Alex’s shoulders sagged. He looked down at his hands. The last embers of the bonfire were gone. He pushed through the ashes with the tip of his boot to make doubly sure.
Turning away silently, he walked back to the barn with the hose and turned off the water. He took a deep breath. Gripping his hands at his sides, he walked back to her. He found her by the villa, beneath the windows. She turned, her body visibly shaking as he stopped her.
“I’m sorry, cara,” he said in a low voice. He had to force himself to look at her. “I’m just not made that way.”
Her face started to crumple. She took a deep breath, looking gorgeous in her red dress, her tumbling hair streaked with moonlight.
“I can be patient,” she said. “I can give you time—”
“No,” Alex said savagely. He had everything he’d ever wanted. A son to carry on his name. A beautiful wife who loved this land as much as he did. A partner. A friend. But it had come at a price. “It can’t happen.”
“I can wait.” Coming forward, she put her arms around him. He stiffened, his heart pounding as he felt her soft body against his own. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her cheek to his, whispering once more against his skin, “I love you.”
Every time she said those three little words, it felt like a gut punch.
He drew back from her almost angrily.
“Stop it, Rosalie. I told you from the beginning. I can’t. And you agreed to marry me anyway. You agreed!”
“I know.” She closed her eyes. He saw the single tear falling down her cheek, heard the tremble in her voice. He blocked a rush of emotion from his heart.
“You made your decision.” His voice was hard. “You can’t go back on it now, or ask for more than I can give. It’s not fair.”
Looking up at him, she tried to smile. “Weren’t you the one who told me life isn’t fair?”
She looked pitiful, in spite of her lush beauty. Begging for his love. He hated himself. The villa that had been their home looked dark behind her, dark and empty and cold.
“You made your bed,” he told her coldly. “Now you must lie in it.”
A light went out of her eyes. He couldn’t bear it. Urgently, he yanked her into his arms, searching her gaze.
“I can give you anything else you desire, Rosalie. Diamonds. Yachts. Palaces. More children.” Cupping her cheek, he looked down at her fiercely. “We can be happy enough. If you’ll just let us...”
He lowered his lips to hers, trying desperately to burn through her love, to crush it to dust, to leave it in ashes like the bonfire. Passion. It was the one thing that had never failed them. For the last two months, he’d tried to keep himself distant, because he was afraid of his own feelings. But now, he feared something more—he feared hers.
He tried to deepen the kiss, pushing her lips apart, plundering her mouth with his tongue. He wanted to prove to her that a loveless marriage didn’t mean a sexless one, and could be very pleasurable indeed. He tried to entice her, to punish her, to force her to match his fire. She always had.
But for the first time, her lips were strangely lifeless beneath his. Pain gutted him that he couldn’t control. He ripped away from her.
“I can’t love you or anyone.” His voice was a frustrated shout in the darkness. “Why can’t you accept it?”
“I have.” Her voice was dead.
“Why can’t you be happy, like you were?”
“Because—” She looked away. “I want more.”
Alex stared at her. Taking a deep breath, he looked down, gripping his hands at his sides.
“I know you’re scared,” she whispered. “So am I.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know the risk.” Rosalie met his gaze. “I know the cost.”
Angry, defensive words rose to his lips, his usual defensive mechanism, to be sarcastic, to be cold, to create distance. Then he looked at her, remembering her pain over her parents’ deaths.
He said in a low tone, “Love doesn’t last. It only leads to anger, to yelling and coldness and hate.”