Page 43 of Unmasking the Diamond
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was to him,” she whispered. “He held me at arm’s length my whole life.”
Luca tilted his head, forcing his voice gentle. “What does your brother think?”
Charlotte lowered her gaze to her lap, her fingers knotting together. “He doesn’t blame me, but how could he not? I am the reason she is gone.”
“You sound as though you blame yourself.”
Her voice cracked, raw. “She traded her life for mine. How is that fair?”
Luca’s chest tightened at the anguish in her words, and he spoke with all the conviction he could summon. “Life isn’t fair. It is painful and cruel. Good people are lost for reasons we will never understand. But you, Charlotte—you are one of the reasons worth living for.”
Her lips parted, trembling, as though she could not decide whether to believe him. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t simple,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Life is anything but. But your father was wrong. He should have cherished you, not punished you. You deserved his love, his protection.”
Her gaze lifted, shimmering with moisture. “Why didn’t he love me? I tried so hard.”
Something within him broke at her plea. Without thinking, he moved from his seat and slid onto the bench beside her.
“Love is not conditional,” he said firmly. “It is meant to be given freely. Your father grieved and cast his pain onto you. That was his failure, not yours.”
Her lips trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “Perhaps I am unlovable.”
The words struck him like a blow. Compassion surged, fierce and protective, and before he could stop himself, he laid his hand over her clenched fists. “You are anything but unlovable, Charlotte.”
He expected her to chide him for the boldness of placing his hand over hers, but instead, she merely looked down at the contact. Silent. Thoughtful. Vulnerable.
The silence stretched, and though every instinct urged him to fill it, he held his tongue. He wanted her to know she was not alone in her pain, not with him beside her. If his touch conveyed even a fraction of what words could not, then it was worth the risk.
But then he saw it—the subtle shift as she drew her mask back into place. Her lashes swept down, veiling her expression, and when she lifted her gaze again, her shoulders were squared. The fire remained in her eyes, but the tears were gone.
“Thank you, Lord Luca,” she said, her tone polite. Detached. Final.
He withdrew his hand but stayed close, unwilling to surrender the small ground he had gained. “I would prefer if you called me Luca. It is only fair, since you granted me leave to call you by your given name.”
“I have never called a gentleman by his given name.”
“It is quite a simple feat, I assure you,” he said, lips quirking. “You merely open your mouth and say the name.”
Her eyes narrowed with that sharp, assessing glint he had come to relish. “Must you be so close?”
Rather than retreat, he leaned back just enough to feign comfort, a deliberate provocation. “I enjoy being this close to you. You smell of lavender, magical dreams, and fairy dust.”
“How does one smell like magical dreams and fairy dust?”
He gave a careless shrug. “I don’t know, but you have managed to pull it off.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he caught the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth before she did.
Luca let a slow smile spread across his own lips as he studied her. She had allowed him, for the briefest of moments, to glimpse the raw ache she carried. And though she had shuttered it away again, it was still progress.
Progress he intended to pursue—no matter how many walls she built between them.
8
Charlotte avoided Luca’s gaze as his hand clasped hers and guided her down from the carriage. His touch was steady, sure, and altogether too distracting. What had she been thinking, letting herself be so vulnerable with him only moments ago? She should have bitten her tongue, as she usually did, and buried the truth deep where no one could find it. That had always been her way—her armor. Yet, against all reason, a small part of her trusted him. Which was sheer madness. She had learned from childhood that the only person she could rely upon was herself.
