“But not you.”
“Not me.” She set the dinner tray beside her on the bedspread, her hunger forgotten. Leaning forward, she clasped her hands in her lap and met his eyes. “I get feel ings about people. I’ve had them since I was a little girl. I know, without reason or provocation, whether someone is a good person or a truly vile one. I knew it about Mandy, when there wasn’t a single sign to prove otherwise.” She took a breath. “And I sense it about you.”
He spoke in a pained voice. “That I’m vile?”
“That you’re the opposite,” she said with the shake of her head. “Deep down, I think you’re a good man.”
Disbelief filled his eyes. “Good?” he balked. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but there’s nothing good about me. As I just pointed out, I’m a willing party in your kidnapping.”
A tornado of despair swirled in her stomach. He kept reminding her of that, and yet she kept disregarding it. What was wrong with her? Why was she determined to cling to the notion that Deacon Holt was a good person?
“I think,” he began slowly, “that for once, your sixth sense has failed you.” He sighed. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a sixth sense at all, Lana. Maybe with your brother’s girlfriend, but right here, right now, it’s plain old idealism that’s making you see things that aren’t there.”
“I’m not idealistic,” she whispered.
“Yes, you are.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “Maybe it’s because you’re an artist, or maybe you’ve just never had anything bad happen to you. But you seek perfection where it doesn’t exist, Lana.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He gave a bleak laugh. “In fact, you remind me of myself, when I was younger. I was optimistic, too, once, before reality crashed in. A word of advice, sweetheart, you can’t cling to fantasy forever. Eventually reality will settle in.”
She clamped her teeth over her lower lip. The bitterness in his voice was so thick she felt it in the air. God, the things he must have experienced in his life, awful, tragic things that had turned him into a man who believed nothing good existed—in the world, or in him.
But…
But was he right? Was she grabbing at anything here in her need to excuse Deacon’s actions because he was the father of her child? Their child. Maybe this was the time to tell him. The only concrete way to find out if her confidence in the man was sound.
If he knew, would he let her go? Or would he prove her instincts wrong and continue to keep her here against her will?
Releasing a breath, Lana raised her head to meet his gaze. She had to tell him. Now. She had to.
“Deacon,” she started. “I—”
“You’re wrong about me,” he interrupted. “I’m not good. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, decent about me. You don’t want or need someone like me in your life, and once this is all over, I’ll be gone. We’ll never see each other again.”
Disappointment floated into her chest. Her mouth closed. The temptation to tell him about the baby still remained strong, but she suddenly knew he wasn’t ready to hear it. Something had happened to this man. Maybe it was the death of his parents, or maybe some other traumatic event had skewed his entire outlook. Whatever it was, it had broken him beyond repair. Hearing he was going to be a father would not fix it. Not now anyway.
“So don’t worry, very soon I’ll be out of your life forever,” he finished roughly.
Without waiting for an answer or an objection, he left the room. Lana drew in a breath, slightly stunned by the passionate way he’d recited that dismal speech. He truly believed he was a bad person. And heck, maybe he was right. Maybe her sixth sense was steering her in the wrong direction.
But he’d been wrong about one thing. He would never be out of her life forever. A part of him would always remain in her life—their child.
You have to tell him.
She sighed. Yes, she knew Deacon needed to hear the truth, even if the truth changed nothing between them.
Soon, she vowed. She would tell him soon.
Sarah had never liked the Atlantic Ocean. It was too cold, too unpredictable. As she walked the shoreline in front of Vivienne’s beach house, she looked at the choppy waves and shivered. Despite the fact that the ship had gone down miles and miles from here, she could almost imagine the ghosts from the Titanic lurking beneath those waves, sobbing with grief and agony.