Page 17 of Entangled

Cara only stared at him, pain reflecting in her blue eyes. It killed him that he had been the one to do that to her—that his lies did this to them. He no longer wanted to excuse his actions, and he knew they couldn’t be explained away, but he still wanted her.

He loved her.

So badly.

“I did tell you,” Cara whispered, “three months ago when I left your penthouse. I told you then, Gian.”

“And I’ve left you alone, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“You should know that I think about you all the fucking time, Cara, even when I know it’s the last thing I should be doing. I miss you, constantly. I’m alone all the time, too, even when I’m not, and it’s not even your fault. I know I did this. I fucked up, I know. I’m sorry, mon ange. I would do it a thousand ways differently, if I could, now.”

“Except you can’t,” Cara said, a fire returning to her eyes and a heat in her tone. “You lied and lied and lied more, Gian.”

“I didn’t tell you the whole story, but I didn’t purposely keep it from you.”

“It, you say. It. Come on, say what it is. Your wife.”

Gian drew in a slow breath, murmuring, “Yeah, my wife. Estranged, spoiled, difficult, hateful, bitter, but yes, my wife, Cara.”

“And how is she? Your wife, I mean.”

“Pleased in her place,” he replied frankly.

He had nothing else to offer in that regard.

Elena wasn’t worth it to him, not after everything.

“I hate you,” Cara said so softly he strained to hear the words. “I hate that I want to say things right now to hurt you, only to hurt you, Gian. I hate that I want you to know what it felt like to trust you, and then watch you fucking ruin it like you did. I hate you for doing that to me.”

He could work with hate, maybe.

Hate was passionate, too.

Like love.

“You broke my heart, Gian.”

“Well, I hope my heart has been a suitable replacement, Cara. Because you still have mine, and you didn’t bother to give it back. It’s like waking up with a giant hole in my chest every single day. I can’t not know it’s gone. I always know. And maybe I don’t have any right to say that at all, but there it is.”

Cara glanced away, but he saw the wetness in her eyes all the same.

“I’m sorry,” Gian said again as the first tear slipped from the corner of Cara’s eye. “I hate me, too.”

Tears meant something—she wasn’t numb and she wasn’t cold. Not to him or what had happened, anyway. It meant there was a part of her that wasn’t done or hadn’t entirely moved on from everything. She hadn’t moved on from them.

“Are you done now?” Cara asked. “Have you gotten what you wanted? Can I go?”

He wanted to say no. He had her barricaded in an elevator, and God only knew how long he would be able to keep her there. He could finally force her to listen to the shit he had to say, if he wanted to.

Gian had a feeling that would not help him with Cara, only hurt him. He couldn’t force her back to his side, he couldn’t demand her there, and he wouldn’t ever lie to her again to have her with him, either.

If she wanted him, wanted to be with him, he needed her to do that on her own. She would then understand it was because she wanted that, too, and had done so, knowing exactly what it meant for both of them.

He couldn’t give her what she deserved. He couldn’t be her husband, or live with her in a public fashion. She would never be looked at with the same respect his wife would, and in fact, would face a barrage of shit just because she wasn’t his wife.

And the titles she would wear because of his selfishness?