Demetrius’s dark brows rose. “Wait. Are you saying that the king forced you out?”
Her temples throbbed. “I...I...”
“What? I need to know. You owe me that much.”
“Not now. I can’t do this.” Her feet barely brushed over the steps as she made her escape from the disappointment and hurt reflected in Demetrius’s eyes. She knew that she’d put it there, and she couldn’t stand it. And it didn’t matter what she said now, it wouldn’t fix it.
Sometimes it didn’t matter how much power or money a person had, they couldn’t fix everything. There was no reversing her mother’s condition and there was no way to change the fact that most likely her own DNA was corrupted with the devious disease that would slowly steal away a lifetime of memories and worse.
“Zoe! Wait!” Demetrius’s agitated voice called out to her. “Zoe, don’t run away again!”
She couldn’t stop. Her knees pumped up and down. Harder. Faster. Her bare feet moved over the now-cold sand. She had no destination in mind. No finish line. She just had to keep going—putting distance between herself and Demetrius.
But it didn’t matter how far she went, his words followed her. They dug inside her, poking at all of her tender spots. Was he right?
Was she running away?
She stopped. Her heart pounded. She drew one deep breath after another into her straining lungs. And still Demetrius’s words were all she could hear over and over in her mind.
Don’t run away again.
She’d never thought about it before. She’d never stopped to even consider her actions. She dropped to her knees, covering her face with her hands. He couldn’t be right. Could he? Was that what she did? Run away?
Her mind started to replay the events since she’d met him. First her mother’s diagnosis—the diagnosis that Zoe refused to accept. And what had she done, she’d run into Demetrius’s arms.
And just after the royal counsel pointed out that she wouldn’t live up to the king’s expectations for a princess, there was the urgent phone call from the polizia. They’d found her mother wandering the streets—proof that she really wasn’t fit to be princess. Not wanting Demetrius to pity her—to stay with her out of obligation—she’d run.
Later, she’d told herself that it was the shock and the fear for her mother that had her dashing off a note to Demetrius before she disappeared into the night. But the truth was that it was easier to run than to stand her ground—to face the pain she’d caused him.
Why hadn’t she seen this before? Why did Demetrius see her biggest weakness so clearly when she’d been blind to it? It seemed she was more like her absentee father than she’d ever imagined.
Because of her mother, Zoe had finally stopped running. Zoe was doing her best to be steady for her ailing mother. Now it was time that she stood still and faced the problems with Demetrius—her husband. After all, if her mother could face Alzheimer’s with dignity, Zoe could deal with her broken heart.
She got to her feet.
It was time she spoke openly and honestly with her husband.
When she made it back to the beach house, it was dark. “Demetrius.” She turned on the lights in the living room. No sign of him. “Demetrius, are you here?”
No answer.
He’d left. Disappointment assailed her. She couldn’t be upset with him. It was no less than she’d done to him. Twice now.
* * *
In and out of meetings all of the next day, Demetrius finally arrived at the palace offices to find Zoe gathering her things together. He glanced at his watch. “I guess it is time to call it quits for the day.”
She glanced up as though she wasn’t aware he’d entered the room. “I’ll be out of the office most of tomorrow. In fact, probably all of it. I need to go to the mansion for photos and measurements. And then I need to do some shopping—”
He held up his hand, stopping her gush of words. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me your every move. And please feel free to use the car I’ve put at your disposal.”
Surprise flashed in her eyes. “Grazie.” She zipped her computer case and headed for the door. As though it were an afterthought, she turned back. “Good night.”
“Zoe. Wait.” She hesitated in the doorway, eventually turning around to face him. He wasn’t sure how to say this, but he’d give it his best try. “About last night. I handled it poorly. I guess I’m not as over it as I thought.”