Page 32 of Shameless Vows

“And,yes,” Malachi continues in a low growl into my ear, “ithasoccurred to me that you have possibly forgotten what you did,however, at the time, you proudly and callously admitted it. You had no remorse. So regardless of you remembering it or not, regardless of whether or not you’re lying now about not remembering it, you still did what you did. You still shoved your infidelity into my face. You stillbroke me,Duchess. My abhorrence of you is justified, as is my brother’s, as is my parents’. IfIdid toyou, whatyoudid tome, both you and your family would hate me as much as I and my family hate you. Both your father and Joaquin would have come after me with far more vengeance than a few sharp, yethonestwords. If anything, Philipp and I are beingmercifulandgraciousto you. So, it would bode well for your place in this life by learning to behave with equal grace.”

At his lengthy reprimand, I can’t fight the subtle tremble of my chin. Like so many moments in my former life with him, I seek him out as a source of protection, albeit protection from prying eyes in this situation, and turn my face to hide behind his cheek.

“Tell me what I did to you,” I quietly plead. “I swear on my life I don’t remember, Malachi, and I swear on my life that I would never have done the things you’re accusing me of. If what you’re telling me is true, it has to be some kind of misunderstanding, because I wouldnever—”

His gloved fingers suddenly clamp like a death grip on the side of my neck in a way that causes an electric, shooting pain to surge down the entire left side of my body. It’s so intense and crippling that he may have caused nerve damage, and I wonder if I might actually be partially paralyzed now.

“This is neither the time nor the place, Duchess,”he hisses into my ear. “Further, it isn’t my fucking problem that you forgot what you did. I will not rip open my old wounds simply for the sake of placating your pig-ignorant, dull-witted mind. You did not hide the fact that you are a treacherous, duplicitous slut when you bragged about your sins to me, and that was all I cared to ever hear of the situation.”

Nothing can make you feel as helpless and crazy as not being able to trust your own memory and perception of your life.

And right now, I want to stand up in this carriage and scream at him in front of his royal family and all the onlookers under their reign and insist that he tell me exactly what I did.

Because Iwouldn’t…

There’sno wayI couldpossiblyhave…

But then again… I killed a man, and I don’t have any recollection ofthat.

And even though—truthfully and as terrible of a person it might make me—betraying Malachi in the way he insists I did isway worsein my mind… even I can admit that it’s possible that I did.

In fact, the sharp contrast of who he is now compared with who he’d always been is practically glaring evidence that I amguilty.

I’ve known since he reappeared—hell, since hedisappeared—that something unfathomably awful happened to him to have caused such a cataclysmic shift in him.

And it appears that unfathomably awful thing was something I did, which I apparently admitted to and bragged about.

I cast my gaze discreetly toward his face, and it’s obvious there behind the deep pools of silvery pewter.

Hate expertly masking deep, soulishbrokenness.

I destroyed the person I loved more than anything in the world. And I don’t even remember doing it.

No wonder he’s like this. No wonder he treats me like poison, and toxins, and pureevilpersonified. No wonder he hates me. No wonder, no wonder, no wonder…

“I’m sorry, Malachi,” I whisper against his cheek. “It’s true, I don’t remember what I did, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Your apology is both eleven years too late and also inconsequential,” he mumbles, then places a very princely kiss on my cheek and turns his faux-pleasant expression back to the crowds.

Hot tears are forming on my eye rims as a boulder-sized lump grows in my throat, but I manage to swallow both, and then turn back to the onlookers and wave happily.

Just like the sick and twisted fairy tale this is. Only now, I realize I’m the villain.

AFTER REACHING THE END of the parade route, the four of us exit the carriage to mingle amongst the people in a traditional Christmas market. Vendors offer delectable desserts and fine chocolate creations, handcrafted ornaments, and ornate tapestries that feature everything from Baby Jesus to Saint Nicholas. At the center square, the Celtic band has set up next to a wooden dance floor where children and couples twirl and sway and stomp their feet in time to the lively music. Across from that is a puppet show with vintage marionettes, and children sit in small, brightly colored wooden chairs in front of it, pealing with giggles at the antics.

We stand to pose for official photographs next to the carriage for a few minutes, and then Malachi turns to me with the faux look of an adoring husband. He brushes my hair away from my face before holding the sides of my arms and leaning in to kiss my cheek.

“You will walk with Cordelia,” he growls. “You will be charming and poised, and you will use her as your perfect example.Shebehaves the way a woman of this family is supposed to. So mimic herflawlessly.”

If she’s so great, why didn’t youbothmarry her?I want to snap, but the still-fresh realization thatI’mthe villain in this royal nightmare causes me to merely nod compliantly and address him the way he told me to at the very beginning.

“Yes, Duke, of course.”

Right before we had sex two weeks ago, Malachi vowed that the only thing that would rectify what I did was himbreaking my defiant spirit. The realization has instantly caused me to break it myself. And maybe if I can carry that penance long enough, it’ll be enough for us to coexist in some semblance of peace.

I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I don’t want to look up and see the reality of what I did and can’t even remember in his eyes.

“Duchess.”

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