Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(51)

“Madel—” he started.

But she spoke over him.

Her voice trembling, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

That was not what he expected to hear.

“Pardon?”

“So, so sorry.” She kept whispering.

“Madeleine.”

She shook her head. “So, so, so, so, so sorry, Apollo.”

She was sorry?

“My dove—”

“I’m selfish,” she stated and he stared. “It’s a weakness. Selfish and self-indulgent and thoughtless and stupid.”

Not liking her words, he took a step toward her but she sat back in her chair and lifted her hand his way.

“That tea was…” she started when he stopped moving. “I don’t know what it was. But you were trying to be nice. Trying to take care of me. Trying to be gentle. And I pushed it because I wanted something and…”

Suddenly, she looked away, her neck twisting so deep, he only had the back of her ear and head before she twisted back and he saw the tears chasing down her cheeks.

“As usual, I got what I wanted, damn the consequences,” she whispered brokenly and continued in her tortured voice. “Hurting you in the process.”

He remained where he was, distant, as caution dictated he do in her state, and asked, “Poppy, how on earth did you hurt me?”

“I look like her.” She informed him, her voice now agonized and he finally understood. “I look like her and you miss her. I threw myself at you, and first, you’re a guy. What are you going to do? Turn down a sure thing?” She shook her head. “No. No way. But one who looks exactly like your—”

At that, he was done.

He moved to her, pulled her from her chair and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to his body. He glided a hand up her neck, her hair sliding over and he twisted his fist in it, pulling back gently even as he slid his cheek along hers so he had his lips at her ear.

“I did not make love to my wife last night, Madeleine. I made love to you,” he said there.

“Well, yes…I know. I was there, but—”

His hand tightened in her hair slightly and he lifted his head to capture her eyes.

“No buts.”

She looked deep in his eyes, hers still wet, and came to a conclusion.

The wrong one.

“You’re just being nice.”

“Mad—”

“Like you’ve been nice all along.”

“Maddie—”

“Since the beginning. Except that one time when you weren’t nice but that was understandable.”

“My dove, will you cease speaking so I can—”

“And I’ve been a bitch.”

Apollo shut his mouth.

She had to let it out?

He’d allow that.

And he knew she had to let it out because she didn’t stop.

“A silly, childish, selfish, thoughtless bitch.”

Apollo said nothing.

“And that’s not nice but last night was way not nice. It was cruel. I’m cruel!”

Her voice was rising but Apollo held his silence.

“I’m a silly, childish, selfish, thoughtless, cruel…bitch!”

Apollo remained silent and Madeleine fell into the same.

After some time, her eyeballs rolled this way and that. Finally, they stuck on him.

“Um…why are you holding me in your arms?” she asked hesitantly.

“Because you were weeping and saying foolish things and I wished to comfort you and assure you that you were being foolish. However, you wouldn’t be quiet and allow me to speak so I couldn’t assure you that you were being foolish so that left just my holding you in an effort to comfort you.”

She stared at him a moment before she queried, “You want to comfort me?”

He gave her a squeeze and answered, “Yes.”

“But I’m a selfish, thoughtless, cruel bitch,” she reminded him, and with effort he successfully fought back his chuckle.

After he accomplished that, he stated, “My dove, the more time I spend with you, the more I learn about you and the more I come to understand there’s much to learn. What I have learned is that you are amusing. You are spirited. You can be charming. You can also be disagreeable. You can further be vexing. You’re annoyingly very good during an argument. But that simply means you’re quick-witted, which is not a bad thing, unless one finds themselves in an argument with you.”

She blinked endearingly and he finished.

“What you are not is a selfish, thoughtless or cruel.”

She studied him closely as if his face would tell her the veracity of his words and she must have read it wrong because her eyes again clouded.

“But, Apollo,” she started softly, pain beginning to thread its way back into her voice. “I look like—”

He gave her another squeeze and dipped his face close.

His voice was threaded with steel when he declared. “Ilsa is gone, Madeleine. And you are here. You look like her, indeed. But you are not her.”

“But you said looking at me felt like brands searing into your eyes.”

Bloody hell, she remembered his exact words.

“And that, my dove,” he whispered, “was me being selfish, thoughtless and cruel. But when I spoke those words to you, I genuinely was, and you…” He shook his head. “You had drunk adela tea and were not in control of yourself. That is not selfish, thoughtless or cruel. That is simply what was.”