Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,68
so.
And the second, more cowardly reason . . .
Dante will be furious when he finds out.
When I first left, I thought of the baby as mine alone. Mine to protect, mine to care for. I thought it was my right to take my child to another country, to a safer life.
But when Henry was ripped out of my arms at the hospital, I began to think differently. Every time I missed a moment of his life because I was working—a first step or an early word—I realized how much Dante was missing, too.
Hiding my pregnancy was awful.
Hiding my son was unforgivable.
So I can’t tell the truth about Henry, because I’m scared. Scared of Dante.
I find myself nodding stupidly. Behaving as if Henry really is my nephew. Continuing my lie because I don’t know what else to do.
The song comes to an end, and Dante releases my hand.
He gives me a little nod, almost a bow.
Then he walks away from me without another word.
And I’m standing there, miserable and alone, every cell of my body yearning for the man disappearing into the crowd.
28
Dante
Why did I dance with her?
Goddamn Aida for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.
I’m used to my sister’s complete disregard for other people’s boundaries, but this time she went too far. She knows that Simone is off-limits, in every conceivable way. I don’t talk about her. I don’t even think about her.
But that’s not really true, is it?
I think about her every fucking day, one way or another.
Why hasn’t that ever gone away?
After she left, I think I went mad for a while. I saw Simone everywhere—on street corners, in restaurants, in cars that passed. Every time I’d turn my head, thinking it was really her, only to realize it was a stranger. Someone who didn’t actually look like her at all.
And then the real mind-fuck started. Her face began appearing on the covers of magazines, in retail shops, and cosmetic aisles. Her new career seemed like a cruel joke designed to torment me. Once I fell asleep watching TV and I woke up to the sound of her laugh—she was on The Late Show being interviewed by Stephen Colbert.
“So what’s it like being the most beautiful woman in the world, Simone? As the most beautiful man, I have some thoughts . . .” Cue audience laughter.
I couldn’t get away from her. There was nowhere I could hide.
I hated Chicago. I hated my work. I even hated my family, though it wasn’t their fault. I hated all the things that made Simone leave me. The things that made me unworthy.
I didn’t want to be myself anymore—the man who loved her and wasn’t loved in return.
So I joined the military.
I flew across the world to the godforsaken desert, just to find a place where I wouldn’t have to see her face.
I still did, though. I saw her face in barracks, in sand dunes, in empty starry nights. It floated behind my closed eyelids at night when I tried to sleep.
I would have told you that I remembered every detail of it.
And yet, she took my breath away at the rally. I hadn’t remembered even a quarter of how beautiful she can be.
She looked even more stunning tonight. She was wearing a simple white gown, one-shouldered with a tasteful slit up her left thigh. Every time she moved, I got a glimpse of that long leg, and her deep bronze skin against the glowing white.
Her waist felt tight and lean under my palm. But her figure was fuller than it used to be. That’s why they call her The Body—because there’s never been a body like that in all of creation. Every other woman in the world is just a pale imitation of her. Like they were all made in her image, but with none of the same skill. She’s the Picasso and the rest are just postcards.
Why did she leave me?
I know why. I know I failed her that night, leaving her alone and scared in the park. I know I terrified her when I showed up, crazed and dripping blood. And I know she was teetering on the edge of leaving me even before that, because I wasn’t the man she planned to love, the one her family wanted for her.
So I guess the question I really want to know the answer to is, Why didn’t she love me anyway? Why didn’t she love me as much as I loved her?