Fifteen
I take it all back. Every word I said was an unforgivable lie. I was cut open and bleeding and I went mad. Forgive me.
The pleas looped like a broken record inside his head.
They hadn’t made it out of his mouth.
He’d stood there, mute, as she’d turned away, looking like everything inside her had been crushed. He’d stood there until she’d disappeared. Then he’d collapsed to his knees and remained there for several mind-destroying hours, reliving every word she’d said, suffering every pang she had, burning at every tear she’d shed.
Then he’d launched himself after her. But it had been too late.
A murderous Julia railed against him with the rage of a lioness on the scent of blood. She had a formidable ally in an outraged and disgusted Paolo. Among them, they made sure Phoebe’s trail was stonecold.
That had been three months ago.
He’d gone stark raving mad within three hours.
He’d become dangerous. Everyone was regretting pursuing him so hard to take on the succession. Having an insane crown prince, one with all this power, was a recipe for disaster. He might yet be the end of the monarchy and Castaldini, much sooner than the king’s worst fears.
He needed Phoebe. He had to find her, prostrate himself at her feet, beg her forgiveness, take back every word, erase every hurt, to remain sane. He couldn’t. So he…rampaged.
Just this morning, he’d thrown a delegate out during a televised negotiation session. Bodily. Right there on the live feed, he’d lunged at the offensive weasel, bundled him up like a soiled sweatshirt, marched him, kicking like a cat about to be dropped in boiling oil, down the stairs and out the palace door. It made world news within minutes. Along with the details of the brewing international incident.
He hadn’t even missed a beat before he’d stalked to his jet and gotten the hell out of Castaldini on another search for her, following the last lead he’d gotten. It had been another false one. He’d just finished putting the investigative agency who’d supplied him with it out of business.
“When will you stop your never-ending tantrum?”
Ernesto’s disapproval jolted its icy tranquility through him.
“Not a good time, Ernesto,” he barked. “Not a good life.”
“She doesn’t want you to find her. Why don’t you move on?”
“Why don’t you, Ernesto? Before I throw another ‘tantrum’?”
“As long as getting violent makes you feel better.”
“Nothing will make me feel better. Ever.”
“Finished being melodramatic? I never thought I’d say something like this, but if she left in such a condition that made her family wish you dead, maybe you don’t deserve to find her.”
Leandro closed his eyes. He was only hanging on because she was there, and safe, somewhere in this world. But he didn’t deserve to find her. That was why he hadn’t. Ernesto was right.
Then the moment of sanity passed and frustration sheared through him again, tearing his eyes open. “No, Ernesto, I don’t deserve to find her. But I have to, if only to offer her the chance to finish me herself and take her revenge.”
Ernesto pursed his lips. “I fail to imagine what you could have done to her this time. If she left you, left Castaldini and her family, evidently never to return, then you’ve hurt her beyond repair. Even worse than the first time, when she left because she felt she meant nothing to you.”
Incredulity boomed out of him. “Where did you get that piece of unadulterated crap? Are you claiming that she told you—?”
“She told me nothing. She never did.”
“So that is your interpretation? That she meant nothing to me? Dio, Ernesto, how can you think anything so insane? You saw how much I needed her. You yourself, who advised me not to spend crucial time with her, saw how unable I was to even consider your advice.”
“What I saw was a young man in the throes of an all-consuming passion, but that didn’t indicate any true or lasting emotions. Many times as I escorted her to you I found myself aching for her. She was so eager to come to you, so amenable to your decree of secrecy. But I always felt her pain. You might have been blind, but I saw her face many times when you passed her at a function with another woman on your arm. My sympathy must have started to color my expression, because she once asked—with such shyness and trepidation—if I was reluctant to play the role of go-between. When I assured her I wasn’t, she persisted. She felt my disapproval. Did I fear she was distracting you? Harming your campaign for the crown? Was I offended by her behavior? I vehemently denied it. But I realized later, I did disapprove, I was disappointed and offended. By your handling of her and the situation.
“I did recommend that you leave her alone, not because I thought the crown was more important than her, but because you were not giving this exquisite woman the respect and consideration she deserved. And I started to fear you were incapable of giving them to her. You might have decreed the secrecy a necessity, insisted that you hated it, but to me it started to look like you were having your cake and eating it, too. At her expense. And if I can suspect you, do you wonder she had no faith in your intentions toward her?”
“Dio, how could you have doubted me?” he groaned. “I would never treat even a woman I disrespected with anything but dignity, but Phoebe…Didn’t you see the power of my involvement?”
“I did, but I had no idea of its true nature. I even feared it for its very power, for being unprecedented. You were behaving out of character, and your next steps became a total mystery to me. But then, there was only one projection, really. You’d worked for the crown since you took your first steps. And I believed that if you had to take it at the cost of casting Phoebe aside and taking the wife it came with, that you would have done it.”
“How could you have been so wrong about me?” Leandro exploded. “I only kept her a secret because they wouldn’t have given me a fair chance at the crown if they’d known beforehand that I wouldn’t marry the queen they wanted beside me on the throne. But I had only one plan—to make Phoebe my princess, my queen, at any cost. And if I couldn’t have both her and the crown, I would have chosen her. But I had to give the chance to get them both all I had first.”
“And you told me that? You certainly didn’t tell her.”
“You know I don’t discuss my plans before they bear fruit. I couldn’t promise her what I didn’t yet have to give.”