight settling deep in his chest. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I don’t have to stay?”
The way that she said it, the words she had chosen hit him with brutal force. “Of course you do not have to stay.”
And he realized then that her answer was no. She didn’t want to stay with him. And why would she? He had strong-armed her into this from the very beginning. Had made sure she knew that the only alternative to him was a jail cell. Why would she want him? He was a monster.
He had gone into all of this feeling as though he were the victim and she the criminal.
But he could not see it that way now.
“I thought you wanted to get married?”
“I do.”
“Then why do you want to marry me?” she asked.
“Because,” he said, his voice hard. “I am a possessive bastard. I don’t want anyone else to have you.”
“Is that all?”
Pain roared through his chest, a sharp tearing sensation rending through his heart. No, of course that wasn’t all. But he didn’t know what else there was. He didn’t know how to say it. All he knew was that his head was pounding with pain, and that great, suffocating terror was gnawing at his throat. It all felt like trying to use a limb that was broken, mangled beyond repair. He knew in so many ways what he should do, what he should say, but he didn’t have the strength.
Didn’t have the strength to want something so fiercely again and be denied it.
And so he gave the only answer he could.
“There is nothing else.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m going to pack my things. And I need for you to arrange for me to return to New York.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice strangled. “If that’s all you can say to me.”
“I can’t give you anything more,” he said, hating himself because it was a lie. Hating himself because what it came down to was that he was simply too afraid to give anything more. And yet, he didn’t know how to fight it. He didn’t know how to be stronger.
Because everything that was rising up inside of him felt bigger than he was. Stronger. It was like a great, angry beast that had been kept locked down so deep he hadn’t even realized it was there. And now that it had woken up it was starving, enraged and incapable of being satisfied. And he didn’t want to try and satisfy it. He just wanted it to go away. Wanted the numbness he had felt for so many years to return.
And yet, right now he feared that would be impossible.
“Goodbye, Rocco. Please do get in touch about the custody arrangement.”
“I will be there when you give birth,” he said.
She nodded silently. “Okay.”
“Is this it then?” It seemed wrong. It was far too quiet an ending for something that had begun with so much fire. Yes, it had been a fire born of anger, but there had been passion, too. It’d been more than he had felt in years. And now it was simply ending. A dying flame, not ended dramatically with torrential downpours and wind, but with a slow and final suffocation.
“There was never really anything to end. Just a little bit of blackmail, right?”
“I suppose so.” No. It had never only been blackmail. Not from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. From that very moment it had been bigger than that, bigger than him.
And still he couldn’t say it.
He felt like a little boy again, strangled by grief, strangled by fear, unable to speak the words that he so desperately needed to say.
“Then we’ll be in touch.”
“Yes, I daresay we will.”
And so he stood there, as immovable as stone, his expression set, his jaw firmly clenched, while he screamed inside and watched Charity walk out of his life.
* * *
Charity managed to keep from breaking down until she was safely ensconced in Rocco’s private plane.
But as soon as the doors to the aircraft closed and she looked around the empty cabin a sob escaped her lips, and tears started falling down her cheeks. She didn’t want to leave. That was the worst part. She wanted to stay and accept whatever he was willing to give. Even though it wasn’t what she wanted. Right now, she was wishing that she had decided to stay and take his crumbs, even though she needed more.
Because anything had to hurt less than this. A lifetime of knowing she was part of his collection, and only a possession to him, had to be better than a life without him. A life of knowing that he was sleeping with other women. That she would never fall asleep in his arms again. That he would never kiss her again.
They weren’t going to be a family. That little part of herself that had—for the first time in years—let herself dream, felt like it was dying.
Unless he comes after you.
He could. He could still come after her. He wouldn’t let her leave. Not after everything that had passed between them. Not after he had held her so close and told her she belonged to him. She had seen the way he kept his things, so secure, so safe. If she were one of his things, there was no way he would let her go.
He would come after her.
She waited while the minimal crew prepared the cabin for departure. Waited while the engine began to hum. And her tears fell harder, faster. And she realized that he was not going to come after
her.
He can’t.
And suddenly, she realized. Realized that she was an idiot. Realized what he was doing.
He was letting her go because he didn’t see her as a possession. Not anymore.
He might not love her. He might never love her. She hated to think of that. Hated to face it. He was changing. This was a step for him. So far from the man who had sent that lingerie, that note, that demand. And that mattered.
She didn’t want to be in love alone. But this was a test of that love, and she was failing it.
Love wasn’t supposed to be this selfish.
No, her life hadn’t been easy. But neither had Rocco’s. She was learning, she was changing, and she was doing it faster than he was. But he had a harder climb. And if she wasn’t standing at the top of the mountain waiting for him when he got there, then what good was her love?
It wasn’t any better than the fickle parental love her father had often said he felt for her. He had only given it when it had suited him. And then, he had left her easily. Left her when she needed him most.
As she was doing to Rocco.
She was stronger than this. She wasn’t going to run away like a coward when it got hard, when it got painful. She was going to fight. She was going to make demands, because damn it all, she was worth it.
She had spent all of her life waiting for someone to love her, but she had never once asked for love.
And now she wasn’t just going to ask for it. She was going to demand it.
“Stop the plane.” She realized that the staff couldn’t hear her over the roar of the engine. “Stop the plane!”
* * *
Rocco had closed himself in his personal museum when Charity had gone off to pack.
He had been standing here, counting everything, taking mental inventory of everything for the past few hours. Everything was present. Nothing was missing. And yet his house felt empty. His body felt empty. As though Charity had torn something essential out of him and taken it away with her.
And none of these things helped. They didn’t fill the emptiness.
Because you love her. And you were too much of a coward to say it.
The realization sent a searing bite of pain through his body. Yes, he did love her. But love was the most terrifying thing he could think of. Something he’d had for a mere five years before it had been torn from his life.
But the gift remains.
He pushed his hands through his hair, walking across the room and over to the display that held one of his vases. And then he pushed over the column that held it up, smashing both the glass case and the vase itself. He didn’t feel any worse.
He turned and knocked over another display case, shattering the figurine that was beneath it. That was two things gone from his collection, and he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered. None of it mattered.
These things that he had been protecting so jealously for so long, meant nothing. They offered no protection, no security. He was exposed. He was raw and wounded. And none of these things stopped the pain from roaring through him, savaging him.
She was all that mattered, and he had let her go.
She didn’t choose you. You had to let her choose.
There was no reward in being virtuous. He laughed, the sound hollow, echoing in the room. He had spent so much of his life being decidedly unvirtuous because he had always known that there was no point to it. And truly, he had just now confirmed it.
He had done the right thing. And he felt no better for it. He certainly didn’t feel enriched.
Now he would see his child whenever he was in New York. And what if she married someone else? Another man would be playing the part of father, living in the same household as his son or daughter. Another man would be sleeping with his woman.
Because whether or not he had let her go, he could not get rid of the feeling that she was his.
Always.
She might be gone, but the changes she’d made in him would stay.
He looked at the fractured glass on the floor, glittering against the marble. Those vases really didn’t matter. These things didn’t matter. He didn’t need them.
That was new. It was different. It was because of her.
And no, he wouldn’t have Charity. At least not now. But he would be a good father to his child. And without her, without having her in his life, he would not have been able to. Only a couple of months ago he had been prepared to never see the child. And now, that was unthinkable.
Yes, he had changed.
Though he certainly didn’t feel very rewarded for it now, he knew he would be in the future. If for no other reason than that he would be able to have a relationship with his child. It was his chance to have love.
He walked across the broken glass, the pieces grinding beneath his shoes as he did so. He opened the doors and walked out into the main part of the house, then went up the stairs. He needed to shower. He needed to clear his mind. Figure out where to go from here.
He paused when he walked into his room and saw a bag sitting in the center of the bed.
He moved toward it, his heart pounding heavily. No one came in his room except for his staff. And even then, it was only when they were scheduled to be here. And no one was scheduled to be here now.
There was tissue paper in the top of the bag, and nestled in between the folds was an envelope. He picked it up, opened the flap and took out the note that was inside.
You will meet me on the terrace. In this bag you will find my engagement ring. If you have any interest in going forward with the wedding you will put this ring on my finger. And you will get down on one knee. There is no other option.
—C
With trembling fingers he took the tissue paper out of the bag and revealed the ring box sitting in the bottom. He picked it up, opened it. Inside was her ring. And she was here. She wasn’t gone. She was on the terrace waiting for him.
He wrapped his fingers around the box, squeezing it tight in his palm as he walked out of the room and hurried down the stairs. When he reached the living area he froze. She was there, out on the terrace. She was there just as she had said she would be.
And he wasn’t empty anymore.
She had chosen him.
He had to will himself to step forward. He was never nervous. He was always decisive. And yet, in this moment he found he was nervous. Still decisive. But nervous. Charity had the ability to turn his life upside down. Now and always.
He stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to admire her beauty. Taking a moment to relish her presence. He would never take it for granted. Never after this.
“You came back.”
She lifted her head, a smile on her lips. “I didn’t get very far. They started the engine of the plane and I started screaming and telling them to stop. I think they were concerned I was having some kind of medical episode.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No. I just realized I was making a mistake.”
He tightened his hold on the ring box. “Why? You seemed very sure when you left.”
“I was waiting for something. But I hadn’t given you anything. I wanted you to give me a reason to stay, but I hadn’t given you a reason to ask. I’m going to give you one now.” She met his gaze, her eyes bright, fierce and wonderful. “I love you. And I do want to be your wife. What I didn’t want was to be married to you only to have you ignore me, only to have you treat me like I’m simply a possession you can lock away for safekeeping. But I didn’t even give you a chance. And I never told you. I never asked you to love me. So I’m telling you now. I’m asking you now. Because if I don’t give you a chance, well...what kind of love is that?”
His heart beat faster, each thump painful, shocking. Had she truly said she loved him? Did she love him? “More than
I deserve. I didn’t give you a reason to give me a chance.”
“Yes, you did. Things didn’t start out very good between us. But you’ve changed. I’ve changed.”
“I have changed. You have no idea how much.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. Because I haven’t told you everything. I haven’t told you how I feel.” He took a deep breath. “Charity, I love you. I should have told you earlier. But the very idea of love... It terrified me. Because I loved my mother, and I lost her. And I spent almost thirty years without love in my life. Sometime during my time being passed around foster homes I just decided I wouldn’t need it anymore. But in order to force yourself into a place where you don’t think you need love you have to forget what it feels like. You have to forget why it’s good. In order to escape the bad emotions you have to turn off a lot of good ones, too. That was what I did. Until you.”
“Rocco...”
“No, let me finish.” He drew an unsteady breath. “There was a void in me. A void in my life. There has been ever since I lost my mother. And it was so much easier to pretend that the things, the house, all of those material items were a part of that void. Because they were replaceable. And so I pretended that my money, that my collections were taking steps and fixing that, but they were only masking the real problem. That there was no love in my life, in me. But my mother sacrificed everything to take care of me. To raise me for as long as she did. I forgot that sacrifice. I forgot the importance of her love because it was too painful. And I became something... Something she would not have been proud of. But I want to change that. I want to be a good father to our child. I want to be a good husband to you. I want to stop being afraid. Because I don’t think love and fear can exist in the same heart.”
“Rocco, I love you, too,” she said, closing the distance between them and kissing his lips. The most profound sense of relief, of peace washed over him. Happiness. Such a strange thing to feel happy after so many years of pretending it didn’t matter.
“Such a strange thing, Charity. You are in so many ways my very worst nightmare. You stole my money from me, and you know what an offense that was to a man like me. Then, you stole my heart. The thing I protected above everything else. And yet, I am so grateful you did.”
