Page 43 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“Never.” Rocco nearly roared the word. “Never, ever. I loved him his entire life, and protected him with my life, and his death made me hate myself.”

“Good.”

Her voice was pitched low, but she knew Rocco heard her. His head lifted and his silver gaze met hers. Clare knew she was being cruel, but in that moment she didn’t care. Everything she’d believed was a lie. Everything she’d come to love was false.

Clare sank onto a small upholstered bench, legs no longer able to support her.

“I married you out of love,” Rocco said, walking toward her.

She turned her face away from him. “And Adriano? What of him? Or does he not factor in any of this?”

“I love him as my son.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said under her breath, pain and grief washing through her in unrelenting waves.

“I am his father now—”

“No!” She jumped up to stand in front of him, eyes blazing and hands fisted. “You are not his father. Marius was his father. You are...you are...nothing to us.”

Rocco gave her the bedroom since she didn’t want him there. He slept in the library and spent much of the night watching the fire burn down to a soft red glow. The library grew cold and all was quiet, but there would be no sleeping tonight, not when he felt as if someone had just died. He couldn’t lose Clare. She was his world, his heart—

The library door opened and she was there, in a robe, and a blanket over that. “I’m so mad at you,” she said from the doorway. “I’m so sad, too. You’ve ruined everything. It will never be the same.”

“Clare, please, come sit down.”

“I can’t. I can’t be near you.”

“Cara, I know you’re hurt—”

“Hurt? Rocco, this isn’t hurt. You’ve destroyed us. You’ve taken our lives and destroyed us.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“What did you expect to happen?” She took a step into the room, her body swallowed by the shadows.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She was shivering as she walked toward him again. “Why tell me in the first place? What did you want from me? Forgiveness? Absolution? But I’m not someone who can absolve you of your sins! I’m not saintly and pious. I’m not going to just shrug and not care, because I’m livid, Rocco. I’m disgusted and filled with so much resentment, and regret. You are not the man I thought I married.”

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to hear the pain in her voice. He’d broken her trust and that was a terrible thing to do. “I understand,” he said.

“Do you?” she whispered, voice cracking.

He didn’t answer immediately. “Yes. I do.”

She said nothing, but he heard her exhale. She was crying.

“I’m sorry, Clare.”

“You’re sorry?” Her voice rose, high and thin. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I don’t want to make excuses, Clare. I can’t pretend to be the hero anymore. I’m not a hero—”

“So true. You’re the antithesis of the hero. You’re a pretender. Fake, false, manipulative. You coerced me into marriage. You played the family card, the let’s-do-the-best-thing-for-Marius’s-son card, knowing I didn’t want to marry you, knowing I’d never marry you—”

“You wanted me, too.”

“Not like this! Never like this.”

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