himself from continuing. ‘We’re talking about marriage. We were a few hours away from pledging our lives to one another.’
‘I know.’ Her lips formed the words but he could barely hear her whisper. Her face had gone pale, her eyes huge and dark. Still she stood tall, chin held high. She had strength—more strength than he’d ever realised—but right now it only made him angry.
‘Then why...?’
‘You still didn’t answer my question, Marco.’ Her chin tilted up another notch. ‘Why did you want to marry me?’
He stared at her for a moment, furious that he felt cornered. ‘I need a drink,’ he said abruptly, and stalked into the kitchen. She didn’t follow him.
He yanked a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and poured a healthy measure that he downed in one swallow. Then he poured another.
Damn it, how dare she ask him, accuse him, when she was the one who should be called to account? What did it matter why he’d wanted to marry her, when she’d agreed?
He drained his second glass and then went back to the sitting room. Sierra had moved closer to the fire and the flames cast dancing shadows across her face. Her hair was starting to dry, the ends curling. She looked utterly delectable wearing his too-big clothes. The T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, so he could see how golden and smooth her skin was. The belt she’d cinched at her waist showed off its narrowness and the high, proud curve of her breasts. He remembered the feel of them in his hands, when he’d given his desire free rein for a few intensely exquisite moments. He’d felt her arch into him, heard her breathy gasp of pleasure.
The memory now had the power to stir the embers of his desire and he turned away from her, willing the memories, the emotion, back. He didn’t want to feel anything, not even simple lust, for Sierra Rocci now.
‘Damn it, Sierra, you have some nerve asking me why I behaved the way I did. You’re the one who chose to leave without so much as a note.’
‘I know.’
‘And you still haven’t given me a reason why. You changed your mind. Fine. I accept that. It was patently obvious at the time.’ His voice came out sharp with bitterness and he strove to moderate it. ‘But you still haven’t said why. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? Your parents are no longer alive to hear why you abandoned them, but I am.’ His voice hardened, rose. ‘So why don’t you just tell me the truth?’
A LOG SETTLED in the grate and popped, sparks scattering across the hearth before turning to cold ash. The silence stretched on and Sierra let it. What could she say? What would Marco believe or be willing to hear?
It was obvious he’d manufactured his own version of events, no doubt been fed lies by her father, who would have pretended to grieve for her. Marco wouldn’t believe the truth now, even if she fed it to him with a spoon.
‘Well?’ His voice rang out, harsh and demanding. ‘No reply?’
She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I told you—the truth. Why did you leave, Sierra? The night before our wedding?’
Sierra took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his hard gaze; looking into his eyes felt like slamming into a wall. ‘Fine. The truth is I had second thoughts. Cold feet. I realised I was putting my life in the hands of a virtual stranger, and that it was a mistake. I couldn’t do it.’
He stared at her, his gaze like concrete, a muscle flickering in his jaw. ‘You realised all this the night before our wedding? It didn’t occur to you at any point during the month of our engagement?’
‘I’d thought I was making the right decision. That night I realised I wasn’t.’
He shook his head derisively. ‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘In some ways it was, Marco.’ Another deep breath. ‘We didn’t love or even know each other, not really. We’d had a handful of dates, everything stage-managed by my father. Our marriage would have been a disaster.’
‘You can be so sure?’
‘Yes.’ She looked away, wanting to hide the truth she feared would be reflected in her eyes. She wasn’t sure. Not completely. Maybe their marriage would have worked. Maybe Marco really was a good and gentle man. Although the fact that he’d remained at her father’s right hand since then made her wonder. Doubt. How much of her father’s shallow charm and ruthless ways had rubbed off on her ex-fiancé? Judging from the cold anger she’d seen from him today, she feared far too much. No, she’d made the right choice. She had to believe that.
‘Fine.’ Marco exhaled in one long, low rush of breath. ‘You changed your mind. Why didn’t you tell me, then? Talk to me and tell me what you were thinking? Did I not deserve that much courtesy? A note, at the very least? Maybe I could have convinced you...’
‘Exactly. You would have convinced me.’ He stared at her, nonplussed, and she continued, ‘I was nineteen, Marco. You were a man of nearly thirty, sophisticated and worldly, especially compared to me. I had no life experience at all, and I was afraid to stand up to you, afraid that you’d sweep my arguments aside and then I’d marry you out of fear.’
‘Did I ever give you any reason to be afraid of me?’ he demanded. ‘What a thing to accuse me of, Sierra, and with no proof.’ His voice vibrated with anger and she fought not to flinch.
Now was the time to say it. To admit what she’d overheard, how it had made her feel. Why shouldn’t she? What did she have to lose? She’d lost it all already. She’d gained a new life—a small, quiet life that was safe and was hers. She had nothing she either needed or wanted from this man. ‘I heard you,’ she said quietly.
His gaze widened and his mouth parted soundlessly before he finally spoke. ‘You heard me? Am I supposed to know what that means?’
‘The night before our wedding, I heard you talking to my father.’
He shook his head slowly, not understanding. Not wanting to understand. ‘I’m still in the dark, Sierra.’
A deep breath, and she let it buoy her lungs, her courage. ‘You said, “I know how to handle her”, Marco.’ Even after all the years the memory burned. ‘When my father told you how women get notions. You spoke about me as if I were a dog, a beast to be bridled. Someone to be managed rather than respected.’
A full minute passed where Marco simply stared at her. Sierra held his gaze even though she ached to look away. To hide. The fire crackled and a spark popped, the loud sound breaking the stillness and finally allowing her to look somewhere else.
‘And for this, this one statement I can’t even remember,’ Marco said in a low voice, ‘you condemned me? Damned me?’
‘It was enough.’
He swore, a hiss under his breath. Sierra flinched, tried not to cringe. A man’s anger still had the power to strike fear into her soul. Make her body tense as she waited to ward off the blow.
‘How could you—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I don’t even want to know. I’m not interested in your excuses.’ He stalked into the kitchen. After a moment Sierra followed him. She’d rather creep back upstairs but she felt the conversation needed to be finished. Maybe then the past would be laid to rest, or at least as much as it could be.
She stood in the doorway while he opened various cupboards, every movement taut with suppressed fury.
He took out a packet of dried pasta and tossed it onto the granite island. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Don’t be perverse. You probably haven’t