Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He didn’t want to push her, and yet he had to know. “But it could be important.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head slightly. Her platinum hair gleamed in the dim light, and he thought of her last night, standing by her bed and calling for him. How vulnerable she’d looked, how innocent. Such a contrast with the woman he’d gotten acquainted with on paper.
Her chin dropped, as if she were surrendering. He found a box of tissues in a nearby compartment and handed them to her. She snatched a few into her hand and dabbed at her face.
“How can it be important?” she finally said. “No one really knows about it.”
“Someone does. Andre does.”
She sucked in a breath on a half sob. “Of course he knows. He was the father.”
Somehow, though he’d expected it, that news sliced through his gut like a sword. He didn’t want to think of Veronica with Andre Girard, didn’t want to imagine that she could have loved the man once. But she must have done so.
“Was he angry?” He still didn’t quite know what they were talking about, but he could tease the details from her if he worked gently enough.
Her laugh was bitter. “Angry? God, no. More like relieved. He didn’t want a child, so he’s not in the least bit upset there isn’t one.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Veronica.” He squeezed her hand again. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, but he wasn’t sure she wanted him to do so. Instead, he sat and waited.
“You’re good,” she said, dabbing at her eyes again. “You’ve managed to get me to talk about it after all. No matter that I don’t want to.”
“I have no wish to cause you pain,” he said. “But I need to understand who could want to hurt you. Whoever it is knows about the baby. And this person sees it as the perfect way to get to you.”
Her free hand clenched into a fist on her lap. “I wish I could understand why. It has nothing to do with anyone but me and Andre.”
“Was there another woman? A jealous ex, perhaps?”
“There’s always a jealous ex. But why would anyone care enough to be so cruel when we’re no longer together? We weren’t even very serious, but then I got pregnant and—”
“And what?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.
She bent forward as if she were in pain, rocked back and forth, her face turned away from him. It alarmed him. His throat felt tight as he waited.
A sob escaped her, but she stuffed her fist against her mouth and breathed hard, as if trying to cram the rest of them down deep.
Raj put an arm around her, pulled her toward him. She turned instantly, buried her face against him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled and broken.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”
A lump formed in his throat as he watched the lights of storefronts go by. He had no idea where they were, or how long they were silent, before she pushed away from him and dabbed her eyes.
As if she hadn’t just cried her heart out. As if she hadn’t turned to him for comfort while she did so.
She was an enigma to him. Soft and hard at once. Strong and weak. Filled with sadness and pain. Not at all what he’d expected from the party girl in the tabloids.
If anything, he realized how very fragile she was beneath the layers of steel she cloaked herself in. He had no right to try and break through those barriers.
“I lost the baby soon after I learned I was pregnant,” she said. She shook her head, swallowed hard. He could hear the audible gulp as she pushed her sobs down deep again. But then she speared him with a look. “I won’t break, Raj. I’m stronger than you think. And I won’t let anyone use this to stop me from doing what’s best for Aliz.”
Her mind worked much more quickly than he’d given her credit for only yesterday, when he’d watched her work the crowd from his position in the bar. He’d thought her pampered and shallow, but he had to admit that she had depths he’d never guessed at.
“Who is the woman in the tabloid reports?” he asked. “Because I can hardly credit she’s the same person as the woman sitting beside me now.”
“Oh, no, she’s definitely the same. Some of it is exaggerated, of course. But much of it is true.” He wondered if she knew she was rubbing her thumb along the underside of his palm. The pressure was light, but it made him want to strip her glove off and see what her touch would feel like on his skin.
“I can hardly believe it,” he said, trying to lighten the conversation once more.
“That was my version of acting out,” she said quietly. “My rebellion against my father. The worse I behaved, the angrier he got. Did you ever act out, Raj?”
Her question surprised him. A dart of pain caught him behind the breastbone. “I think everyone has,” he said.
Except that he hadn’t. Not really.
He’d always had to be the adult in the house, especially once his mother started experimenting with drugs the summer he turned twelve. If he hadn’t made sure they had food and a roof over their heads, however temporary, they’d have starved or frozen to death.
He’d known nothing but responsibility from the time he was young. He’d been stripped of a normal childhood by his mother’s addictions and constant need for attention.
Acting out had been the furthest thing from his mind when all he’d cared about was food and shelter. Not that he could admit that to Veronica. It made him seem pitiful—and he definitely wasn’t pitiful.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “Some of us worse than others, perhaps. But those days are over now, at least for me. I have too many things I want to do in life. I’ve wasted enough time.”
Raj stifled a laugh. “You’re twenty-eight and the president of your nation. How have you wasted time?”
Her smile was unexpected. It shook at the corners, as if she were still on the verge of tears.
It made him want to kiss her again. A white-hot bolt of need shot through him as he watched her mouth.
“That’s true, yes. But I’m realizing what I really want. I’m only sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
“And what is it you want, Veronica?” Because he knew what he wanted right this minute. He wouldn’t act on it, of course. Kissing her at the party had been one thing. Kissing her now that they were alone was another altogether.
“You will laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“You will, but it’s okay. I want a home. A real home, with a family. Maybe it’ll just be a cat or a dog, or maybe I’ll find a man I adore, who adores me in return. But I want the dream, the happy-ever-after where I like who I am and someone agrees with me.”
Raj swallowed. Home. Family. He had no idea what those things were, really, other than a roof and four walls, and people whose happiness and welfare you were responsible for. “It’s a nice dream. I hope you get it.”
“You think it’s ridiculous,” she said.
“No.”
“You do.”
He sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just that I doubt you’ve ever been without a home. You want to imbue the word with more than it needs. You want it to fulfill you emotionally when, really, that is your responsibility.”
Her thumb had stilled in his palm. Gently, she disentangled her hand from his and he knew he’d