Much Ado About You(88)

“Because all this time I thought I knew you better than I know anyone . . . and a whole village was laughing at me because I got engaged to a man I didn’t even know!”

Anger darkened his expression as he gripped my biceps, bending his head to mine. “You do know me,” he promised. “You know what counts.”

I shook my head. “You’re not the same man.” My heart broke all over again, the pain too much as I sobbed. I didn’t even care that I accepted his comfort as he wrapped his arms around me and begged me to forgive him.

But it was so clear to me now that I’d been living in a fucking fantasy. I’d done with Roane what I’d done with Aaron. I was so desperate to find love that I’d rushed in, given myself over to a man I didn’t know at all. Because if he’d lied about this . . . what else had he lied about?

My tears soaked Roane’s shirt as I bawled like a baby.

I bawled for a future I’d been so excited about.

I cried for a life that would never be mine now.

Pushing away from him, my jaw, my cheeks, everything aching with grief, I stared at the man who had caused it. Hating him for it. “I can never look at you the same way. I . . . can never trust you again.”

Fear exploded across his face as he took in my meaning. “Evie, no, we can get through this.”

Shaking my head, I looked down at the glittering diamond on my finger and felt my face crumple again. Sucking in a breath to stop another hysterical meltdown in front of him, I pulled the ring off my finger and held it out to him.

He glared balefully at it, refusing to take it.

I placed it on the counter instead, my hands shaking.

“You don’t mean this,” Roane whispered hoarsely. “We love each other too much. We’ll figure this out once everything has calmed down. I’m sorry I kept this from you, angel. I’m so sorry, but they’re not malicious lies. It was just stupid omissions that got out of hand. Let’s just talk about it and you’ll see: I’m still me.”

But I knew as I looked at him that everything had changed irreparably. No matter what he said, he was no longer Roane. My kind, loving thirtysomething farmer fiancé. He was this stranger, the son of a baronet, who had made me a fool and hurt me deeper than anyone ever had because of it.

Roane paled at my expression because, apparently, he did know me.

“Evie . . .” His voice broke.

There was still a part of me that wanted to comfort him, and the fresh tears that spilled down my cheeks weren’t just for me. They were for him.

The sound of him whispering my name over and over again made me choke back a sob as I left him behind in the apartment.





Twenty-Six


My suitcases sat by the store door, waiting to be loaded into the cab that was coming for me. Unlike heartbreaking scenes in a movie, torrential rain didn’t accompany the moment. Instead it was a beautiful, too-hot day in Northumberland. Clear skies, bright sun, water glistening with sunlight that cascaded through its gentle waves.

No one knew I was leaving today except Penny.

Poor Penny.

She was thrown by how quickly things had fallen apart. Sally was pretty pissed too that I’d pulled out of the sale.

As I gazed around the bookstore, my chin wobbled and fresh tears stung my eyes. In the last forty-eight hours I’d cried more tears than I knew I had in me. Yet it seemed there was more to come. I had to hold them back until I got back on US soil. Staring around the store made it hard to be strong, because I was going to grieve not only my relationship with Roane, and the village and my friends, but this store.

This beautiful dream that I’d touched with the tips of my fingers.

When I’d returned that awful day to the apartment, Roane and Shadow were gone, and after I’d sobbed a bucketful of tears, I’d pulled out my laptop and googled Roane.

There were images of him at local events when he was younger along with his parents. I’d discovered Roane’s family had been granted a baronetcy by the Crown in the seventeenth century, and they had marriage ties to the dukedom way back then. The Alnster baronetcy was one of the oldest left in England, and although, as Roane had explained, they weren’t members of the peerage, it was still a respected title.

Roane’s grandfather Edward was the first baronet to avoid becoming a member of Parliament, instead concentrating on rebuilding a dwindling estate. Roane’s father had inherited it and expanded that wealth by starting the maintenance company, and Roane had continued to expand upon their little empire.

I found an article on the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland’s anniversary gala a few years ago, and Roane and his parents were on the list of guests who’d attended.

No wonder he’d known Alnwick Castle like the back of his hand.

He’d been there, mingling with a duke.

Memories flooded me, all the moments I’d forgotten, where he’d hesitated over taking me to the farm or hedged about details regarding his family. Times where I’d heard him say, “Evie, we need to talk,” or, “I need to tell you something.”

He had attempted to tell me the truth.

I saw that now.

But he hadn’t tried hard enough.

And I hadn’t thought to look. I’d stared at photos of him online, trying to figure out how I’d missed so much, including his age. I blamed that damn beard. But it wasn’t the beard, really. It was Roane. He had this innate maturity and authority that made him seem older.