Modern Romance November 2015 Books 1-4. Trish Morey

voice was muted, but her conviction remained. She was certain what she was saying was right. That it was true. “You’re lonely. As lonely as I have been. But instead of going into the woods to scream about your isolation, you buried yourself in the nearest available vice. You tried to make yourself believe you weren’t alone because there were people around to help you do it. I didn’t have that option, so I had to accept my loneliness. Learn to understand it. You’ve been lying to yourself. You’re hurting. And nobody really knows you. Nobody else realizes.”

      “Countless women know me, in the biblical sense, which I imagine is a much stronger sense than a great many other versions of knowing someone.”

      “Stop it. You put on this air of cynicism, you act like no one can touch you. Like nothing matters. But it’s a lie. I know it is. Because I’ve seen you. I have never gone and read about your past. Everything I know about what a terrible person you are has come from you. It’s come from your own lips. But I don’t believe it. I never have. I’ve never gone looking for anyone else’s opinion on who you might be. I have formed my own. You are a good man. You love your brother. You love this country. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be trying to atone for your mistakes now. You are loyal. Stubborn. A little bit mean when you’re angry, but only because you’re protecting yourself. You have been generous with me. As a lover, as a friend. You have stayed with me, shown me things, treated me with exceeding care. You washed my hair. Andres, you are a good man. So many people have written stories about you, but who are they? Why do they matter? Let my opinion be enough. Believe that. If nothing else, believe me.”

      “You have known me for a matter of mere weeks, agape. Sadly your opinion of me, formed while I was on my best behavior, carries very little weight.”

      “So this was your best behavior, then? Not your regular behavior?”

      “Yes,” he said, his teeth grinding together.

      “Fine. Then make it your behavior. If you can do it, then continue to do it.”

      “It will come to an end. It always does.”

      “It doesn’t have to. We are getting married tomorrow. We’re starting the first day of the rest of our lives. It’s new for both of us. Make it new. Start again. With me.”

      “I need a drink.” He released his hold on her, pushing himself backward and stalking off the dance floor, leaving her standing there alone, her heart pounding sickly in her chest.

      She had ruined it. She couldn’t figure out why, or how. She only knew that she had. She would have died to hear him say that he loved her. She had assumed he must feel the same.

      Perhaps being alone was better in many ways. If she were still alone she wouldn’t have to deal with this pain. Deal with this hurt. As it was, she felt as if she was crumbling apart from the inside out.

      She saw the dessert was being served at the table she and Andres had abandoned, and made the decision to go and sit back down.

      She would give him a while, and then, once he had cooled off, she would go after him.

      * * *

      Andres couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. She couldn’t love him. It was impossible. Oh, for one, heady second, he had let himself imagine that it might be true. And let himself imagine it would be something that he could take full advantage of. A wife who would adore him. Who thought he was good. What an incredible thing that would be. Sadly it was something he would only lose in the end. Because that was what happened. It was who he was. It was what he did. He drove people away. His mother. He’d made the best attempt he could with Kairos. And starting tomorrow, and on into eternity, he would be waiting. Waiting for that dangling sword to fall, to tear asunder all that he and Zara had built.

      Perhaps it wouldn’t be this year, or the next year. Perhaps it would not be until they’d had children. Children who would also look up to him, idolize him. Love him. Depend on him as he had done with his parents.

      Children he wouldn’t deserve. A wife he could never hope to deserve.

      He would ruin things. For all of them. And in the years while he waited for the killing blow, he would drive himself crazy. Knowing it would come eventually, but never knowing when.

      He was feeble. His spirit so corrupt he knew that he could never be the kind of man that she needed.

      He wasn’t Kairos. Who would lay down everything, personal happiness, individual goals, everything, to serve his country. To serve a wife he didn’t even love. Andres could never be that noble. He had never managed to keep the love of another person. Not even his parents. His behavior always ruined it in the end. He had no control. He never had.

      The past few weeks had been a game. And he had been indulging himself. But it had to end.

      He had to show her now. Because it would be better to destroy everything before the wedding. Better now than years from now. So she knew where things would end. So she knew what to expect.

      They had to marry; there was no question of that. But...he could not have her loving him.

      He stopped at the edge of the ballroom, scanning the crowd. And then he saw her. A blonde woman in a red dress, her curves barely contained by the tight, silken material. She was exactly the kind of woman he would have put the moves on in the past. Exactly the kind of woman he would choose to spend a few hedonistic hours with once boredom set in at a party like this.

      And for the first time in years he let himself remember that last Christmas party. His mother had given him another chance. Had allowed him to come down from his room.

      This time as they’d sat at the table, a family, pretending to have unity for all the world to see, his actions had not been beyond his control.

      He had been angry. Angry for the years he’d spent locked away. Angry at how long and hard he’d tried only to fail time and time again. To get lost in the endless cycle of trying to please someone who professed to love him and failing at every turn.

      So he’d chosen to fail that day. Had thrown his dinner plate on the floor and smashed it to pieces. Had made his mother cry again. It had felt good to accomplish what he’d set out to do. To fail spectacularly on purpose, rather than to try and fall short.

      And then she’d left after that. God help him, he’d been relieved. Because after that he’d never had to try again.

      He looked up, saw his fiancée sitting at the table, her posture stiff, taking tiny bites of her dessert, trying to enjoy it, trying to listen to the conversation around her. She did not fit in, his Zara. She did not have that cultured manner of those raised in nobility. Did not have the social graces she would have learned had she been raised in the palace life.

      She was utterly unique. Utterly her.

      He drank in the sight of her. Pale skin, dark hair, in that pink and gold dress that made her look like something out of a fairy tale.

      But he wasn’t the sort of man who deserved a fairy tale.

      He took a step forward. Then another. Then, he began to make his way toward the blonde. Toward temptation.

      He was not going to wait for hell to come up and grab him. He would walk and willingly. And he would do it now.