Portrait Of A Lover by Julianne MacLean

shocked by his inconceivable rudeness, Annabelle followed him outside, where they stood in front of the bank window. The rain poured hard on the street beyond the shelter of the overhang, hissing as it misted on the ground.
    “I just want to understand what happened,” Annabelle said, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. “And why that man didn’t know you as John Edwards.”
    “Let it go, Annabelle. This sort of thing happens all the time. Flirtations occur, and then they come to an end.”
    “Flirtations?” She could not control her voice. She had practically shouted the word. “Was that all it was to you? Because it was much more than that to me. I fell in love with you.”
    Something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Anguish?
    No. It was shock. Love was a strong word.
    “That’s why I had to end it,” he said. “It went further than I had intended it to go.”
    “Than you intended?” Her stomach was whirling with dread and anxiety as she contemplated what he was saying. “So even in the beginning, you just wanted a casual affair?”
    He paused, his brow furrowing as if he were in physical pain. “Yes.”
    “But when you came to see me that first time in my garden, you led me to believe it was much more than that. Were you toying with me? Is that something you do? Lead women on, only to discard them when their feelings become complicated?”
    Annabelle realized she was clenching her fists.
    “Lower your voice, please,” he whispered, glancing around. “It had to end, there was no way around it. I thought it more kind to end it sooner rather than later.”
    “More kind? I never wanted your pity.”
    “No, you wanted something else. You wanted too much, and I always knew it could never happen. You must have known that yourself.”
    “No! I told you I didn’t care what my family thought.”
    He was quiet for a moment. “You need to let it go, Annabelle, and move on. Forget about me.”
    He turned to leave, but she grabbed hold of his arm. “Wait a minute. I don’t believe you. You did love me. I couldn’t have been so wrong about that.”
    Oh, that sounded pathetic. She wished she could take it back.
    He glanced around. “Let go, Annabelle. Please. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
    A spectacle? That did it. She could have throttled him.
    “No, I will not let go! Tell me why you ended it. The real reason, and I want the truth!”
    The rain came down harder suddenly, roaring on the roof of the overhang and pouring onto the ground like a thick curtain beside them. But neither of them noticed. Their eyes were locked on each other’s, while this painful scene played out.
    Magnus was having trouble breathing, and knowing that the time had come, that he had to tell Annabelle the truth, he nearly fell to his knees in despair.
    He didn’t want to hurt her, nor did he want to lose her forever, but he couldn’t let her go on thinking they could be together. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t rip her from her beautiful, glittering life and put her in the middle of a war between himself and Whitby. For if she defied her brother, she would be exiled to hell, just like he had been.
    He pulled his arm from her grasp as a shame-filled wretchedness flared in his gut. He should never have started this. He should have changed seats on the train that first day, as soon as he’d learned who she was. He shouldn’t have let himself be pulled in.
    His voice shook when he spoke. “Fine. You want the truth? Here it is. My name isn’t John Edwards. It’s Magnus. I am Whitby’s cousin.”
    Annabelle felt her eyes grow wide. It seemed her thoughts were draining out of her and washing away in the muddy flow of water down the street. She was stunned.
    Cousin Magnus? No, he couldn’t be…It wasn’t possible.
    “Have you heard of me?” he asked. “Do you know that Whitby’s father and my father were twins?”
    Yes, she did know. She knew the whole sordid story about