Page 70 of The Temptation
“Forget it. It was a stupid idea,” I reply, trying my best to save face in this awkward situation.
What the fuck was I thinking, even entertaining the idea that Lucia would want to marry a man like me, even under false pretences? She’s seen where I come from. She’s witnessed the ugly firsthand. I can’t blame her for wanting no part of that.
Hell, I want no part of it myself.
I’m halfway through mentally tearing myself apart when I hear her sigh. She places her hand on top of mine. I find her touch steady, warm … grounding.
“It’s not like I don’t want to marry you, Romeo. I do. It’s just …”
She does?
Those words slam into me like a truck. I freeze as my eyes snap to hers, searching for something—anything—that proves I didn’t imagine them.
“Just what?” I ask, my voice low and rough around the edges. I fucking hate the ridiculous amount of hope bubbling up inside me like some lovesick idiot in a bad movie.
When did I become so pathetic?
But I can’t help it. Not when she’s looking at me like that. There’s conflict in her eyes, but not a trace of fear or disgust. Just hesitation.
“Just … not like this,” she says finally, her fingers tightening slightly over mine. “Not as part of some transaction. I want a real marriage with you, not a fake one.”
I drop my fork onto my plate and exhale all the air from my lungs. “I’m doing this to try and save you from …him.” I can’t even bring myself to say that fucker’s name out loud.
“I know,” she replies. “And I appreciate that you would go to those lengths for me.”
This woman has no idea the lengths I’d go to for her. I’d lay down my life for her without a second’s hesitation.
“If I were even capable of something real, Luc, please know you’d be the only one I’d want it with.”
Those words feel raw, like I’ve ripped them straight from my chest and laid them at her feet, no armour, no pretence. Just the truth.
She stares at me, eyes wide, her mouth parted like she’s not sure whether to speak or breathe first.
“I mean it,” I add, quieter now. “If I had anything good left in me to give … it would be yours. Every damn bit of it.”
Her lips tremble, and for a moment I think she’s going to look away, shut down or retreat, but she doesn’t. She leans closer, like she’s drawn in by something she doesn’t fully understand.
“Youarecapable,” she whispers. “You’re more capable than anyone I know. You’ve just been too busy trying to survive to notice.”
I want to believe her. God, I do. But belief isn’t something that’s ever come easily to me. Not in people. Not in myself. And certainly not in love.
“I appreciate you saying that, but the man you think you see, and the person I am … deep down, are not the same.” My voice is rough, almost brittle, and it hangs there between us like a storm cloud, heavy with everything I’ve never dared to say.
“I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” I glance down at my plate of food because I have no response to that. She obviously sees something in me that I don’t. “You gave me a proposition last night; now I have one for you.”
My attention flickers back to her, and I can’t help butnarrow my eyes slightly. “What kind of proposition?” I ask sceptically.
“A compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?”
“We can start our marriage as a sham, but keep everything on the table and see what happens.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Define ‘everything’,” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder. “You know, all the good stuff.”
“I’m not having sex with you, Lucia.”
