“That’s a first.”
I send him a glare And he returns a flawless smile. But he’s distracted. Usually, when he looks at me, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just me and him.
But this time, even though he’s right here with me, he’s looking past me.
“You’re staring.”
I blush instantly.
“Trying to figure me out?” he asks.
“You know, admitting that something’s bothering you doesn’t make you weak, you know.”
His smirk falters into something else. Something more inscrutable. “I just… learned something.”
“Oh?”
“A bit of family drama,” he says, “that my mother decided to dredge up for no apparent reason other than to fuck with my head.”
I already know he’s not going to tell me what this revelation is. So I don’t bother asking. “Maybe she wanted to clear her conscience?” I say instead.
He scoffs angrily. “She kept a secret for years. She willfully hid the truth from me. I call that betrayal.”
My heart constricts slightly. This conversation is hitting painfully close to home. Is he really talking about his mother, or is this a trap meant for me?
Has he found out about Jo? Is this a prelude to an accusation?
I have to calm down. If I’m not careful, I’ll give away my secret.
Isaak may not be the villain I once thought he was. But does that mean I want him involved in Jo’s life? I don’t know the answer to that. And until I do, I’m keeping my secret close to heart and far away from the men who’re still using me as a prop in their power games.
“Or maybe she was just trying to protect someone?” I suggest.
He doesn’t so much as flinch. “I don’t give a shit about her reasons. If you care about someone, you’re honest with them.”
The sentence lands between us like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. But I meant what I said to him earlier: I don’t want a fight today.
“It’s a two-way street, you know?”
“Meaning?”
“Have you been as honest with your mother?”
“It’s different.”
“Why?” I demand. “Because she’s a woman and you’re a man?”
“Because I am the don. I’m the one who makes the decisions and I’m the one who has to live with them. The secrets I keep are to—”
“Protect the family?” I finish for him. “So then you’re just a hypocrite.”
His jaw clenches tight. “I’m—”
“That’s what it sounds like to me. I mean, you expect total honesty from everyone else, but you don’t feel like you owe them the same thing. Why? You just think you’re above the rules?”
His eyes fall on me like dark storm clouds just before the thunder breaks. I’ve struck a nerve.
“I’m not like him…”
“What?” I ask, trying to catch his low words.
He shakes his head like he’s snapping out of a fugue state. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
Isaak sighs. He lifts his hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do that and it makes me stop short.
Unfortunately, he notices my reaction. “What’s wrong?”
“I… nothing.”
But it’s not nothing. That gesture… it’s the exact same one that Jo does. She started when she was about two years old. And I remember it clearly, because it had seemed such an adult thing to do.
Bree and I had laughed about it, and I’d of course lamented the fact that I hadn’t been there to see it in person. Chalk that up as another moment I’ve only experienced virtually.
It looks so wrong to see in another face, another place. Or maybe it’s not wrong at all? Maybe it’s exactly right.
Jo has a father—and he’s right here in front of me. Except he has no idea he has a five-year-old daughter who looks like him and smiles like him and pinches the bridge of her nose. Just like he does.
“Camila?”
I shake my head, but horrifyingly, I feel tears well up in my eyes. It’s not just about me either. I’m crying for all the years Isaak has lost, too.
“Are you crying?”
I turn away from him forcefully, but he’s not going to let it go. “Ignore me.”
“Not likely.”
“Isaak, please…”
“Camila,” he says right back, matching my firm tone.
He walks around me and plants himself directly in front of me. His shadow blocks out the sun, but I don’t need the heat when he’s near me.
Jesus. I’ve got to stop thinking of him like that. Like he’s anything but the man who stole me away and forced me into marrying him.
“Is this about the phone line in your room?” Isaak asks. “Because I meant what I said earlier. I’ll have it restored.”
I look up at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Isaak, you and I both know that we’re not being a hundred percent honest with each other. And I’m okay with that. But… maybe we can try to be honest with each other for just one question?”
I don’t know what possesses me to go there, but I don’t regret it once I’ve spoken.
“I can do that.”
“You go first,” I say, feeling immediately self-conscious.
He doesn’t argue. “Okay. Are you in love with Maxim?”
My eyes dart to his. I’d been expecting some curveball, but definitely not that. Is this the question that’s been keeping him up at night? Or is it a throwaway question, one whose answer he doesn’t really care about?
“I thought I loved him,” I say softly. “But even back when he was Alex, I didn’t love him the way you’re supposed to love the man you’ve agreed to marry.”
“And how are you supposed to love the man you agree to marry?”
“Wholly. Unequivocally. Passionately.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
I snort with laughter, but it helps to put me at ease. It gives me enough confidence to ask him the question that’s been keeping me up at night lately. “My turn.”
“Go ahead,” Isaak says.
“Why did you approach my table that night?” I ask. “Why did you feel the need to interrupt my date?”
He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. It’s so bizarrely tender that I nearly swoon. I mean it—my head gets faint and my knees turn to jelly. I have to tighten my grip on Isaak’s strong forearm to stay upright.”
“Because I couldn’t stand seeing you with another man when it was clear you were meant for me.”
And just like that, I melt. The only way to keep myself from falling apart completely…
Is kissing him.
So I do. I throw my arms around him and press my lips against his. It takes a second before his hands land on my hips, pulling me against his body so that I can feel his erection at my hip.
There’s no conscious thought involved, because the next thing I know, I’m clawing at his shirt, ripping until the buttons give way. He returns the favor. In the blink of an eye, we’re both naked.