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He hesitated before nodding once. ‘Goodnight, Your Highness.’
She waited until the door was closed before letting go of the sob that was heavy in her chest.
Benedetto didn’t go straight back to Anton’s room. How the hell could he after that? He strode through the palace, his face a thundercloud, his body tense, as though preparing for war, his heart ramming against his ribs as though he’d run a marathon. He exited through a side door, found his way to a courtyard and moved to the edge of it, stood with his hands on his hips, staring out at the lights of the city, unseeing.
She loved him.
The world seemed to stop spinning. Sweat beaded on his brow. It was his worst nightmare. It was everything he didn’t want.
What a fool he’d been, to think he could become involved with someone like Amelia and not have it get complicated.
She was so different from the women he usually slept with. Amelia wasn’t sophisticated and experienced, she wasn’t looking for a few nights of passion and then to move on. What was worse: she’d been in an intensely vulnerable position when they’d met.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
He’d told her at every opportunity that it was just sex, made sure she understood that he didn’t do commitment and relationships. He’d been so honest and upfront about that, but what did that matter?
Wasn’t the reason for his constant reminders to Amelia that he knew there was risk with her? That she was so different she wouldn’t be capable of understanding, truly understanding, the way he chose to live his life?
She’d had her heart broken, her trust shattered, and had chosen to stay alone afterwards, but Amelia’s heart was too good to be permanently on ice. She had too much love to give to withhold it for ever.
Whereas Benedetto had been broken in a way from which he would never recover. His heart belonged to Sasha, and always would. How could he allow it to beat for anyone else, knowing what would happen if he were to lose that person too?
He clenched his hands into fists by his sides.
He’d done the right thing by holding firm in the face of Amelia’s declaration, but that didn’t make it any easier. And it didn’t mean he felt like less of an A-grade bastard.
The sooner the wedding was over and he could leave this country, the better. Then they could both start getting on with their lives and forgetting this had ever happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AMELIA WALKED BEHIND VANESSA, holding the elaborate train of her dress, her features serene and impenetrable, her eyes focused on nothing and no one, even as Benedetto stared at her and willed her to look his way.
She didn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Her gaze was angled steadily ahead, her eyes on the front of the church.
She looked beautiful, but Benedetto could see beyond her mask, to the grey beneath her eyes, the tightening around her lips, and he knew he was the cause of that.
Had she not been able to sleep, in the same way he couldn’t sleep?
Had she replayed their conversation with the same sense of frustration, because it was the exact opposite of how she wanted things to end between them?
Benedetto had known he would leave, but he had hoped they could part on good terms. That they could both look back on their time warmly.
Warmly?
How insipid, he thought with growing frustration. Suddenly, he wanted the entire congregation gone. He wanted to scoop Amelia up and take her somewhere private, with just the two of them. He wanted to be alone with her again, to finish the conversation, but to do it better this time.
Better how? What would he say? That she was special? Different? And give her false hope that their relationship might have a future after all? The more special and different she was, the more Benedetto wanted to run from her.
Her eyes flicked to Anton, and Benedetto narrowed his gaze, needing her to look at him so he could pierce her with his eyes, to smile at him and reassure him that she was already feeling better, but she didn’t. Her eyes stayed on Anton’s face, a smile crossed her lips—but not a smile like Benedetto had seen her give. This was practised and poised. A smile for the cameras, he thought, because the wedding was being televised. And of course Amelia, having grown up in the spotlight, was all too aware of not putting a foot wrong. She was totally in control of herself, in complete command of her emotions, outwardly at least.
She was an impeccable, beautiful princess.
His chest felt as though a load of cement were pressing down on it; his gut churned. He blinked it away, ignoring those feelings, ignoring the questions in the back of his mind. He had no doubt that leaving was the right thing, but he’d never wanted to defy his instincts more.
