“It’s impossible. Maybe you have Stockholm syndrome. Or Overly Attached Fruit Basket syndrome, I don’t know. But there’s no way you can possibly love me. You were forced into being here with me. Forced into this arrangement.”
“I certainly wasn’t forced into your bed.”
“Again, Princess, that is sex. It has nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with emotional connections.”
“It does for me.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice broken, fierce. “Why would you love me?”
She sensed that this was important. This was essential. That her answer carried with it the power to heal or the power to destroy.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the people around them, shutting out the Christmas trees, the glitter, the Christmas carols that were being played by the string quartet. She shut out all the beauty. All the trappings that came with Andres, so all that was left was him. Them.
And she wasn’t alone. Not anymore. She wasn’t afraid.
“You remember how my childhood was. I lost my parents. My brother. I was so isolated. And I feared sometimes that I would die from it. That the hole inside my chest would one day expand so great that it would swallow me up. That there would be nothing left of me. People were all around me, but none of them touched me. None of them loved me. I have been starving for years. I have been starving for you. It has nothing to do with sex, though I enjoy what we have together. It’s more. It has everything to do with the fact that we are the same. My soul recognizes yours, Andres. And when I met you, I met the other part of myself.”
He made a derisive, dismissive sound. “We are not the same. Little one, you are an innocent from an enchanted wood. I am the most hardened man whore you could ever hope to run across. I am the man who mothers warn their daughters about. I am the one who makes husbands fear for their wedding vows. I am jaded and cynical. I have indulged in every manner of vice imaginable. Tell me, how is it you think we’re the same?”
“Because we were alone.”
He stopped moving then. The music played on, but she and Andres were frozen in the middle of the floor.
“I have never been alone in my life. I was born in a palace staffed by hundreds of people. I had nannies, more than one, from the beginning. I was never without friends at school. I never go to bed alone unless I choose to. I go to more parties in a year than most people will attend in their entire lives. Even when I was left in my room while my parents went to dinner parties, I was surrounded by people waiting to cater to my every whim.”
“That is survival, Andres. Not love. Not truly being with people. You were the one who told me that.”
“No, you mistake me, Princess. I have never once been alone, not like you.”
“Why do you punish yourself with isolation? Why did you run from me when we made love against the wall? Because you know, as I do, that being alone is the most powerfully frightening thing. You know, because you have been.” Her voice was muted, but her conviction remained. She was certain what she was saying was right. That it was true. “You’re lonely. As lonely as I have been. But instead of going into the woods to scream about your isolation, you buried yourself in the nearest available vice. You tried to make yourself believe you weren’t alone because there were people around to help you do it. I didn’t have that option, so I had to accept my loneliness. Learn to understand it. You’ve been lying to yourself. You’re hurting. And nobody really knows you. Nobody else realizes.”
“Countless women know me, in the biblical sense, which I imagine is a much stronger sense than a great many other versions of knowing someone.”
“Stop it. You put on this air of cynicism, you act like no one can touch you. Like nothing matters. But it’s a lie. I know it is. Because I’ve seen you. I have never gone and read about your past. Everything I know about what a terrible person you are has come from you. It’s come from your own lips. But I don’t believe it. I never have. I’ve never gone looking for anyone else’s opinion on who you might be. I have formed my own. You are a good man. You love your brother. You love this country. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be trying to atone for your mistakes now. You are loyal. Stubborn. A little bit mean when you’re angry, but only because you’re protecting yourself. You have been generous with me. As a lover, as a friend. You have stayed with me, shown me things, treated me with exceeding care. You washed my hair. Andres, you are a good man. So many people have written stories about you, but who are they? Why do they matter? Let my opinion be enough. Believe that. If nothing else, believe me.”
“You have known me for a matter of mere weeks, agape. Sadly your opinion of me, formed while I was on my best behavior, carries very little weight.”
“So this was your best behavior, then? Not your regular behavior?”
“Yes,” he said, his teeth grinding together.
“Fine. Then make it your behavior. If you can do it, then continue to do it.”
“It will come to an end. It always does.”
“It doesn’t have to. We are getting married tomorrow. We’re starting the first day of the rest of our lives. It’s new for both of us. Make it new. Start again. With me.”
“I need a drink.” He released his hold on her, pushing himself backward and stalking off the dance floor, leaving her standing there alone, her heart pounding sickly in her chest.
She had ruined it. She couldn’t figure out why, or how. She only knew that she had. She would have died to hear him say that he loved her. She had assumed he must feel the same.
Perhaps being alone was better in many ways. If she were still alone she wouldn’t have to deal with this pain. Deal with this hurt. As it was, she felt as if she was crumbling apart from the inside out.
She saw the dessert was being served at the table she and Andres had abandoned, and made the decision to go and sit back down.
She would give him a while, and then, once he had cooled off, she would go after him.
* * *
Andres couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. She couldn’t love him. It was impossible. Oh, for one, heady second, he had let himself imagine that it might be true. And let himself imagine it would be something that he could take full advantage of. A wife who would adore him. Who thought he was good. What an incredible thing that would be. Sadly it was something he would only lose in the end. Because that was what happened. It was who he was. It was what he did. He drove people away. His mother. He’d made the best attempt he could with Kairos. And starting tomorrow, and on into eternity, he would be waiting. Waiting for that dangling sword to fall, to tear asunder all that he and Zara had built.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be this year, or the next year. Perhaps it would not be until they’d had children. Children who would also look up to him, idolize him. Love him. Depend on him as he had done with his parents.
Children he wouldn’t deserve. A wife he could never hope to deserve.
He would ruin things. For all of them. And in the years while he waited for the killing blow, he would drive himself crazy. Knowing it would come eventually, but never knowing when.
He was feeble. His spirit so corrupt he knew that he could never be the kind of man that she needed.
He wasn’t Kairos. Who would lay down everything, personal happiness, individual goals, everything, to serve his country. To serve a wife he didn’t even love. Andres could never be that noble. He had never managed to keep the love of another person. Not even his parents. His behavior always ruined it in the end. He had no control. He never had.
The past few weeks had been a game. And he had been indulging himself. But it had to end.
He had to show her now. Because it would be better to destroy