Page 16 of His Forever Princess

“I should’ve seen something. Done more.”

She let go of him, and he felt the loss of her touch keenly. She turned her face away, but not before he saw a silver tear slip down her cheek.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” Her voice was choked. “I’m the reason Maggie was taken.”

* * *

Alessandra wasn't touching Gideon, but she felt him go dangerously still.

"How do you figure that?"

Her husband was one of the smartest men she knew. Maybe he wanted her to spell it out for him.

"The girls were in attendance at that event at my request." Putting it into words was painful. She couldn't look at him, so she tilted her face to one side.

"That wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was."

"How could you have known the girls would be targeted?"

Gideon wasn't a cruel man. She couldn't understand why he was playing dumb. She didn't expect forgiveness or absolution—but she hadn't expected him to make her say it aloud like this.

She inhaled and exhaled, her breath shaky. She was trying to make her words less so.

She couldn't stop another tear, then another, from slipping down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly.

"Allie—"

Gideon sounded strangled.

She wished he would stop calling her that. He hadn't addressed her so informally in years. It reminded her of nights spent in the ranch house bed, in a house that'd been in Gideon's family for generations. Gideon had liked to sleep with her tucked right up against him, his arm a warm weight around her. He'd whisper, "G'night, Allie," right before he fell asleep.

Now, it just hurt.

She wiped her face again, still unable to look at him. "We both know I'm to blame. That's why you pulled away." It was the only reason that made sense, all these years later.

"What?" His voice was flat, still with that dangerous undertone.

She glanced at him and then away. "You stayed away."

"Maggie needed me." There was a softening, a resignation to his voice when he said their daughter's name. And then a coolness slipped through. "And you didn't."

The words were an unexpected blow, one that rattled her, stole her breath.

"Of course, I needed you."

When he didn't reply, she glanced at him. He had turned his cheek so he was in profile to her. A muscle jumped in his jaw and his brows were drawn like a thundercloud.

He shook his head slightly. "I can't do this." He stood up, grimacing.

Was it his gunshot wound? Was he in pain?

She stood up too, desire warring within her. She wanted to touch him again, feel for herself that he was alive and well. But there was also fear. He was putting distance between them again. It felt safer to leave it be.

But was it safe to feel alone all the time? To miss him so deeply that she sometimes couldn't eat? Couldn't sleep?

"What can't you do?" she demanded.

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