Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,59

you want me to give you the reassurance and love that he never did. But I’m not your father, Colette. I can’t make up for what he did to you.”

“I never asked you to,” she whispered.

“You did. You want love. Love that I can’t give you. And I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, and I’m sorry if that makes you feel like an obligation or a burden when you aren’t. I want to be married to you. I want to build a life with you and raise Emma together. I want things to be easy and happy and uncomplicated. Don’t you?”

She stared at him, her mouth quivering and her luminous eyes filling with tears.

“I’m not your father, Colette,” he said quietly. “Stop treating me like I am.”

A solitary tear trembled and then fell, tracking a silvery trail down her cheek.

He cupped her nape and leaned to stare into her eyes. “I want you to trust me not to hurt you. Even if I don’t love you, I’ll never hurt you. I promise.”

“But you already are,” she whispered, moving away from his touch and bracing her shoulders as she lifted her chin. “And the worst part is, you can’t even see it.”

Clenching his fists, he turned away from her, his chest feeling heavy and tight. “It’s obvious we can’t discuss this now. Come. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. We can talk about this later.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COLETTE stared at his retreating back, wanting to follow him, to explain, to beg him to hold her and soothe away her fears. But how could he when he didn’t love her? When he never would?

She blinked, silently holding back the sobs crowding her chest as she watched him shuck his clothing, lift the sheets, and then climb into bed without looking at her. She followed him across the room, removed her robe, and slid in next to him.

For the first time since coming to the Riviera he turned away from her, presenting his broad back. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t make love to her or wrap his big, warm body around hers.

And she felt the distance between them like a jagged tear in her heart. She wanted to curl into him, to bury her face against his skin and confess her love for him. She wanted him to wind his strong arms around her, to kiss her, reassure her, and tell her again that he’d never regret marrying her. But what would be the use? They were just empty words, meaningless words he’d feel obligated to say.

Somehow Colette managed to keep the sobs buried deep, deep inside. Tears seeped silently from the corners of her eyes, down her temples and onto the pillow, but she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move.

She didn’t sleep much that night, and their flight to London the next day was tense. Emma distracted her and gave her day purpose. For Emma, she’d feign good spirits. For Emma, she’d pretend everything was fine.

The next night was a repeat of the night before. Just the setting had changed. Though they stayed in the Whitfield Grand’s penthouse suite, the same suite she and Stephen had once used for their clandestine lunchtime trysts, it felt as if they were visitors to a museum. Pleasant, cordial and polite, she and Stephen spoke only when conditions demanded it.

And still he didn’t touch her.

The following morning, she found a note from him stuck to the bathroom mirror.

Don’t wait up tonight; I’ll be home late.—S

A call to the front desk informed Colette as to why Stephen would be home late. Just like every year since its opening, the Whitfield Grand was hosting the Sir Walter Whitfield III’s annual birthday bash. It was scheduled for eight p.m. in the largest ballroom, and everybody who was anybody would be in attendance. While she, Stephen’s wife, the woman he’d instructed not to wait up, hadn’t even been invited.

An unexpected flash of anger heated her chest. As irrational as it was, she felt betrayed. True, she wasn’t the wife he wanted, and she’d brought a child into the world he’d never intended to have. But for him to keep her from meeting his family, hated or not, spoke volumes about how he really felt about her. The whole time he’d been asking for her trust, claiming to want her for her, he’d been lying to her.

He, who’d claimed to want a marriage built on mutual respect, was too embarrassed even to introduce her to his family.

If