then you were his right-hand man.’
‘But you were going to marry me. How could we have had a marriage, with such a secret between us?’
‘I realised we couldn’t.’
‘Your father is why you left?’ Marco stared at her in disbelief, his jaw tight.
‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose.’
‘I don’t understand, Sierra.’ He raked his hands through his hair and even now, in the midst of all this confusion and misery, Sierra watched him with longing. Those muscled arms had held her so tenderly. She’d nestled against that chiselled chest, had kissed his salty skin. She averted her gaze from him. ‘Please help me to understand,’ Marco said, and underneath the sadness Sierra heard a note of frustration, even anger, and she tensed.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Anything. Something. Why did you agree to marry me?’ The question rang out, echoing through the suite.
Sierra took a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘To get away from my father.’
Marco’s face paled as his jaw bunched. Sierra kept herself from flinching even though she could tell he was angry. She didn’t completely understand why, but she felt it emanating from his taut body. ‘That’s the only reason?’ he asked in a low voice.
Wordlessly she nodded, and then she watched as Marco turned and strode from the bedroom. Alone, she sank onto the bed, her legs suddenly feeling weak. Everything feeling weak. She felt nearer to tears now than she had a few moments ago, and why? Because she’d lost Marco? It was better this way, and in any case she’d never really had him. Not like that.
But it still felt like a loss, a gaping wound that was bleeding out. Another deep breath and Sierra turned to her suitcase. She struggled with the zip, but she finally got it closed. And then she sat there, having no idea what to do. Where to go, if anywhere.
After a few moments she worked up the nerve to lug her suitcase down the spiral staircase. Marco stood in the living room, his back to her as he stared out at the darkened city. She hesitated on the bottom step because now that she was here, she didn’t really want to go. Walk out like she did once before, into a dark night, an unknown future.
Yet how could she stay?
The step creaked beneath her and Marco turned around, his dark eyebrows snapping together as he saw her clutching the handle of her suitcase. ‘You’re still planning to go?’ he asked, his voice harsh.
‘I don’t know what to do, Marco.’ She hated the wobble in her voice and she blinked rapidly. Marco swore under his breath and strode towards her.
‘Sierra, cara, I’ve been an utter ass. Please forgive me.’
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. He took the suitcase from her and put it on the floor. Then he stretched out his hands beseechingly, his face a plea. ‘Don’t go, Sierra. Please. Not yet. Not till I understand. Not till we’ve made this right.’
‘How can we? I know what my father meant to you, and I hate him, hate him—’ She broke off, weeping, half amazed at the emotion that suddenly burst from her, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘I always have,’ she continued, but then her voice was lost to sobs, her shoulders shaking, and Marco had enfolded her in his arms.
She pressed her face into his hard chest as he stroked his hand down her back and murmured nonsense endearments. She hadn’t realised she had so many tears left in her and, more than just tears, a deep welling of grief and sorrow, not just for the father she’d had, but for the father she’d never had. For the years of loneliness and fear and frustration. For the fact that even now, seven years on, she was afraid to trust someone. To love someone, and the result was this brokenness, this feeling that she might never be whole.
‘I’m sorry,’ she finally managed, pulling away from him a bit to swipe at her damp cheeks. Now that the first storm of crying had passed, she felt embarrassed by her emotional display. ‘I didn’t mean to fall apart...’
‘Nonsense. You needed to cry. You have suffered, Sierra, more than I could ever imagine. More than I ever knew.’ Sierra heard the sharp note of self-recrimination in Marco’s voice and wondered at it. ‘Come, let us sit down.’
He guided her to one of the leather sofas and pulled her down next to him, his arm around her shoulders so she was still nestled against him, safe in his arms. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
‘Will you tell me?’ Marco finally asked.
Sierra drew a shuddering breath. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘I don’t know where to begin.’
He nestled her closer to him, settling them both more comfortably. ‘Begin wherever you want to, Sierra,’ he said quietly.
After a moment she started talking, searching for each word, finding her way slowly. She told him how the first time her father hit her she was four years old, a slap across the face, and she hadn’t understood what she’d done wrong. It had taken her decades to realise the answer to that question: nothing.
She told him about how kind and jovial he could be, throwing her up in the air, calling her his princess, showering her and her mother with gifts. ‘It wasn’t until I was much older that I realised he only treated us that way when someone was watching.’
‘And when you were alone?’ Marco asked in a low voice. ‘Always...?’
‘Often enough so that I tried to hide from him, but that angered him, too. No monster likes to see his reflection.’
‘And when you were older?’
‘I knew I needed to get away. My mother would never leave him. I begged her to, but she refused. She’d get quite angry with me because she loved him.’ Sierra shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never understood that. I know he could be charming and he was handsome, but the way he treated her...’ Her voice choked and she sniffed loudly.
‘So why didn’t you run away? When you were older?’
She let out an abrupt yet weary laugh. ‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘I don’t mean to,’ Marco answered. ‘I just want to understand. It all seems so difficult to believe.’
How difficult? Sierra wondered. Did he believe her? Or even now did he doubt? The possibility was enough to make her fall silent. Marco touched her chin with his finger, turning her face so she had to look at him.
‘I didn’t mean it like that, Sierra.’
‘Do you believe me?’ she blurted. The question felt far too revealing, and even worse was Marco’s silence after she’d asked it.
‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘Of course I do. But I don’t want to.’
‘Because you loved him.’
Marco nodded, his expression shuttered, his jaw tight. ‘You know how I told you my own father left? He was hardly around to begin with,
