Chapter 278

Suspicious of this behaviour, I keep one eye on him as I look around for my discarded items, but he stays put and watches me in that silent predator way of his. Seeming more like the man of the last few months than the sadist of pre-shooting myself in the face days.

I know it’s been there all along and I was oblivious to how far it went. The little niggles that something had changed were all dismissed, and now looking at him silently observing me, I can see the uncertainty in his demeanour is very real.

If he isn’t lying, if he means what he says, it explains a lot from the past few weeks—about the change in him. I just don’t understand why though.

Nothing happened that made him suddenly grow feelings for me. I left, he found me; we carried on. Nothing at all to sway how he saw me.

“I’m not good at this.” He blurts it out in an almost painful rush of words as I glance at him again. That broad set of shoulders on that powerfully large body sagging slightly, the drop of his chin as he looks at the floor hesitantly again. He seems so much tamer than how he normally is.

“Good at what? Losing games? I’m not playing so there’s no win or lose about it.” I blanch at him sarcastically, pushing my thoughts aside as nonsense and go in search of one of my shoes, bewildered that it’s vanished from sight and venture further into the apartment to find it. I didn’t think I threw it this far. Then again, I threw with venom and probably much harder than I realised. It’s not lost on me that I’m fast regaining my composure and feeling a little light-headed and not quite here. I guess it’s the adrenaline wearing off, and I’m beginning to calm down.

“Feelings … talking about this shit.” He follows me, gaining distance fast and a little too close to where I am, sounding exasperated with me. He hems me in with his looming presence, a little too close in my danger zone behind me and I spin on him. Still prickly enough to react when threatened by his closeness.

“That’s not what this is. It’s you annoyed because you can no longer manipulate me. And stop coming so close to me from behind, you know I can’t stand it!” I throw a raised eyebrow and ‘fuck you’ look at him and turn back to head off, but he catches my hand in his and pulls me back sharply. That warm searing touch of his skin on mine a little too familiar, and it triggers my fear response.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I yelp in reaction and slap his hand away. Hating myself that his skin on mine stirs so many unwanted feelings and hopes. Too familiar, too inviting. I bloody hate that amid all this my body yearns for him the second he lays a finger on me. He’s the devil incarnate with his stupid charms and devious spells.

“Then stop being a pig-headed, stubborn diva and listen to what I’m fucking telling you, woman!” He barks right back with the infamous Alexi temper. Still in there after all. I literally gawp at the angry, definitely Alexi Carrero devil tone that just threw those words in my face. It’s almost laughable.

“Charming. Haven’t completely changed then have you?” I cross my arms over my chest and scowl at him with a shake of the head. Simmering with a temper on the verge of breaking loose once again. “From love to whatever that was.” I point out blatantly, waving a finger at his face, nodding my head as though to point out his tone.

Alexi looks like he might actually strangle me. There is no other way to describe his erratic expression and heavy exhale.

“Frustration! Because you are one of the hardest women to communicate with, I have ever met. Camilla, I … Love … You. No games, no motives, no fucking anything. No manipulation, or underhanded ulterior motives. I love you. And that’s it. Now stop storming around and listen to me. Believe me when I say I want you in my life. Not for money, nor sex, nor this club, but because I want you and I want to be with you!”

It’s semi-yelled at me in a harsh tone that is more befitting of him telling off one of his minions than any remorseful sweet nothing, but in that, I can tell it’s not a practised play or a mouthful of horse shit. He isn’t acting. He’s pissed that his confessions are being treated as lies, and he is trying like crazy to keep his cool while that hot Italian temper kicks off.

This is probably the most honest response I have seen in him yet. One I actually believe in.

Maybe.

I don’t know how that makes me feel. Faced with what might be the truth.

My head and heart are in chaos, and I’m so consumed with anger and pain right now as a flood of conflicting thoughts and feelings fight with one another. When it comes to this man, it’s no wonder I’m in a hell of a mess. Nothing with him is straightforward or ever has been. Staring at his face in a suspended sort of mood. Unsure what to say to that. I sigh and let my mouth run loose. It’s always been its biggest flaw.

“You had me. I stood right there … and you let me believe I was nothing.” I croak as tears return at my words, raking up memories I should leave in the past where they belong. I point to the blank part of the wall by the kitchen, with a backwards glance over my shoulder, to where I stood on that drunken fateful night. The wall marked with a tiny little indent to where my skull met it and shudder at seeing it, even though I have passed it for weeks on end without a second thought.

He really is under my skin tonight.

The night I held a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. I wanted to die because of this man, this one right here, trying to play off all of that as nothing because he now wants what I offered him back then.

My heart lets loose, pent-up tears and wracking agony as the memory of his rejection and my failed attempt to end it all floods through me, sobbing returning with a vengeance as it hits home that he isn’t lying. Alexi is telling the truth.

I just can’t forgive what he did to me to get to this point.

He cares about me.

Why couldn’t he have cared before he destroyed me?

“I know.” He at least sounds remorseful, eyes on mine and voice low. Once again losing all that hostility, guilt seeping through so that even I can recognise it, as weird as it is to see in his expression. Sombre expression, a slight frown over soft eyes that are stormy and dark in colour for a change.

It’s there, on show and seems very real. Alexi has regrets. The king of cruel has a conscience after all, but all it does is twist the knife deeper in my already bleeding heart.

This all just is too sad for words.

“I told you … I said those three little words to you.” I can barely get my voice out coherently amid the gulping tears and emotional blubbering that are pulling me apart so quickly. The hopelessness of all of this when so much hurt has come first.

It all feels so empty. After all this, to finally see something genuine from him, when we are at a place where I will never be able to forgive him.

“I know.” Alexi no longer looks controlled or cocky. He looks hurt, sorrowful and intent on gazing into my tear-filled eyes. A softness to him I have seen in short moments these past few weeks and only now realise maybe they were real.

“Why now … after all that? Why, when I’m too afraid to let you close, do you decide I’m worthy of something more?” It’s desperation for answers and a broken heart torn in two. The despair of a confession coming too late.

You can’t fix our kind of tragedy, even for love.