Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(180)

“And your mother?”

“Once I became old enough to decide how I would spend my time, I saw her far more frequently. After my father passed and Lady Patience returned to her own House, I moved my mother back to this one. She left this world a year after Ilsa died.”

When he stopped speaking, she studied him and said nothing.

He allowed this for some time before he stopped doing so.

“Now that I’ve shared that, my dove, may I ask why you’re so far away?”

She didn’t answer him.

She asked her own question.

“Is that why you seem to have an issue with me being in this house?”

“It is,” he confirmed. “I have many good memories of the times I shared with my mother in this house, both before my father died and after she returned. But you are not her. I don’t like you here not only because it reminds me of who she was to my father but also it reminds those around us of the same. And I do not want them to think of you in that way for you are not that to me. You are far more.”

He watched her features soften as she noted, “But now, with the way Chris is feeling, I can’t move.”

“Alas, you cannot. However, you were right those weeks ago. For him, you should remain here until he’s comfortable with you being there.”

She pressed her lips together, looking uncertain for a moment, before she asked quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“You must agree that we had more important things to discuss,” he remarked and her brows shot up.

“More important than that?” she queried.

“Absolutely,” he returned.

“But…I mean…” She shook her head as if clearing it. “Apollo, your mother, your father, growing up like that, what you must have felt, there really isn’t much that’s more important than that.”

“There is,” he retorted. “You.”

The instant his last word passed his lips, he watched her entire body sway back as her lips parted.

Then he watched her eyes get bright.

And at that, he was done.

So he inquired, “Now, will you come to me or will I be going to you?”

She again didn’t answer him.

She whispered, “I should have shared.”

“What?” he asked.

She held his eyes, hers still bright, and repeated, “I should have shared.”

“Poppy—”

She interrupted him to explain. “I should have shared that what that woman said bothered me so much.”

“You should have,” he agreed gently.

“I’m not what she said I was,” she stated.

“No.” His agreement to that was far less gentle. “You aren’t.”

He watched her draw in a deep breath before she admitted, “I still don’t know what I am.”

“To that, what I must ask, my dove, is why you need to be anything but you?”

She blinked as if supremely perplexed by his comment.

“Sorry?”

“You are amusing. You are spirited. You are intelligent, loyal and brave. And you’ve led a life where lesser women, women such as your own mother, would long since have admitted defeat. But you never did. Can you not be content with all that is you, knowing there is so much of it, and enjoy what those around can offer you in return? Most specifically me, who simply wants you to leave the life you led behind, as well as the demons it left you with, and have one where I can make you happy.”

And again she did not answer.

She looked to the seat of the sofa.

But he saw the tear slide from her eye and glide down her cheek.

He felt the sight of that lone tear pierce his heart.

“Madeleine, please come to me,” he whispered and she turned her eyes back to him.

“You give me a lot,” she whispered back.

“I do. But that scale is not unbalanced.”

“I—”

“Maddie, please cease listening and hear me. I shared earlier the gifts you’ve bestowed on me, these being the reasons why I love you. And even after sharing those, you gifted me with something I treasure above all, your love. I don’t know how to guide you into seeing that there is nothing you must do or be or give for others to understand irrevocably having you in our lives is worthwhile. Again, specifically, me for I have you in ways others don’t. I have your heart.”

“Is that enough?” she asked, and at her question, Apollo fought back the searing sensation that burned through his chest.

And that sensation made his tone harsh when he declared, “Would that I had the time to find the other me, to locate your father, to take my time in ways they would most assuredly not enjoy to communicate precisely how I feel that they have given you what they gave you that you’d ever think to utter such a question.”

She stared at him.

Then she said, “I take it that’s enough.”

“It bloody is,” he bit out.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Now, you have one second to come to me. If you don’t—”

He didn’t finish.

She took a step to him.

Then she took another.

That was the last simple step she took.

The rest of the way, she ran.