look happy.
Alison watched Maximo’s face, hoping for some kind of reaction, something she could hold onto to let her know that she hadn’t lost him, lost everything they’d built together in the past six weeks. When he’d withdrawn from her physically she’d felt his emotional withdrawal just as keenly, could see his dark eyes flatten as he walled his emotions off from her.
“I have to go,” he said, his dark eyes unreadable.
Alison tried to do what he’d done so easily, tried to block out the pain she knew was about to hit. But it was impossible. She loved him too much, and she was losing him already. He might never leave her, but she would never have his heart, either.
She pushed hard against her closed eyes, trying to stop tears from falling. She was going to be strong, for herself, for her baby. She would never let anyone know that her heart was shattered irreparably.
The fragrant air caressed her skin, the intense warmth of the summer day heating her. But only on the outside. Everything inside of her was cold.
She’d arrived on the island of Maris only twenty minutes ago, hoping she might find some solace for her pain. Instead being in the place where she had been so happy, where she had been awakened to love and making love, was a bittersweet pain. She had never felt more separate from him.
He’d been away on business more often than not over the course of the past week, and when he’d been home he’d been unfailingly polite. Distant. It was worse than his anger—at least that was passionate. He was acting like a stranger. He hadn’t made love with her, not since the day she’d been attacked by the paparazzi.
That was when things had changed. When he’d shut her out completely. Her worst fear was that it wasn’t related to the incident with the press, but that it had to do with him finding out for certain he was the father of her baby. Maybe he didn’t want them anymore. And now, his get-out-of-jail-free card had been taken away from him.
She moved away from the balcony and reentered the room. The one she and Max had shared when they’d stayed here. She shivered. It had been a stupid idea to come to the island. But her heart was breaking, splintering with every beat it took, and she had to try to fix it somehow.
Maybe if there would have been a big blow-up fight it would have been easier. If he’d said ugly things and told her he didn’t want her, maybe then her love would have died. But it had just been this sudden, silent break. He had withdrawn from her completely with no explanation, but the separation had been a no less definite or final feeling than if they had experienced some kind of dramatic end to their relationship.
The greatest irony was that their wedding was in two days. In two days they were going to stand before the congregation and make vows to love, honor and cherish each other. It would be difficult since they were barely speaking to each other.
She rested her palm on her burgeoning belly and felt renewed determination. She wasn’t destitute. She had her baby, the most precious thing in the world. She loved Max. She loved him so much it actually hurt, but their baby was a piece of them. They may not have created life in the usual, physical way, but the baby was the best of both of them.
She heard footsteps behind her on the travertine floor and turned, expecting to see Rosa Maria, the housekeeper. Instead she saw Max striding toward her. He was as intimidating as ever, a man who oozed control and sophistication. But there was something different. She noticed the fatigue etched in his handsome face. She could definitely relate.
“What are you doing here, Maximo?”
He laughed, the sound hollow, void of any joy or humor. “The same thing as you, I would imagine. Trying to escape.”
“What is it you need to escape from?”
He laughed again. “The same thing as you I would imagine.”
“Please, Max, I’m not up to playing games with you.”
“So it’s Max again, is it?” His voice softened and he took a step toward her.
“What do you mean?”
He gave her a half smile. “I was demoted to the more formal Maximo.”
“I didn’t even realize.”
“I did,” he said huskily.
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t take this. This tease. He didn’t want her. He was stuck with her.
“Why are you here?” she asked, anguish lacing her voice.
“This is where I’ve been for most of the past week,” he confessed.
“I thought you were working.”
“In a way I was.”
Frustration bubbled through her. “I don’t want your passion one moment and your silence the next. I can’t do hot and cold. I don’t know what happened to change things between us. But you won’t tell me. If I’ve done something then say it. If you’ve found someone else, or you’re simply tired of me, say it. Don’t freeze me out. Don’t make me play guessing games.”
“I’m not a man of words, Alison. I’m a man of actions. You may have noticed that,” he said with dark humor. “I don’t always say the right things. But I want the chance to make you understand me. To make you understand how I feel.”
She shook her head, her throat tightening with tears. “Don’t play with me.”
He took her hand, and their first physical contact in a week rocked her to her core. The wanting hadn’t gone away. Not even for a moment. She could see from the molten heat in his eyes that he felt the same.
“I’ve never been playing with you,” he said, his voice intense. “Please know that. I’ve handled things badly, but hurting you was the last thing I wanted.”
“But you did hurt me,” she said. “We promised we were going to talk about things, but we didn’t. You just shut me out, and I have no idea what happened to cause it.”
He raised his eyes and met hers; the stark, raw emotion in them shocked her. “I know,” he said roughly. “You cannot know how sorry I am. Please come with me, Alison.”
She nodded slowly and let him lead her from the villa. When she realized where they were headed she stopped. “Max. I can’t.”
“Trust me. Please.”
She took a breath and allowed him to take her the rest of the way to the art studio, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. This was the place where she had shed her inhibitions, where she had laid herself bare to him. Where she had lost her heart. Coming here was the worst sort of torture mingled with the sweetest of memories. They had been connected then, and even though she hadn’t been able to name the things he’d made her feel, it was where she’d fallen in love with him.
He opened the door and took her into the sun-bathed room. There was no question of what he had wanted her to see. It was there in the middle of the room, lit up by the incandescent natural light. It was her, but it wasn’t her. The woman captured on the canvas was beautiful. Her skin glowed with youth and joy. As though she had just been with her lover and he had left her satisfied. The painting was exquisitely detailed.
