Page 13 of Hayes

Lifting her head, she stared at him, dark brown eyes shimmering with tears. “Because I never wanted you to be tainted by the scandal. By what my father did. By the ugliness. It all came out after the murder-suicide.

The fact that they were living way above their means, that they owed everyone money. The houses and apartments were mortgaged to the hilt. My tuition fee had not been paid for months.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want or need your pity.”

His eyes flared at that. “Is that what you thought I would be doing? Pitying you? I loved you!”

“Yes.” Stepping back, she turned away and went over to the window. “We were young and foolish and naïve. We had no idea what we were saying. We had all these dreams, ideals—wishes that we hoped to have come through.”

Feeling him behind her, she turned around. “They were just that. While I was dreaming and making plans, my parents were existing in a pipe dream. They pretended that everything was okay, that we had money, that they were happy when that was the furthest thing from the truth.”

“I wanted to be there for you," he told her quietly, feeling her pain. “I begged you to let me be there.”

“At what cost?” she cried. “Your family was wealthy, part of society. When that happened to my parents, we became pariahs.” She shook her head. “I could not afford to have you tainted.”

His eyes blazed. “You made that decision for me, did you?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes wearily. “Yes, I did, and I would do it again.”

“Do you love me, Camelia?”

“What?”

“You heard the question. Were you in love with me, as you told me dozens of times? Or was it just a teenage crush for you? Be very careful about answering the question. I happen to know that you have a very expressive face.”

“What does it matter! Why are you doing this now? We have moved on–”

“Do you love me?” The implacable look on his face warned her he was not going to back down.”

“I need to finish–”

“Answer the question. He touched her then, hands gripping her arms.

“You know I did.” she whispered tearfully. “But that was then.”

“What about now?” he demanded.

“Don’t do this," she begged. “We have both moved on. You are almost engaged–”

“Do you love me now?” he persisted.

“I can’t do this, please–”

“Do you know the most endearing thing I admired about you when we were together?” he asked her quietly.

Turning her head away, she stared blindly at a painting on the opposite wall. “Don’t do this.”

“Your honesty. You always were, painfully so. You pride yourself on being truthful and damn the consequences. I don’t believe that has changed. Do you love me now?”

Lifting her head, she formed her shoulders. “No.”

“You disappoint me.”

“Now let me go.”

“Because I can see it on your beautiful face.” His hands came up to cup her face. “I can feel you trembling.” One hand drifted down to her neck and then further down to press against where her heart was beating unsteadily.

“Your reactions to me, I felt them when we were on the balcony, the tremors, the way you fought not to show how affected you were.”

“Please let go of me," she whispered.

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