A Scandal in the Headlines(42)

“He laughed when I rang him,” she whispered. “He told me that I was a stupid bitch. A whore. He told me I had twenty-four hours to get back to the villa and if I didn’t he’d come get me himself, and I would really, truly regret it. That he didn’t care if he had to marry me in a wheelchair.”

Alessandro’s arm tightened around her, and she allowed herself the comfort of his heat, his strength, even though she knew it was fleeting at best. That it wasn’t hers, no matter how much it felt as if it was. That he was far more dangerous to her now, armed with all of the knowledge she’d given him, even if he really was the man he claimed he was.

Neither one of them spoke for a long while. His hand moved over her hair, stroking her as if she was something precious to him. She accepted that she wished she was. That she always had. That she’d wanted too much from him from the start, and had been paying for it ever since.

“And that time,” she said when she could speak again, giving him everything he’d asked for, everything she’d been hiding, everything, “I believed him.”


Alessandro stood on the balcony outside his bedroom long after midnight, staring out into the dark.

He couldn’t sleep. He could hardly think straight. Once again, she’d shoved his world off its axis, and he was still reeling.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he’d asked her as the light began to change, still holding her on the swinging chair, pulling her closer as the wind picked up.

“You would never have believed me.”

“Perhaps,” he’d said, but she’d only smiled. “Perhaps, in time, I might have.”

But she’d been right. He would have thought it was another game. He would have laughed at her. Hated her all the more. He would have treated her exactly the same—worse, even. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.

He balled his hands into fists against the rail now, scowling.

He should have known. He had been too busy concentrating on the darkness in him, too busy nursing his wounded pride. The truth had always been there, staring him in the face. In every kiss, every touch. In the way she’d given herself to him so unreservedly.

In what he’d known about her the moment he’d seen her in Rome.

He should have tried to reach her then. Instead, he’d stormed off that dance floor and left her to be brutalized. He’d put her through hell all on his own. And he couldn’t blame his family for that. That had been all him.

He was no different from them at all. He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever believed otherwise.

He sensed her behind him a moment before she stepped to the rail beside him, hugging herself against the cool night air.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

She smiled, but she didn’t look at him. “You didn’t.”

He watched her, feeling something work through him, something powerful and new and all about that tilt to her jaw, that perfect curve of her hip, the way she squared her shoulders as she stood there. Her lovely strength. Her courage.

He didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with any of it. Or with her.

Alessandro couldn’t help but touch her then, his hands curving over her bare shoulders and turning her to face him. She was as beautiful in the shadows as she was in the light, though the wariness in her gaze made his chest ache. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. From Niccolo. From the world.

Even from himself.

He stroked his fingers down her lovely face, and felt the way she shivered, heard the way she sighed. He thought of that first touch, so long ago now, that glorious heat. He thought of that marvelous glow between them. That easy, instant perfection.

And all of it was true.

Everything he’d felt. Everything he’d imagined. Everything he’d wanted then, and thought impossible.

“What happens now?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

He smiled then, over the rawness inside of him, the dangerous, insidious hope.

“Now?” he asked, his voice gruff. As uneven as he felt. “I apologize.”

And then he kissed her, gently, and she melted into him. Like the first time all over again. Better.

Real.


Elena woke in his wide bed, safe and warm.

She lay on her side and gazed out at the morning light, the blue sky, and the previous afternoon came back to her slowly, drip by drip. Then the night. The way he’d picked her up so gently and carried her back to bed. The way he’d moved over her, worshipping every part of her, taking his time and driving her into a sweet, wild oblivion, before curling around her and holding her close as they fell asleep together.