COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER 42
Her head spun. Robin's words -- "I am so sorry, Victoria. I am so sorry about everything." -- reached Victoria's ear as if through a fog. Even worse, once inside her mind, they simply skidded to a dead stop. She heard the words, but she could make no sense of them. All Victoria knew was that Robin was apologizing to her, when, really, it should have been the other way around.
"No." She shook her head, wincing from the pain that twisted in her neck and jaw. "No. I -- Robin. It was me."
She turned around, ready to tell him everything. About Nicole and Gabriel and the decision she'd been forced to make. Victoria was too weak, too tired, and Robin was too close, for her to keep up the pretense of no longer caring about him.
But, Robin wasn't listening. He had his own speech to make.
He insisted, "I am so sorry I got you mixed up in this Goddamn mess. You could have been killed, and all because I -- I -- all because I acted like myself. You were right, Victoria. I do need a keeper. And I don't blame you for turning down the job."
His words brought it all back. Her lies. Her claims that Robin wasn't worth her while and that she'd be better off without him. She'd told him all of that. She'd looked him in the eye, and she'd lied. To protect Gabriel.
If Victoria told Robin the truth now, then all her sacrifices and all her pain of the past weeks would be for nothing.
Victoria swallowed hard. Looking into Robin's eyes, it would have been so easy to just let go. To tell him the truth and let every single chip she'd worked so hard to stack, fall wherever it felt like. But, that was something a weak woman would do. And Victoria may have been chilled, sopping, and bruised. But, she was strong. Life hadn't given her a choice in the matter.
And so, gathering the little strength still gurgling around in her battered body, Victoria told Robin, "I -- I think I'll be okay, now. Really. I -- you can go. Thanks. For everything."
He didn't argue. He merely dropped his hands by his sides, allowing his gaze to caress her face for the briefest of instants. But, it was enough to make her shiver. And not from the cold.
"I'm sorry, Victoria," he repeated.
But, it was only after Robin had closed the bathroom door behind him, that she allowed herself to whisper, "Me, too."
Robin said, "I had housekeeping pick up your clothes to wash and dry. They'll have them back in a few minutes."
"Oh," Victoria said. After a half-hour under a hot shower, she was feeling close to something that might one day become human, again. She'd come out of the bathroom dressed in the only robe she could find -- a black, satin one of Robin's. It smelled like him. "That was -- I -- Thank you for doing that."
"I ordered up some tea, too. And food. Are you hungry?" He stood rocking his weight from foot to foot, one hand indicating the room-service tray, the other in his pocket; nerves poised and ready to jump away at any moment, in case he offended her.
To put him at ease, Victoria offered, "Thank you for coming to my rescue."
One side of Robin's mouth twitched upward in a lopsided smile. "Ditto."
"The thing is, I don't understand, why did you -- I mean, in the first place?"
He shrugged. "Something to do."
"Oh."
"It was just something I felt like doing."
Now, it was her turn to offer a lopsided smile. "Thanks for the clarification."
"Nicole shouldn't have called you."
"Nicole," Victoria snapped, "shouldn't do a lot of things."
Robin's head bobbed up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Victoria sighed. "I'm just very, very tired."
"Would you like to lie down and rest?" Robin pointed awkwardly at the bed between them, then hurriedly added, "I could go outside and... I don't know... feed pigeons?"
"Here's a tip: Pigeons don't like Screwdrivers for breakfast, either."
Robin smiled, obviously remembering their first exchange about the make-up of a good breakfast as clearly and fondly as she did. "Thanks for the info, love. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd survive," Victoria said, wondering when exactly their conversation had gotten so serious -- and so literal.
"Or some reasonable facsimile thereof."
"Robin...."
"No, it's all right, love. I didn't mean it. You're tired. Go ahead and lie down. I'll make myself scarce." The talk of sleep seemed to be catching. As he got to the last word of his offer, Robin was forced to stifle a yawn behind his palm.
"You must be pretty exhausted yourself."
Pointing to the three AM night outside their window, he joked, "I can't go to bed yet, Victoria, it's still dark out."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Surely, Robin, you can make an exception just this one time."
His sleepy eyes drifted over to the bed with longing. But, he was enough of a gentleman to insist, "What about you?"
"I can make it home, all right."
"Well, we could both -- "
"No."
"I won't try -- "
"No."
"You can trust me."
"I know." Victoria felt her head bobbing agreeably up and down even without her needing to tell it to do so.
"Then, why -- "
"Because," she said simply. "I can't trust me."
A thousand emotions washed across Robin's face in that single moment. He took a step forward. "Victoria -- "
"I have my reasons, Robin. Please."
"I don't understand."
"It doesn't matter. This is how things have to be."
"Victoria," his voice was soft, pleading. "I love you."
"A tragedy," she said simply. "For both of us."