I glare at him and think about what he’s saying to me.
He never tells me anything and explains himself to no one. Everything he’s told me so far has been by chance and slowly drip-fed to me.
So, I know when he’s talking like this to pay attention.
The rain falls on us, soaking us both, but I can’t take my eyes off him as he stares at me like he’s looking into my soul.
“I can’t cheat on you, princess,” he says, and it’s like the guard over his eyes falls away. “I can’t get you out of my head.”
I know the truth when I see it. I know the truth when I feel it.
I can see it in his eyes and hear it laced in the tone of his voice.
“Then what happened to you? That day you left before the wedding, everything changed.”
“I crossed the line I didn’t know I could cross. Now that I have, I don’t want to go back.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper, and something twinkles in his eyes.
A shimmer flickers between us. An entity of understanding within a crackle of energy.
He lowers his lips to mine, and I move to him, too, kissing him the way we used to kiss. Not like that kiss we shared when we said ‘I do.’
This is the kiss to rival all, revealing more truths, and I allow myself to love him.
He picks me up, scooping me into his arms, and rises with me, but his lips don’t leave mine.
He walks back into the house with me just like that. I feel the maids’ eyes on us. Neither of us cares who sees us, though.
We reach the bedroom, where our clothes come off layer by layer and he makes love to me.
We actually make love. I feel the difference in his touch.
Passion grips us, claiming us, claiming me, and I know I crossed that line, too, and I don’t want to go back.
There’s only one problem—one of us is still a liar.
Me.
I love him, but I’m not the woman he thinks I am.
When he finds out who I am, I’m not sure love can save me, and neither will his obsession.
36
Mikhail
The silver moon beams down on the princess as I open the grand oak doors in the hall I christened the shrine.
That was what this room felt like when I got out of the hospital.
Everything in here was supposed to be a reminder of good memories my father had of my mother. To me, they felt like memories of what used to be and what will never be again.
Tonight, I look at my wife and focus on her.
Moonlight is what I want her in. Nothing but moonlight touching her skin.
There’s something enchanting about watching her in the silver glow I want to capture. It is the only thing I’ll allow to touch her that isn’t me.
