The Girl That Love Forgot

He lifted his head, and his dark eyes glittered like a January midnight. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “But as long as we are together, querida, you will have all of me.”

Staring at his handsome, tortured face, Annabelle wanted to fall to her knees and weep. Of course it had ended this way. Of course it had.

She folded her arms, willing herself to feel as numb as everyone believed her to be.

But bitter anguish seeped through her soul like acid.

“All of you would mean love. Commitment. A promise. What you offer me is a long series of one-night stands. That is all a man like you can offer any woman!”

With a harsh intake of breath, Stefano stumbled back from her words, as if she’d shot him with a rifle.

Heartsick, stricken with tears, Annabelle turned to go.

“Wait. Don’t go.” His voice was low and hoarse. “It’s all happened so fast. I never expected this. I need more time. You have to give me more time.”

“No. I don’t.” Turning away, she started toward the door, desperate to escape before she collapsed into humiliating sobs.

“Wait!” He raced across the room. Gripping her shoulders, he looked down at her fiercely. “Just wait, damn it!”

“I don’t need to wait,” she whispered. “I already know how this ends.”

“You don’t!”

“And I hate feeling like this, feeling I can’t live without knowing if—if—”

“If what?” he ground out.

She exhaled. “If loving you will kill me.”

Stefano paced in front of her. He stopped, his jaw clenched. Furiously, he raked his dark hair back with his hand.

“What do you want from me, Annabelle?” he said. “Should I give you a list of pretty promises to keep you here with me? I’m telling you the truth! Should I lie and

tell you I love you, when I don’t even know what I feel right now?”

Annabelle choked out a gasp.

Should I lie and tell you I love you?

Turning with a sob, Annabelle went to his wardrobe and grabbed the tattered linen suit she’d worn the first day he’d made love to her.

Dropping her robe, she yanked on her underwear and suit and shoes as fast as her trembling body would allow her.

“What are you doing?”

Grief ripped through her. “Leaving.” Tears fell unheeded down her cheeks. “Right now.”

“You can’t leave! You’re the official photographer today. It’s part of your cover story for Equestrian—”

“I don’t care,” she choked out. “I can’t stay another minute!”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“I know,” she choked out. “See what you’ve made of me?”

“Annabelle!”

But she didn’t listen. She ran down the hall to her bedroom. Leaving her equipment and camera bag, she grabbed her wallet, passport and car keys and fled down the stairs.