scaring me, Iz. Did you get bad news from your doctor?”
It’s such a Bradley thing to go straight to a medical crisis, and my heart wrings itself into a tight, soggy ball. I don’t deserve this man, this gentle, compassionate soul.
I shake my head, struggling to find my voice. “It’s not medical. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” His brow furrows, and he tries to step closer. “Izzy? Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
I close my eyes as more tears fall, as the happy space I’ve built here crumbles into a big, dusty heap. When I open my eyes and meet his, my heart splits in two.
“No,” I whisper. “No, we can’t.”
Chapter 12
Bradley
As I study the shimmering tears in Izzy’s eyes, I know what I’m about to hear won’t be standard cold feet. Not “I’m afraid of these feelings” or “let’s take things slower.”
Maybe not even “I’m just not into you,” though I’m braced for that. I’m braced for anything but the pain etched on her face.
“Iz?”
She shakes her head, and a tear slips down her cheek. Dashing it away with the heel of her hand, she takes a shaky breath. “This is all my fault.”
“What’s your fault? Talk to me, Iz.”
I touch her elbow, and she flinches but doesn’t draw away. “That,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I drop my hand, confused. “Me touching you?”
“No, the way I feel when you touch me,” she says. “This was only meant to be a fling.”
“Okay,” I say, regrouping a little. “So we slow things down. Just keep it casual. Or if you want, I know this great couples’ therapist my sister saw when—”
“Oh, Bradley.” She shakes her head, and the look in her eyes undoes me completely. “I’m going back. To Dovlano, I’m going back home.”
The word home sticks awkwardly in my mind because I’m a selfish prick who thought maybe she’d come to think of this place as her home. “I understand,” I say, even though I don’t. “And we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“The time has come.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but the words are a scream in my head. “Right after Jon’s wedding. My mother is sending a private jet to come get me.”
It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut, and I take my time responding. “Okay,” I say, processing what she’s said. “All right, it’s not the end of the world. I can come see you. Or you can—”
“Bradley, no.” She shakes her head slowly, sending another tear down her cheek. “That’s not all.”
The other shoe is about to drop. I steel myself, not sure how bad this might get. It hurts like hell to think she’s breaking things off, but I need to hear her say the words. To make sure I’m not jumping to paranoid conclusions.
But she’s crying so hard now I’m not sure she can get the words out. I cup her other elbow, holding on to her like she might blow away.
“You’re ending things.” I say the words myself because her sobs make speech unlikely. “You’re wanting to call it quits before you head home. Iz, I can deal. It’s not like I’ve never had a woman break up with me b—”
“I’m getting married.” She chokes out the words in staccato bursts, like she’s spitting them out. Her eyes are frantic, searching mine for a response. “I’m getting married, Bradley.”
I stare at her, positive I’ve heard wrong. I wait for her to laugh. To tell me it’s a sick joke or I’ve misunderstood. An icy chill floods my chest as I meet her eyes. She’s telling the truth.
My God.
“I don’t understand.” A ridiculous understatement, but I’m too stunned to wrap my brain around what she’s just shared. “How—what—”
“In my culture, arranged marriages are common among the royal class,” she says slowly. “The pairings are made for political or social standing, often before the parties even meet each other.”
“Okay.” I hold her gaze, struggling to grasp what she’s saying. “All right, I spent time in small villages in Iraq. I’ve seen arranged marriage firsthand.” Sometimes horrifying examples of young girls forced into wedlock, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about here. “Or India, I know they have some impressive statistics about the success of arranged marriages there.”
It’s a dumb thing to say, but I want her to know I’m not judging. That I don’t kid myself into thinking American culture has a stronghold on the definition