Page 41 of The Forbidden Bride He Stole

She’d found the implication of that upsetting before. But it had new weight now, after what he’d just said. But it still wasn’t fair. Not to either of them.

He paused. For a breath. A beat. “In a fashion.”

“That is deeply messed up,” she said. “Since I’m the person. And I feel like it should matter, what I want.”

“I never said it didn’tmatter.”

“But your idea of what is right or wrong supersedes what I tell you.”

“Not last night.”

“Was it about what I told you, or was it about you? I actually can’t bear to continue to hammer at this if you’re just going to insult me again. But I need to know... Did you want me? Or did you just want sex?”

“I wanted you. And it is the precise reason it will not happen again.”

“That is also the precise reason we cannot go back. You’re not my guardian anymore. And maybe you can’t be my husband. But can we at least stand on equal footing?”

“That would be ridiculous. Seeing as I am a man with much more experience of the world than you and—”

“Fine. I can give you that respect. But you should also respect me enough to treat me as you would anyone who worked with you. Can we find a place between Lord, redemption arc, and wife?”

“All right,” he said. “I can try that.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered that you’re willing to try?”

“It certainly more than I’ve ever done for anyone else.”

She didn’t think that was true. She wondered why he was so committed to the narrative that he had never done anything for anyone. That all his relationships were one-sided and mercenary.

She had always seen him as impenetrable. And she wasn’t sure how she’d imagined he’d gotten that way. That it was part of who he was. But she knew why she had become the Hannah that she was now. Doing her best to please because she had wanted so much to matter to people who she had difficulty getting attention from.

To the angry rebellious Hannah of the last six months who had been suddenly tearing into the narratives about her life. But she had never stopped and really wondered what had made him this impassable, immovable object.

But he had hinted at enough things in their past few conversations that she had to wonder. He had told her about his mother, about having to run away.

At one time he had been a sad, lonely little boy. There would’ve been nothing hard or mercenary in anything he had done. And yet, somehow, he had rewritten these things to make himself feel...better? Worse? She wasn’t sure. She had never particularly wanted to dig into Apollo as a man. She had seen him as a fantasy object, as an obstacle, but never as a whole man. She wondered how many people ever did. He was rich and he was stunningly handsome. He was more than capable in all these ways, and with certainty, he never seemed like he needed any help.

But she wondered now. She truly did.

“Why don’t you take some rest, little one,” he said.

“Don’t condescend to me, Apollo,” she grumped, but she was feeling tired.

“Is it condescending to worry about your well-being? Tomorrow I will take you around the city.”

“I’m from the city.”

“How many years has it been since you’ve been back?” He asked as if he didn’t know the answer.

“You know I haven’t been since my parents died.”

“I do. So it will be good to be home, won’t it?”

She thought about it, very critically. She thought about Manhattan, and she thought about the estate that her family had had in Vermont. She wondered if either of those places would feel like home now, or if they would simply feel painful. Like a time she could never step back into. There had been a time when she thought of them simply. As happier days. And then she had gone and torn into all of it. Taking it apart piece by piece and she wasn’t sure it could ever be put back together.

“You can use the bedroom,” he said.

For some reason, she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay with him. Defiantly, she lay across the couch that she had been sitting on. “Apollo,” she said sleepily. “How old were you the first time you went to New York?”

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