“But I do,” she whispered over the lump in her throat. She glanced out the window toward the lush Italian countryside. “Everything you feel about this vineyard—I feel the same about our farm. My family’s lived there for a hundred years. And Wildemer just offered me a fortune for it.”
“Wildemer!” He scowled at the name, one of the largest wineries in the world. “Don’t sell to them. You don’t need the money.” He paused. “I would suggest we build a vineyard there ourselves, but this business is too personal to me.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I could hardly oversee a vineyard in California, traveling by ship and train.”
“Of course not.” But suddenly, Rosalie wished they could. If Alex was with her, she thought she could face anything. Replant. Regrow. Rebuild.
She shook her head, shaking the foolish dream from her mind, along with her dream that her husband could ever love her. How many fantasies must she have, and all of them doomed to fail? She took a deep breath.
“If I never intend to go back, I must sell. I can’t just leave it a ruin. It’s not fair to the town, or to my parents’ memory.” She looked back at her computer, then squared her shoulders. “I must go.”
“To California?”
“I have been hiding from this too long. I have to face it, for the baby’s sake.” She looked up from the desk. “If I can’t be brave, how can I teach Oliver to be?”
Alex was looking at her strangely in the slanted light from the blinds.
Rosalie swallowed. “Will you...” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “Will you come with me?”
If he came with her, she wouldn’t be so scared. She could hold his hand, until she got through it, like she had when she’d given birth to their son.
Glancing away, her husband said softly, “I can’t.”
“We could take a ship—”
His face was like stone. “No, Rosalie.”
Her heart cracked as her last hope faded. “You really don’t care at all, do you?” she said slowly.
He didn’t meet her eyes. She thought of his earlier words: Just because someone is family, doesn’t mean they can’t also be strangers. He’d meant it, she realized. Every word. And it was killing her.
Rosalie was his family now. She was his wife. But to Alex, she’d always be a stranger.
She was utterly, completely alone.
Looking at her in the shadows of the villa’s study, Alex couldn’t bear the pain in his wife’s eyes.
You really don’t care at all, do you?
If only she knew!
Ever since his son had been born, he’d done everything he could to keep his distance from Rosalie, not just emotionally, but physically. Even after the doctor had given her the all clear, he’d stayed away. He’d feared, if he made love to her, he would surrender. Afraid he’d fall apart.
If he gave in to weakness, gave in to his feelings, then how would he defend against the decades of repressed pain he’d barely kept at bay? He’d end up sobbing in some corner, totally useless to anyone. Now more than ever, he needed to be strong for his wife and child.
So he’d tried to stay in control, cold as ice. He’d tried as hard as he could to keep his promise to take care of Rosalie and their son.
Alex had done everything he could to make her happy. But since last night, when she’d outright begged for his love, he’d realized how completely he’d failed.
She’d asked for his time and attention, and he’d refused. She’d asked for his love, and he’d refused. Finally, today, she’d asked for him to come to California with her. To be her comfort, her shield. It was a simple enough request. It should have been easy.
But even that, he could not do.
Rosalie was counting on him for strength and protection. How could he show her all the ways he was less brave, less strong than she?
His word was all he had. All of Alex’s family had died—because of him. Because Alex had broken his word.
But now, he suddenly realized that Chiara had died because he’d kept it.
What did that mean? He put his hand against his forehead as his brain whirled. And then he suddenly knew.