Page 96 of Salt Kiss
And why do I want her undivided attention when I myself am still in love with Mark? What kind of greed is that? Especially when I know the kind of man Mark is, the effect he has on pride and sanity and need. There’s no fighting him.
Isolde’s voice is as opaque as the water when she asks, “How many people?”
I turn my head to look at her, dread pooling in my stomach. I can see from the haunted look on her face what she means.
“How many people has he fucked?” she asks.
I was the one who wanted her to know, who wanted to alleviate her guilt about what we did. But I still feel miserable when I answer. “Three that I know of. Strassburg, his former bodyguard. A submissive from Montreal named Isabella. And”—a long breath—“me.”
She looks back at the ocean, blinks. Shakes her head. “I should have—of course.” A pause as she inhales slowly. “Will it end at the wedding?”
“It’s already ended,” I say quickly. “When I found out he was engaged, I told him it was over.” Which is hardly a moral high ground after I came all over his fiancée, I know.
“Are you in love with him?” she asks, voice still frustratingly opaque.
She’s been so honest tonight, and I owe her my honesty in return. “Yes.”
“Are you loyal to him?”
That is a more complicated question, with a more complicated answer. “Yes, but...”
“But?”
“He’s made it clear that you are a part of him and his world.” I roll forward to my knees and face her so she can see how serious I am about this. “My loyalty is to you too, Isolde.”
I can’t tell if she believes me or not. Her lips roll together, and they’re wet, because through all this, she hasn’t stopped crying.
I touch her hand. It’s cool and wet with tears or maybe water that’s splashed up from the waves. “Can I ask you something?”
She gives a quick, jerking nod.
“Why did you say yes? To marrying Mark?”
“I told you,” she replies. “My father wanted me to.”
I study her. “Is that really it?”
Her jaw is tight when she looks away. “It’s enough. And I can’t fuck this up. Too much is riding on this marriage. People need me to make it work.”
“I won’t tell Mr. Trevena. About what happened between us.”
Although privately I worry he’ll be able to tell anyway—or that I’ll confess after one cold, blue glance.
“It’s none of his business,” Isolde says suddenly, furiously. “Nothing until the wedding day is anyone’s business, and if it’s true for him, then it’s true for me too.”
Nothing until the wedding day...
My stupid body kicks to life at that phrase, at the layers of meaning that could be tucked behind it. What if she... No.
Better not to go there, even in my mind.
“What happened the other day still shouldn’t have happened,” I say. “I’m sorry. Even if this whole marriage is arranged, even if nothing matters until the wedding. I was trusted to take care of you, and I—”
“Don’t saytook advantage,” she interrupts. She gets to her knees, facing me, and in the barely there light of evening, I can see the goose bumps covering her arms and the tops of her breasts. I can see the shine of stars in her eyes and the fresh tear tracks and the places where the tears have dried on her skin.
“You’re a good man,” she says, and when I open my mouth to argue, she presses her fingers to my lips.
I go still, transfixed. She could make me do anything if she touched my mouth like this.
