Page 29 of Untouchable Queen
And I don’t stand a chance.
I crushed any possibility that Tatiana might ever love me the night I condemned her father to death.
15
TATIANA
The pain that flits across Lucian’s face surprises me. He doesn’t look angry at my outburst, even though my words are far more scathing than I’ve let them be in the past. They’re utterly raw and honest, because I couldn’t keep holding it in. I couldn’t keep pretending that it didn’t happen, that he hasn’t hurt me. I can’t stand another of Lucian’s grand gestures and romantic dinners, the persistence that he seems to think will win my heart.
Not when he hasn’t answered for what he did.
He hasn’t even acknowledged it—the fact that he ripped out my heart the day he had my father killed. He might not have been the one holding the gun, but his men are responsible for my father’s death. They were following Lucian’s orders, and I don’t understand how he can stand there and act like I could ever love him after that. Like his charms could possibly make me forget. My body might crave his touch, but my heart is broken because of him, and I don’t know how it will ever be whole again.
“Tatiana,” he says softly, taking a cautious step toward me, his charming playfulness set aside as he finally takes my anger seriously.
And as he lifts his hands, palm up in a gesture of surrender, my tears start to fall, hot and fast.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, taking another slow step before lowering onto his knees before me.
My stomach flip-flops at the unexpected display of supplication, and my feet feel rooted to the spot as he reaches out to grasp my hips, pulling me close. Blood roars through my ears as he kneels at my feet, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting lightly against my abdomen as his hazel eyes look up at me with such genuine and intense remorse it steals my breath away.
“I was wrong. What I did was…God, I’m so sorry. When I spoke to your father a year ago—when I asked if I could marry you—he refused me outright, saying that no man would be worthy of his daughters.” The words rush from Lucian in a frantic plea, as if he’s desperate for me to understand.
My chest aches, the tears coming harder as I fight my body’s instinct to lean into his touch—to listen to what he has to say and believe him.
“I could see the fire in you—long before you revealed it to the rest of the world. I fell in love with that fire, and I thought your father was trying to crush it…”
There’s that word again,love. I don’t know what to make of it. The way Lucian confesses to falling in love with me feels so passionate and raw—his voice growing possessive as he wills me to believe him.But how can he say he loves me when he’s why I’m so devastated?He’s the reason I can’t trust my irrational feelings toward him.
“You were always so subdued around him, at the galas, like he didn’t want you to be the powerhouse I know you are. And every time I got you to myself for a moment, I could sneak a glimpse of that spirit. I thought he tried to tamp it down, that he was keeping it carefully locked away—like he kept you andNatasha locked away from the world. IthoughtI was setting you free when I put an end to Boris’s reign. And now that I know the pain I’ve caused you…” He swallows convulsively, shaking his head as the regret consumes his proud features. He looks…horrified. Like he’s only seeing it now, the evil in his actions—all the pain he’s caused. “I feel terrible for having hurt you. That was never my intent,” he murmurs.
His revelation has rocked me to my core, and hearing the conversation he had with my father—and learning that my father said no one would ever be worthy of me—only makes me cry harder. I miss my father terribly—God it hurts—and I hate that I’m so inexplicably drawn to the man responsible for his death.
I know my father was a stubborn man, and that he wasn’t always right. But everything he ever did was for me and Natasha. He believed in us when the rest of our archaic, messed-up world couldn’t see our worth simply because we’re women. And hearing Lucian say those same uplifting words puts my emotions in even more of a tangle because he sounds far too much like my father—progressive, understanding, supportive—when all I want to do is see him as a monster.
But that’s becoming harder and harder to do when he acts like a gentleman. When he looks at me with open respect. When he supports my authority without feeling the need to step in and take control.
I’ve never been more confused than I am right now.
An agonized sob rips from my throat as all the grief from my loss comes crashing down around my shoulders. I’m glad Lucian doesn’t go so far as to ask for my forgiveness, because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give that to him. Not when he tore apart my family, when he took my father and mother from me like they meant nothing at all.
But when he stands to pull me into his arms, I don’t have the strength to push him away.
It’s the first time he’s held me without trying to make a move on me, and I’m grateful. Because pleasure isn’t going to ease this kind of pain—the bone-deep anguish of losing my parents before their time. Instead, he lets me cry it out, and as the tears start to flow unchecked, it feels as though this is the first time I’ve really had the chance to grieve their deaths—because I’ve spent all this time trying to stay strong for my sister, to prove my grit to my father’s men.
Lucian’s arms feel dangerously inviting as I bury my face against his chest and sob, my body racked with sorrow. It seems all wrong to be drawing comfort from the man responsible for my pain, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I have no one to lean on for this particular loss. Natasha has too much on her plate already, and any sign of weakness might destroy the rapport I’ve built with the Sokolov men.
But Lucian…well, with Lucian, I have nothing more to lose. He’s already taken everything from me—and he’s asking for the world in return. Hearing the reasons behind his choices, understanding his motivation has opened up the floodgates, and now, I can’t seem to stop the overwhelming emotion that has finally fractured my composure. It’s the pain behind my outbursts that has been steadily growing worse since our wedding day—the fury I’ve been taking out on him every time he tries to extend an olive branch.
I can’t keep holding back.
I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.
As much as I wish it, I’m not made of stone, and finally, Lucian has found a way to bring my walls crumbling down.
His arms tighten around me, as if he’s trying to hold me in one piece as he keeps me tucked beneath his chin. For the first time, I’m aware of our age difference—the fact that he’s over ten years older than me. I feel like a little girl crying against his chest. But Lucian creates a safe space for me, a warm support tolet me feel my emotions without demanding anything from me—almost like a father would. It makes me all the more conflicted. He’s my husband—the only other man whoshouldserve that purpose in my life, but it feels so wrong to need him like this when my father can’t be here to do it because of him.
My breaths grow ragged as my sobs intensify until I’m on the brink of hyperventilating.
