Rafe’s voice rang through the deafness that fell over her as he gripped her wrist tightly in his hand and kissed the delicate script. She didn’t know what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. His touch alone pulled her back to him.
“It’s to remind me how love should be. How love should feel.”
“But love is conditional, don’t you think?” he asked, his eyes piercing hers with their depth. She knew his heart was severed. She knew he harbored some guilt that he didn’t want to share—she got that. But the anger that flashed in his eyes pulled against her own heart. She didn’t understand it, didn’t know how to even start comprehending it. But seeing that anger masking something deep inside him trickled longing, a longing to take it away from him. Distract him . . .
“Yes. Love is conditional. But not the true kind. Not the kind that matters.” She paused, inhaling and releasing a deep breath. “My parents loved me conditionally,” she confessed, unsure why the verbal floodgates were opening. Rafe’s eyes encouraged her, enveloping her in her own safe haven. So she continued. “They loved me when their prima ballerina was the beautiful focal point of conversation at their elegant dinner parties. They loved me when I was their puppet.”
Cupping her cheek, he stroked her jaw. “I can’t see that. I can’t see you doing something just to appease others.”
Laughing, she turned her head and kissed the inside of his hand. “I don’t. Not anymore. Everything was a show for my parents. They were members of the elite clubs, part of the inner circles of powerful families, and I was expected to fit. And I did—and I hated it. But I think I only hated it because it’s what they wanted. So, like any pissed-off teenager, I rebelled. Partied, got a tattoo, snuck out of the house, and ran around with people they didn’t approve of. I started skipping ballet rehearsals just to make them mad. I loved ballet, but I loved defying them even more. And my boyfriend at the time was reaping the benefits of my newfound adolescent rebellion.”
“And you just left?”
“They didn’t give me a choice.”
• • •
Rafe could sense she didn’t enjoy trudging through her past. There was more, so much more to this woman than he could even begin to discover, but he wasn’t going to push her.
“How about you? Did you luck out in the family department or are you a product of screwed-up parents as well?”
He frowned, wishing he could take away some of the bitterness from her tone. “Well, my family was on quite the opposite social spectrum of yours. My parents were dirt-ass poor when they got married. But they were great. They loved us and loved each other. The true kind.
“My mom wanted to open a bakery, and although my dad couldn’t even heat up an oven, he worked twice as hard every damn day so he could make her dream come true. Her dream was his dream. And he made it come true for her. My dad still has the bakery, but my brother runs it now. It’s not making them rich by any means, but they love it.” Rafe didn’t think it would matter if it was a money pit and his dad had to pay to keep it open—that had been his mom’s dream, and as long as his dad was alive, her dream would be alive.
“So does that mean you know how to bake? I do believe I may have fallen in bed with the perfect man if that’s the case. And I’d be happy to show you where my kitchen is.”
He laughed. “I can bake a few things. I spent a lot of time with my mom at the bakery when I was a kid, and she taught me a few of her secrets. But my brother Marco, that’s his gig.”
“Mmm. Now a man who can bake is even better than a man who can cook.”
Rafe shook his head. “No wonder women love him. Had I known baked goods were the key to a woman’s heart, I might’ve asked Mom to teach me a few more secrets before she died.”
Fallon’s mouth pulled into a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. I was thirteen—it was a long time ago.” He shifted on the bed, Fallon still tucked on his lap. He lay back against the pillows, pulling her down on top of him so her skin ran along his.
“It hurt my family like hell when she died. We all took it pretty hard. My dad—she was his everything. But like I said, it was a long time ago.”
He and his brothers felt cheated, as if they didn’t get to say good-bye, as if they didn’t have a chance to protect her. She died of a brain aneurism in her sleep and they’d wished every goddamn day that they would have known so they could have done something about it. But his dad made them realize that they were lucky. They’d never worried about it—she’d never worried. She wasn’t scared or sad before she died—she was just her normal self. Happy, content with her family around her, asleep in the arms of the man she loved. He couldn’t imagine a more peaceful departure from the world.