The accidental groom

Betrayed

Betrayed

It had been almost a week since the duel , and Lizzie's life had fallen into a easy pattern.

A tacit agreement to a truce of sorts had been called, Lizzie and Alexander circled each other warily. Careful of what they said. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that all they had to focus on was the physical connection. And they couldn't get enough of one another.

The house became a place outside reality. Lizzie knew she was in danger of indulging in a fantasy that somehow this was real. That this existed. As if in some bizarre stroke of fate, her dreams as a seventeen-year-old had come true and she'd got her prince.

But that dream was quashed over and over again as it became all too clear that for Alexander this was purely physical. Lizzie had tried to start countless conversations, trying to get to know him better. Last night at dinner, Lizzie had tried to find things to talk about, Alexander had remained largely monosyllabic. In desperation at her own increasing sense of humiliation and futility, she'd jumped up in agitation.

Two days later, nothing had changed and Lizzie's legendary impatience was near implosion point. And she simply couldn't wait one more day to have her say. Waiting, trying her limited store of patience, wasn't helping. Maybe nothing would, a quiet, sad voice whispered in the back of her mind.

But she had to try.

And since he was leaving for a four day trip to Paris, it was now ... or wait some

More.

She swallowed her tea, then set her cup on the counter. " I need a few minutes with you before you leave. We have to talk."

As if someone had hit a switch, she actually saw those now-familiar shutters slam down over his eyes. He didn't have to physically back up for her to see him put more distance between them. "Can't," he said shortly. Checking his gold wristwatch briefly, he looked back at her. "Have to leave and-"

She interrupted his flow of excuses. They weren't good enough anymore, and she wouldn't let them stop her. "Alexander, you can't just ignore me. Why can't you just talk to me? Why can't we have a conversation? Am I so boring-?‟

He walked past her toward the tea pot. Pouring himself a half a cup, he glanced at her. "Nobody's ignoring you, Lizzie."

He was so close his smell seemed to surround her. And yet, he was further away from her than ever. "Forgive me for the wrong choice of words." She reached up and tightened the ribbon in her hair before dropping her hands to the edge of the cold, gray-yes, gray, God, was everything in his world gray?-granite counter.

Steeling herself, she blurted, "You're not ignoring me. You're placating me."

"What?"

At least she had his attention. She swallowed hard. Now all she had to do was keep it. "This house for instance."