by Maisey Yates
“It would be poetic, no?”
“No.” She shook head. “Lazaro, I love you.”
He felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. She was offering him words of love, words he was so far from deserving. Words she could not mean. Words he knew she didn’t mean. She was trying to protect Pickett. Because hadn’t she already proved she would do anything to save her family’s legacy? Hadn’t she married him? Made love to him? Why not a little lie, three little words, words that might make him change his mind.
They could not be true. He was beyond the point of being a man anyone could love. Least of all Vanessa.
“Don’t, Vanessa,” he bit out.
“I do.”
“No,” he roared the words, not caring if they drew stares. “I do not want your love.” He denied the need even as his heart wept. The desire to believe her was so strong it was nearly overpowering. He shook with it.
Worse than never hearing the words at all was having them used against him.
“And you don’t want me,” she said, her tone flat. “Was this your plan all along? To cast me aside and destroy my company? After you talked me into stepping down as CEO, of course.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not out to destroy Pickett, and I don’t need you to try and manipulate me to get me to change my mind. You kept your end. I will keep mine,” he said. “I will continue to be active in Pickett, in its improvement. But I do not see the marriage as a necessity at this point.”
“So—” she swallowed and he saw the tendons in her throat working, as though it were hard for her to do “—you want a divorce?”
“I think we should,” he said. But he didn’t want a divorce. He wanted to cling to her forever, force her to stay with him. Make her want him. Failing that, he wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted the walls back up around his heart. He wanted anything but to be standing on the sidewalk in downtown Boston offering Vanessa her freedom while his heart was torn to pieces with each and every syllable out of his mouth.
He wanted to cling to her last, desperate lie. Her greatest attempt at saving Pickett. He wanted to claim it as truth and hold it inside him. He wanted to take her love and let it heal the raw wounds in him.
But those words weren’t about feeling. And there was no way for him to be certain of the truth of them. Not as long as he held the fate of her beloved company over her head.
He wanted anything but a divorce. Anything but this moment. But he couldn’t force her to be with him anymore. It was emptier than being without her.
“Okay,” she said softly.
He had to grit his teeth to fight against the anguish that was tearing at him. “I knew you would be grateful for the out.”
She nodded. “I’m going home.”
“I don’t think I will.”
She shook her head. “My home. My town house.”
His stomach tightened, tense with the strength it took to keep from crumbling under the agony that was overtaking every inch of his body. It was like death, worse than being beaten in an alley.
“I will have your things sent over in the morning.”
“I won’t be there.”
He nodded curtly. “It’s for the best.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Goodbye, Lazaro.”
He couldn’t force a goodbye from his lips. He simply turned and walked away, wishing he could dull the pain by being angry with her, by making this her fault.
He couldn’t. And the absence of anger only left him with a raw, searing pain that threatened to destroy him from the inside out.
Lazaro’s penthouse was empty when he returned. As he had expected. Had he truly fantasized that Vanessa would have come back to him? He had destroyed any chance of that. He had made it swift and final.
He had been truthful though about one thing. He was guaranteed an in at her father’s club, entry into that last exclusive grouping of people. Access to new clients. A kind of forced respect. It was all likely due to the fancy bit of threatening Vanessa had done on his behalf.
He poured himself three fingers of Scotch and walked out onto the balcony, letting the cool night air numb some of his pain, hoping the alcohol would take care of the rest.
The view he had was worth millions. It represented a physical manifestation of all of the work he’d done over the past decade. He was at the top now. He was the richest man in Boston, a world-famous consultant. There was nowhere else for him to go. Every door was open, everything he’d ever been barred from available to him now. The world was at his feet.
Suddenly, the emptiness of it all threatened to consume him.
There was no sense of triumph. No feeling of accomplishment. He had chased this moment for the entirety of his adult life—the moment when he would overlook the city, a man apart. The man at the top. The man no one could ever hold any power over, ever again. The man who had won.
He was there now, finally, after all the years of pushing for it. And there was nothing. Only a dark, blank void. The sweetness of victory turned to ash in his mouth.
In that moment, he would give it all away to be the boy who mowed the lawn, the boy who had earned a genuine smile from the one girl who held his heart. To grow into a man who deserved a woman like Vanessa.
But there was no going back. He had gained the entire world and lost the only thing that had ever had any meaning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TRUE to his word, Lazaro had had all of her things delivered the day after he asked for the divorce. Vanessa left them packed, stepping over them when she came home from her photography class, digging through them when she needed something.
He had only ever wanted her for what she could give him, and then he’d gotten it, and he’d had no use for her. And she had done exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do. She’d fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with him.
She felt bruised inside. It hurt to breathe. To eat. Just being hurt.
She wished that she could just turn her feelings off, quick and clean like shutting off a water main. But it wasn’t that simple, not even close.
There was more to Lazaro than mindless acquisitions and status. She knew there was. She’d seen it. A man consumed only by a desire for things never would have cared that she had to take antacids to get through her day at work. He never would have encouraged her to work on her photography or bought her a camera.
He would never have made love to her as Lazaro did—with skill and tenderness, passion and heat. Always ensuring her pleasure came before his.
He had brought her out of her stagnant life. She felt as though he’d opened her eyes to living. To feeling. He had given her so much—the strength to chase her own desires.
She wiped a tear off her cheek, frustrated that she was still crying four days after he’d rejected her love. Unsure if she would ever stop.
No one else had ever really seen her before. She was afraid no one else ever would.
But I see me now.
She took a deep breath. At least she knew what she wanted now. No more living behind the four walls of her office, no more pouring everything she had into something that she didn’t love to do.
She’d found her own life. Her own path. And she’d lost her heart in the process.
But at least she was alive now. Truly living, making her own choices and living with the consequences, rather than hiding behind honor and duty. Cowering in fear of making choices and mistakes and playing the martyr instead of taking responsibility for things.
Still, right now, her newfound self was consumed with heartbreak that felt nearly fatal at the moment.
“This too shall pass. I hope,” she said into her empty living room.
At least this time she’d told him she loved him. Back all those years ago in the guesthouse, the words had hovered on her lips, and she wondered if things would have changed if she had just spoken them. If he had said he loved her too, or if the honesty would have at least made them talk. Made them understand ea
ch other.
Yes, he had rejected her love. But she’d offered it. She’d tried.
There was a sharp knock on her front door, followed by a rich, familiar voice. “Vanessa?”
Her heart stopped beating for a moment before racing forward, tripping over itself. She swallowed hard and went to the door, opening it but keeping the shield of the wood between her and her soon-to-be-ex-husband. If there was nothing between them she might just cast her pride aside completely and fall into his arms.
“Lazaro … I … didn’t expect you.”
“I have something for you.”
Her heart sank into her stomach and she opened the door wider, allowing him in. “Divorce papers? Do you want to sit down?” She gestured to her blue Victorian love seat.
“If you want them, and no.”
“If I want them?”
“I brought divorce papers. But … that is not all.”
She looked at him, really looked at him. He looked like she did. Tired, sick, tormented. His cheekbones looked sharper, the grooves that bracketed his mouth deeper. His black hair was disheveled, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
“What else?” she asked, her throat tightening.
He cleared his throat, raising his hand and running it through his hair, just as she’d envisioned him doing. His hand shook as he lowered it. “I have to tell you this. I … I have spent every moment since that day I woke up facedown in the alley working my way up. I swore I would never stop until I reached the top. And I did. I reached it, Vanessa.”
“I remember,” she said, her voice cracking. “You asked for a divorce ten seconds after telling me this the first time.”
“Yes, I found it, all I was looking for. And then I found out the big hole that’s been inside me for all of my life was still there.” His voice broke. “I fixed nothing. I accomplished nothing. Because I was at the top, and I was alone. I used you as a stepping stone. I used you. I forced you to marry me. It’s unforgivable.”
Vanessa watched Lazaro’s expression contort, his eyes filled with bleak torment. “Laz …”
“Don’t, Vanessa. Don’t excuse me,” he ground out. “I don’t deserve it.” He drew his hand over his face. “When I was eighteen I had more than I do at this moment, because you smiled at me as though I meant something to you, and now when you look at me … there is no light. And you left me.”
“You asked me to.”
“I was a fool. I wanted to run after you the moment you turned away from me, and I did not. I couldn’t.”
Vanessa felt her heart fold in. “I thought … I thought you only wanted to be with me because of what I could give you and then … and then you asked for a divorce when you had what you wanted …” Her voice broke. “I needed so much to have someone love me. Me and not my name, not what I could do for them. Me. And you didn’t. You were just like everyone else.” The words were torn from her, her pride be damned.
He took a step forward and extended his hand, his fingers trembling as he cupped her cheek, ran his thumb over her lower lip. He let his hand fall back to his side. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m sorry I was such a fool. I didn’t realize, Vanessa. I thought I couldn’t be whole until I had all the money, all the status. All the power. I thought that when I was certain I would never be weak or helpless again, everything would be perfect. But I had it all. I’ve had it all since the moment I put that ring on your finger, but I am not whole. I’m in pieces. More now than I ever have been. I became a man I despise to gain the power and wealth that I craved. But I lost my soul. I lost my heart.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a stack of papers. “I’m hoping that this will help me get it back.” He took her hand in his and lifted it, then he put the documents in her upturned palm. “This is everything I own. All of the shares for Pickett. All of my money. The title to the penthouse … all of my houses. It’s yours, Vanessa. Because it means nothing if I don’t have you. Without you, I have nothing, I am nothing. This isn’t just some empty gesture. If you want me to leave, I will. And I’ll leave you with everything I’ve acquired in the past twelve years. This is what I hurt you for, all of the things that I have defined myself by, and I would trade it all to have you in my arms again.”
Vanessa stared down at the papers in her hand. “There are no divorce papers?” she asked, the words sounding hollow, inane.
“They’re in there too. Whatever you want. But if you take me, it is only me. You can have it all without me. Money, power. Pickett will be safe. I’ll have no hold over you.”
“But … this is everything you have.”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I thought it was everything, Vanessa, I truly believed it. Do you know how frightening it was? To achieve my goal and realize that it was nothing more than vain emptiness? That I was more unhappy than I had ever been?”
He moved to her, cupped her cheek. “I do love you for what you can give me. Happiness. Hope. Satisfaction. Things I have chased all my life and found nowhere. Nowhere but with you. I love you, Vanessa Pickett. Everything about you. I have from the first moment I saw you, in your bright pink bikini, and I will love you until I take my last breath.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “I come to you with nothing. I am just a man who loves you.”
She put the stack of papers on her hall table and wrapped her arms around his neck, her cheeks wet with tears. “I love you too.”
He pulled back, his dark eyes searching hers. “How?”
“Same as you. I always have. I always will.”
“What I said the other night … I was afraid you were only telling me you loved me so that you could secure Pickett’s future. I didn’t want that. And I didn’t want to hold you to an arrangement that I had forced you into.”
“I meant it then, I mean it now. With everything or with nothing, sickness or in health, I love you, Lazaro Marino. You. Not your position or your bank balance. Everything you are, everything you will be.” She kissed him, pouring all of her love into him. When they parted, they were both short of breath. “And I don’t want anything from you but you,” she said, looking down at the documents on the table. “I really, really don’t want the divorce papers.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” he whispered, his voice rough.
She touched his face. “It’s easy to be angry for so many years lost. So many years when we could have been together.”
“I don’t know if I could have been the man you deserved then, Vanessa. I wasn’t the man you deserved twenty-four hours ago. I’m not sure if I am now.”
“You are. You’re the man I need. You push me. You make me stronger. You’ve shown me who I am.”
“That’s what you’ve done for me, Vanessa. I’m stronger, better, because I have you.” He kissed her lightly and she sighed, happiness filling her. “I’ve turned down your father’s offer to join his club,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do. I don’t want to do business with men like that. It’s not worth any amount of money or prestige.” He looked at her, his eyes unveiled, the love in them clear and true. “I don’t need it. I love you, Vanessa Pickett. Not for your last name, not for your connections. For all of my days.”
She smiled, her heart so full she thought it might burst. All of the pain flooded from her, washed away by Lazaro’s love, the love they shared, leaving everything in her feeling clean. New. Complete for the first time.
“I’m glad you aren’t too attached to my last name,” she said. “Because I’m going to have it changed. Vanessa Marino suits me better. You’re my family now. I want everyone to know how proud I am to be your wife.”
“Vanessa Marino,” he repeated. “I am honored.” She touched his cheek. “The honor is all mine.”
EPILOGUE
THE past three years had been the best of Vanessa’s life. She felt as though all the time spent apart from
Lazaro was slowly being restored, as though wounds were truly healing, the past no longer something filled with hurt and regret.
She took a deep breath and looked around the gallery, at the people looking at her photographs. It was her first real exhibition. She hadn’t been confident enough in her skills to have one right away, and she’d wanted to earn the right to have one, not simply have it handed to her because of her maiden name or her husband’s position in the community.
The picture that drew the biggest crowd was the one that was still her favorite. Lazaro, in their bed, looking at her with so much desire in his eyes that it made her burn to see it even now.
She walked over to the photo, drawn to it still.
“That’s a man in love.” It came from one of the women gazing at the print.
Vanessa smiled.
Lazaro came to stand beside her, his arm around her waist. “Yes, it is.” He leaned in and kissed her neck. “I’m still in love with you, too.”
“I know,” she said.
“Sure of yourself,” he said, smiling at her.
“Sure of you,” she said.
He’d never given her reason to doubt. He showed her his love every day in a thousand different ways. He loved her as she was, in all her moods.
He kissed her again. “Have I mentioned how very proud I am of you?”
“About a hundred times, but tell me again.”
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Of everything you’ve accomplished. Of everything you are.”
Vanessa blinked back tears and leaned into his embrace, love filling her. “The feeling is one-hundred-percent mutual.”
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
