“I s-see.”
“I hope you do.” Pain made his voice sharp, but this pain was something he felt...for Lane. He didn’t want her hurt, didn’t want her to think that he was doing this because he still had feelings for another girl.
“Tell me you understand why I’m doing this,” he gritted out. “Tell me.”
“I do.” Unshed tears clogged her voice, and the sound tore his heart.
“I love you, Lane. I love you.”
“I know.”
He closed his eyes at the painfully beautiful sound of her words. He whispered harshly, “Say you love me, too.”
“I do. You know I do. You know I always will.”
His chest felt like bursting. He felt like he was abandoning her even though he knew it wasn’t like that. It would never be like that because he loved her, only her. But Dio, why did it suddenly feel impossible to say goodbye? Why did he have a suddenly ominous feeling that to utter the word would be like cursing himself to a life of loneliness?
“Say the exact words, tesoro.”
“I love you.” Her words were broken. “I love you, Angelo Valencia.”
He ended the call.
I love you.
I love you, Lane Petersen.
But he knew he didn’t deserve to say those words right now, not until he made things right.
LANE SLOWLY LOWERED her phone to her lap. Everyone’s eyes were on hers, obliging her to speak.
She knew what they wanted her to say, what they wanted to hear.
Angelo was coming.
Angelo was going to make them feel that they had nothing to worry about.
Angelo was going to be here for her.
But she couldn’t.
“Lane, for God’s sake, say something,” Norman demanded tersely.
She swallowed. “H-he knows about the situation.”
“Well, of course he does,” the old man exploded. “He’s the reason why this happened, and he’d have to be the greatest idiot if he didn’t know about it.” Stress was written all over his weathered face, and her pain twisted into guilt.
“I’m sorry,” Lane whispered. “I know you don’t deserve this—-”
“Just tell us the truth at least,” Nellie said tightly. “You know what made us come here, what Dad’s friend told us. And you still haven’t confirmed or denied it.”
Lane tightened her hold on her phone. She had the most selfish urge to call for Angelo, but she also knew it would be the last thing she’d do.
“Answer me, Lane. Is it true? Are you his newest lover?”
Lane whitened. Nellie had never raised her voice at her. Never.
“Is he?”
She didn’t speak, knowing that even though her silence was damning, the way Norman and Nellie’s minds worked, they wouldn’t judge her or Angelo until they had absolute proof—-
“Are you the lover of Angelo Valencia?” Nellie’s voice kept rising. “This man who thrives on other people’s pain—-”
“No,” Lane cried out before she could stop herself.
Nellie’s face crumpled. “Oh God, Lane.”
Lane started to babble. “It’s not like what you think he is—-”
“Why would you want someone like him? Why?”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but we love each other and—-”
“Turn the TV on.” Ray was reading something on his phone. Looking up, he said grimly, “It’s started.” Standing up, he grabbed the remote control for himself. He went straight to the news channel, and the screen revealed a media circus, reporters trying their best to get their questions heard, and right at the center was Jaike Christopoulos, flanked by two powerful-looking men. Her husband stood on one side...and Angelo Valencia on the other.
Ah.
It hurt to see him with...the girl, no the other girl, she corrected herself fiercely. Jaike was the other girl, and she – she was the girl for him. Hadn’t he told her that?
On TV, the questions the press threw at them kept getting worse.
“Did Angelo Valencia whip you for pleasure?”
“Did you let yourself be tortured for pleasure?”
“Do you believe this is a case of like mother, like daughter?”
“What about your new girlfriend, Signor Valencia? Does she like getting spanked?”
“Is your new lover jealous of what you had with Mrs. Christopoulos?”
“According to Margarita, Mrs. Christopoulos was your one great love. How does your girlfriend—-”
Nellie snatched the remote control from Ray’s hand and switched the TV off.
“H-he’s doing his duties,” Lane heard herself say stiltedly. “Because he owes the Christopoulos family an—-”
“Enough!” Norman’s harsh voice made Lane flinch. But it was nothing compared to what she saw in his eyes. She had been prepared for anger and outrage, but she was not prepared at all for the defeat in his gaze, and the sight broke her heart.
“Norman, I—-”
He asked tiredly, “This is the man who loves you, Lane? This man, who chooses to be by another woman’s side?”
Oh.
She was at a loss, unable to find the right words to tell them that even though it hurt to see Angelo with another woman, she also knew it was why she loved him, knew she would not have him any other way.