Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(61)

“I’ll leave you to finish up. There’s something I need to discuss with Weatherly.”

With the pressure of his hand guiding me, Tag urges me on through the dining room and into the kitchen, toward the back door. He opens it for me as well. I walk through without question. Although I’m curious as to what he has to say and why he needs privacy to say it, I’m happy that our business doesn’t involve all those men. Somehow that was very upsetting. Very impersonal, as though we hadn’t spent countless hours wrapped in each other’s sweaty, naked arms. At least this way, that is somewhat preserved. Even though it’s a painfully poignant reminder of what I lost. What I actually never had.

Tag leads me wordlessly through the grass, along the path that fronts the oldest field of grapevines. He continues on and we walk for several minutes, always in complete silence. Then my stomach starts to tighten in a different way. I realize that he’s heading toward the unfinished cabin, the one that’s little more than four walls and a roof. The one that we spent so many wonderful hours inside, making love and talking.

My throat burns and tears sting my eyes. I didn’t expect him to bring me here. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any of this.

It takes us about ten minutes to reach the cabin. When we do, I’m surprised to see that there are windows installed and a door in place. I want to ask questions, but I don’t. He’s obviously been busy, having people finish what he had married into.

I gulp when he stops at the bottom of the steps and turns toward me. He says nothing, just stares down into my face, his gray eyes shining like silver smoke in the dazzling sun, shining with what I now recognize as love. Bright, beautiful love. Gently, he takes my hand and leads me up to the door. He twists the knob and pushes it open, gesturing for me to precede him, so I do.

The interior of the cabin is finished as well. It’s furnished sparingly, the biggest additions being a wall that separates the living space from the bedroom and a big, four-poster bed that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lower vineyard.

There’s a small mahogany table and chairs right inside the kitchenette area. On its top burns a candle that smells like bougainvillea and sunshine. It has a vaguely familiar aroma that eases the tension in my shoulders despite my heightened anxiety. I note the labels on the coffee and bottles of wine that decorate one end of the countertop—Italian. A bittersweet pang registers somewhere in the vicinity of my broken heart.

I move on, determined to keep my composure. I reach out to touch the glassy surface of the tiny bar as I pass. It, too, reminds me of something I found at our little piece of heaven in Italy—the enameled lava stone that covered the kitchen island and every surface in the bathroom.

I pass through the living room, taking in the cozy loveseat that faces the empty fireplace and the rich bearskin that stretches out between them. Then, because it’s the last thing to see, I make my way slowly toward the bed.

I frown when I see the duvet up close. It, too, looks remarkably like the one from our villa in Tuscany. I run my hand over it, chills breaking out down my arms at the feel of it. It even feels like the one from our honeymoon. Memories, happy memories, roll through my mind. The grief that follows them nearly brings me to my knees. I gasp involuntarily as I struggle to hang on to what little bit of composure I have left.

“Yes,” Tag says quietly from behind my left shoulder.

“What?” I ask, my trembling voice making less noise than the breeze pouring through the open windows.

“Yes, it’s from our villa.”

Pressure builds inside me. It starts directly over my heart and radiates outward, like a starburst, consuming my entire chest in a blaze of fire. “Why?” I ask, not trusting myself to say more.

“I wanted to surround myself with every little piece of you that I could find. I ended up here. In our cabin, with things from our honeymoon. Bits of you, memories of you everywhere I look.”

“Why?” I ask again, my chin trembling with unshed tears, my heart trembling with unrealized hope.

“Because you’re the only thing that’s ever made me truly happy. You’re the only woman I’ll ever love. And if you still won’t have me, I’ll take whatever parts of you I can get my hands on, even if it’s a comforter that felt the brush of your skin or a chunk of stone that held your hand.”

“You got what you wanted. You don’t need me. You don’t need any of this.”

“You’re wrong. I need you more than I need to breathe. More than I need to see or hear or walk. I’d give up everything I am for one more day with you. Just. One. More. Day.”

I feel the tears ease from my lashes and work their way silently down my cheeks. How can I ever believe him? How can I ever believe that it’s only me that he wants, and not some commodity or possession that he can get through me?

The answer is that I can’t. I can’t believe him. I will always wonder and there’s nothing he can do to change that. His wounds cut too deep.

“It’s easy to say that when you have everything.”

“I did have everything,” he corrects.

My frown returns. What is he playing at now? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Those men up there? They’re here to finalize a deal.”

“What kind of a deal?”

“The kind that merges your father’s company and mine. The kind that gives you everything I have, including Chiara. Because you’re my wife. And I don’t want it if I can’t have you. I don’t want any of it.”