tightened to points poking through John Lennon’s forehead. “Nice shirt.”
I hurriedly wrap my arms around my waist. “How did you find out where I live? Let me guess, Anastacia and her trusty planner?”
He smiles and I hate how beautiful it is.
“I know everything about this town.”
I pull a face at his self-assurance. “What are you doing here? Have you come to inflict some more ridiculous demands on me?”
“I know what I am asking of you is —”
“Preposterous? Archaic? The idea of an insane man?”
He raises a perfect eyebrow. “I was going to say unique.”
As I close my front door, he looks around my modest apartment.
“You sent back my flowers.”
“I did.”
He smiles. “Nice touch.”
“Thank you. Did it get my point across?”
“That you don’t like flowers? Absolutely.”
“No. I love flowers. But I can’t be bribed by them. And just for the record, you’re not going to impress me with money, gifts, or by showing me how awesome you are. All the money in the world isn’t going to change how I feel about you and this absurd situation.”
“Duly noted.”
The damp fabric of my t-shirt clings to my breasts, and I silently curse the fact that I’m not wearing a bra.
“So, what are you doing here?” I demand.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For forcing me to marry you?”
He gives me a weak smile.
“There is so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know where to start,” he says, and just like that, the emotion in the room flips on its ass. Suddenly, I don’t feel like I have the upper hand anymore because his words are said with a softness that cradles my heart.
I want to fight him, but the way he is looking at me dampens the fire in my chest.
“Say what you came to say and then leave.”
He ignores the harshness in my tone.
“I know you think I’m a monster making you do this.”
I fold my arms. “Go on.”
He pauses for a moment, his face softening as he looks for the words.
“Have you really forgotten, Bella?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Forgotten what?”
“How it was between us?”
“That was ten years ago. Hell, two years longer than that since we’d seen each other. We were kids. What, you think I’ve been holding on to that dream all this time?”
His jaw tightens.
“I remember those days like they were yesterday,” he says, his voice is soft as he reaches for my hand. “You were my best friend. I loved you from the moment we were born.”
Then why did you never turn up on our birthday?
The memory makes me angry, and I pull my hand away from his, taking a step back from him. “I stopped loving you the night of our eighteenth birthday.”
My words cut into the tightened air around us. His eyes burn with a dark fire as he steps closer. “Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore? That what we had all those years ago doesn’t still live in your heart.”
My chin raises. “You never showed up. You broke your promise.”
I see a flicker of remorse cross his beautiful face. But it is so brief, I wonder if I imagined it.
“Do you want to know why I chose not to show?” he asks.
Hearing him admit it hurts. Because somewhere deep inside me I was still clinging to the hope that maybe I’d gotten it wrong. That some wild act of God had prevented him from showing up to my birthday party and whisking me away to be his queen. A flood or a tornado, perhaps. Maybe a bad case of the flu. Fucking anything. But to hear that he chose not to show up… it fucking stings.
My heart aches. Its natural state of being is to love him and it wants permission to do so. Desperately. But I will not give it permission. Not now. Not ever. Because the asshole chose to give me up. Chose to break my heart.
“No, I don’t want to know. Because your reason means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me.” My tongue is sharp. But fuck it. He deserves this. “You might’ve backed me into a corner so I have to marry you, Alessandro. But there is nothing in this world that can make me love you.”
His eyes grow darker, if that is even possible, and his jaw tightens. “Is that so?”
“I’m just your toy, Alessandro Lastrantonio. You can bend me any which way you like, and you can play make believe with me until the cows come