“I apologized.”

“He used to do that too.”

His head jerked and I got another flinch, this one not almost imperceptible.

This one I couldn’t miss.

He felt those words. I’d wounded him.

No, I’d wounded him with the understanding of how deeply he’d wounded me.

I told myself I didn’t feel that either.

“In all the beauty that we’ve shared, in all the beauty you’ve given me, I forgot,” I told him. “I forgot I was trying to find my way. Forgot it so deeply, I lost it again. Until that woman pointed it out. And then you did what you did and it became even clearer.”

“What woman?” he asked, his brows drawing together.

“Franka Drakkar,” I answered.

He shook his head again but this time did it and took a step closer.

I didn’t move.

He spoke.

“Nothing that woman says is worth hearing.”

“You’re wrong,” I returned. “It was. After she said it, I took it in. I just took it in the wrong way. You see, how I see it is that I was Pol’s whore. A whore with a ring on my finger. I bought that, being me. Being who I am. Being a woman who likes nice things and wanted a good life. A life not like the one my mother lived with my father. Scraping and saving, existing day to day, paycheck to paycheck, but not doing that happily, knowing my home was a warm place where love thrived. Doing it putting up with shit. Living with negativity choking her every breath. I wanted so badly to make sure I had none of that, but all I wanted, I was blinded to what I bought when I took the easy way out and became a whore.”

“Madeleine—” he started but I ignored the new look on his face. The look that was not confused or angry or concerned. The tortured look that hurt so much to witness, it threatened to make me feel something, and I talked over him.

“In my world, a man treats a whore like Pol treated me. He doesn’t treat his wife like that.” I threw a hand his way. “Now I’m your whore, but without the ring, even though you’ve offered it. And I don’t want to be a whore, Apollo. I’m sure I could sally forth in this world and maybe make a living at it, and that’s the only thing I could do. I’m good at nothing else. But I don’t want that. I’ve been doing it way too long. I’m done with being a whore. So, since I can’t get on in this world without whoring myself to you or someone else, I’d rather go home and take my chances.”

“You are not my whore,” he whispered and it was not one of his sweet whispers. Not by a long shot.

It, like the look in his eyes, was tortured.

I told myself that didn’t affect me either.

“Then what am I?” I asked.

“I want you to be my wife,” he stated.

“And your son?” I pushed.

“He’ll come around in time.”

“Or maybe not,” I retorted. “Maybe, for the father he adores, he’ll just get better at hiding the pain.”

Another flinch before Apollo closed the distance between us and lifted a hand to cup my jaw, murmuring, “Another fatal error.”

I had no clue what he was talking about but I wasn’t going to ask.

He was touching me.

And I knew if I didn’t end that, and this conversation, and soon, I’d most assuredly feel something.

So I started, “Apollo—” but he talked over me.

“Franka’s drivel. This is what brought the dark to your eyes,” he declared.

Oh.

That was what he was talking about.

He was absolutely right.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “If there’s dark in my eyes, she put it there. But she wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t nice how she said it but what she said was absolutely right. You have a lot to give, Apollo. I have nothing but my body. And I’ve taken what you can give. Including when you treat me like shit.”

His fingers tensed into my skin as his eyes flashed, but I kept going.

“And really, is the world richer for me being in it?” I shook my head. “No. It isn’t. Not in any—”

His fingers again tensed in my skin, his eyes again flashed, but brighter, angrier, before he interrupted me.

“Cease speaking.”

“Cease interrupting me,” I shot back.

When I did, suddenly (and worryingly), he smiled

And I so wished he hadn’t done that because I could tell myself I didn’t feel a lot of things but I couldn’t tell myself I didn’t feel that smile.

Crap.

“You listened to Franka’s drivel, I won’t listen to yours,” he declared.

“Apollo—”

I stopped speaking this time not because he interrupted me but because he bent close even as his hand slid under my ear, his fingers curling back into my hair, and he yanked me closer.

“I have had maid and whore, paid for the best of the latter, and not one of them have I even remotely felt anything for. Certainly I haven’t fallen in love with them.”

Oh my God.

Did he say what I thought he just said?

All of a sudden, I wasn’t breathing.

“And poppy,” he kept going before I could cope with the bomb he’d just dropped, “can you honestly stand there and tell me the world isn’t richer for you being in it when you just sat down to play at drinking tea with my daughter? I would doubt, if she understood the concept, that she would agree you do not make this world richer.”

My heart clenched but I forced myself to breathe so I wouldn’t pass out.

“As you know,” he kept at me, “Christophe is reacting badly to the reminder that he lost his mother. He is far from unintelligent but too young to recognize what he’s feeling is the resurgence of grief.”

His hold on me tightened before he continued.

“And yes, poppy, this was caused by you but that doesn’t negate the fact that it has nothing to do with you and furthermore is not your fault.”

I opened my mouth to say something but Apollo didn’t give me the opportunity.

“It’s the fault of fate and it’s my fault. He lashed out and I deserved it. I wasn’t seeing to him and his making that clear caused me great pain. I deserved that too. But not for one second do I believe that my son won’t come to terms with the situation and see the richness you bring to my life, my daughter’s life, any life you touch, including his, and in the end he will cherish it. I simply have to remember to take heed to the fact that he lost his mother and honor her memory, keep her alive for him in ways that don’t involve you. This, I will do. And he will respond to it. I’m sure of it.”