It struck her, the moment she touched it, that this simple piece of hardware had countless words and images of betrayal stored on it. After shooting off a text to her head of security, she literally threw it at him. She couldn’t be rid of it fast enough.

“We haven’t been together like that,” Fabiana said. “It’s nothing more than words and a few kisses. I swear it.”

“It’s so much more that it makes me sick to my stomach to even hear you say that. You looked me in the eye as though you were my friend, while going after my fiancé behind my back.”

When Fabiana looked to Marcel for support, he cast his gaze to the floor. “Marcel.” But even her plea didn’t get his attention. She stood there, each second stretching to the point of snapping. “I’m sorry. Rosalina, please, you have to know I never meant for this to happen.”

“You were just trying to talk my fiancé out of marrying me. Your intentions are perfectly clear.” Heavy boots pounded up the steps.

“You called security?” Fabiana whipped around to face the door.

“Do you think I trust you in any capacity?” she said.

Just then Harrison, six-seven, two-hundred and sixty pounds of hard muscle, stormed into the room. “What’s going on?”

“I found my assistant begging my fiancé to dump me.” Tears stung, and she frantically blinked them away.

Her bodyguard had been with her for most of her life, so when he went rock solid, her tension loosened just a fraction. He’s got me. He watched her for a long, heavy moment, then shifted his attention to Fabiana. “Let’s go.” With a jerk of his head toward the door, he got the woman moving.

Her former assistant cut one more look to Marcel. “Are you really just going to stand there?”

Apparently, he was. He didn’t even look at her.

With a disgusted look, Fabiana led Harrison out the door.

That left her alone with the boy she’d grown up with. Trusted. And loved. The boy who’d snuck out of his boarding school and boarded a train to be by her side after her dad’s heart attack.

Now, he was a stranger. All the times they’d experimented with sex, all the awkward moments and kisses and orgasms, all of it rose up and engulfed her in shame.

Because he’d never been attracted to her.

I’m not attracted to him. The revelation struck like a blast of cold water. It seemed, somehow, even worse. How had she not cared about something so fundamental?

What’s wrong with me?

She couldn’t contemplate these questions. First, she had to deal with him. “I didn’t even have a clue you were unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy. I’m not. I love you, Rosalina.”