There’s a small mahogany table and chairs right inside the kitchenette area. On its top burns a candle that smells like bougainvillea and sunshine. It has a vaguely familiar aroma that eases the tension in my shoulders despite my heightened anxiety. I note the labels on the coffee and bottles of wine that decorate one end of the countertop—Italian. A bittersweet pang registers somewhere in the vicinity of my broken heart.
I move on, determined to keep my composure. I reach out to touch the glassy surface of the tiny bar as I pass. It, too, reminds me of something I found at our little piece of heaven in Italy—the enameled lava stone that covered the kitchen island and every surface in the bathroom.
I pass through the living room, taking in the cozy loveseat that faces the empty fireplace and the rich bearskin that stretches out between them. Then, because it’s the last thing to see, I make my way slowly toward the bed.
I frown when I see the duvet up close. It, too, looks remarkably like the one from our villa in Tuscany. I run my hand over it, chills breaking out down my arms at the feel of it. It even feels like the one from our honeymoon. Memories, happy memories, roll through my mind. The grief that follows them nearly brings me to my knees. I gasp involuntarily as I struggle to hang on to what little bit of composure I have left.
“Yes,” Tag says quietly from behind my left shoulder.
“What?” I ask, my trembling voice making less noise than the breeze pouring through the open windows.
“Yes, it’s from our villa.”
Pressure builds inside me. It starts directly over my heart and radiates outward, like a starburst, consuming my entire chest in a blaze of fire. “Why?” I ask, not trusting myself to say more.
“I wanted to surround myself with every little piece of you that I could find. I ended up here. In our cabin, with things from our honeymoon. Bits of you, memories of you everywhere I look.”
“Why?” I ask again, my chin trembling with unshed tears, my heart trembling with unrealized hope.
“Because you’re the only thing that’s ever made me truly happy. You’re the only woman I’ll ever love. And if you still won’t have me, I’ll take whatever parts of you I can get my hands on, even if it’s a comforter that felt the brush of your skin or a chunk of stone that held your hand.”
“You got what you wanted. You don’t need me. You don’t need any of this.”
“You’re wrong. I need you more than I need to breathe. More than I need to see or hear or walk. I’d give up everything I am for one more day with you. Just. One. More. Day.”
I feel the tears ease from my lashes and work their way silently down my cheeks. How can I ever believe him? How can I ever believe that it’s only me that he wants, and not some commodity or possession that he can get through me?
The answer is that I can’t. I can’t believe him. I will always wonder and there’s nothing he can do to change that. His wounds cut too deep.
“It’s easy to say that when you have everything.”
“I did have everything,” he corrects.
My frown returns. What is he playing at now? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Those men up there? They’re here to finalize a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“The kind that merges your father’s company and mine. The kind that gives you everything I have, including Chiara. Because you’re my wife. And I don’t want it if I can’t have you. I don’t want any of it.”
I’m afraid to turn toward him. I’m afraid I’ll see that this is a joke. I’m afraid I’ll see, once again, that he’s trying to deceive me.
But Tag won’t leave me with my fear. His big hands come to my shoulders and urge me to face him. And what I find when I do is sincerity. And desperation. And something that looks an awful lot like love.
“I made the biggest mistake of my life when I didn’t tell you about Chiara, when I didn’t tell you who I was. This stuff . . . all this stuff came between us. My lies came between us. I knew you’d never believe my words again, so I’m trying to show you in the only way I know how—by giving you a multibillion-dollar offering. By laying everything I have and everything I am at your feet and begging you to forgive me. To come back to me. To love me again.” Tag drops to his knees in front of me and takes my hands in his. “I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll do anything. Anything, Weatherly. Just ask it. Just say the words and it’s done. Whatever it is.”
I’m overwhelmed. I’m almost afraid to believe what’s happening, to believe what he’s saying. “Tag, I—”
“Please, Weatherly,” he interrupts brokenly, squeezing my hands and bringing them to the center of his chest. His face is crushed, his eyes dull and pleading. “Please don’t say no. I swear to God I don’t think I can survive it if you leave me again. I’m nothing without you. This life, this life that I’ve always loved, is shit without you. If you want to kill me, if you want me to die, this is how you do it. You walk out that door. You walk out of my life. But you might as well take mine when you go, because it won’t be worth a damn without you in it.”
My heart is pounding. My vision is filling. My soul is aching.