enough to protect her daughter from every possible ill or menace. Now she felt as fragile as glass.
I need to be strong, she thought to herself over and over again, but somehow, her heart didn't want to listen. She started to cry, and the best she could do was to keep it quiet so that her child wouldn't hear and worry.
*
On the cab ride back to his hotel, Philip started out numb. He felt as if everything he was seeing and feeling was removed. Everything was distant and strange, and a part of him was convinced that the past hour or so was nothing more than a particularly bad dream. He hadn't talked with Marnie. She hadn't told him that he was essentially making her his whore. He could still see the most lovely woman in the world and the daughter that they had made together.
It wasn't until he was in the hotel room with the door behind him that he started to feel something, and underneath that numbness was rage. It wasn't rage directed at Marnie or even himself. It was a rage at the world for being the way it was, and for forcing people into the roles that never suited them. He was going to lose Marnie a second time, and for the same damned reason, and suddenly the fury of that broke him apart.
Before he knew what he was doing, there was a lamp in his hands and he flung it straight across the room where it smashed into the fireplace. Then a ceramic bowl followed it, and then a chair.
By the time Philip was done, the room was trashed, but there was a calmness in him. He realized now that the anger was merely hiding something much different, and at the bottom of it all was grief.
The anger made sense, but the grief was something he had to live with. It didn't matter how or why, but he had lost. He had lost Marnie, and he had lost Victoria. Less than a month after discovering the family that he had never even known that he wanted, he was losing them, and the pain that that caused was so intense he wasn't even sure that he would survive it.
Tears burned at his eyes, and he swiped them away angrily. Marnie, in one gloriously unguarded moment, had said that she loved him. Fool that he was, he hadn't said it back to her. Now Philip wondered if it would have made a difference. If she knew that he suffered at the idea of being together but legally apart as well, would she have changed her mind?
Philip knew it didn't matter.
One of the things that he had always respected about Marnie was the fact that she was incredibly decisive. She knew her own mind, and she knew what she could and could not stand. If she could not stand the arrangement that he had proposed, she would not agree to it, no matter how much she loved him.
Finally, Philip collapsed on a small armchair, the last bit of undamaged furniture in his room. With a nearly careless gesture, he dialed his mother.
"Philip! You got the message! What are you doing? What's happening there —?"
"I'm fine, mother," he said hollowly. "I'm coming home. I'm getting married. I am done with this."
To his surprise, his mother didn't crow over her victory like his father might have done. Instead, there was a silence at the end of the line as she considered what must have changed to make him sound like that.
"It will be for the best, you will see," she said. "Ever since you were born, I have known that you have a grand destiny in front of you. Now that you are willing to submit to it, there is no end to the good you can do."
He knew what she was talking about. Navarra was a wealthy country, one that had a great deal of influence throughout the world. Both at home and abroad, there were many different social goods he could do.
When he thought about doing good and taking care of things, however, what he thought of was a dark-haired girl with black eyes, glancing up at him as he looked down at the paints. He thought about her solemnly taking his hand and making sure that he knew how to draw. Then he saw her flying towards him, her hands full of paint and her eyes full of
I need to be strong, she thought to herself over and over again, but somehow, her heart didn't want to listen. She started to cry, and the best she could do was to keep it quiet so that her child wouldn't hear and worry.
*
On the cab ride back to his hotel, Philip started out numb. He felt as if everything he was seeing and feeling was removed. Everything was distant and strange, and a part of him was convinced that the past hour or so was nothing more than a particularly bad dream. He hadn't talked with Marnie. She hadn't told him that he was essentially making her his whore. He could still see the most lovely woman in the world and the daughter that they had made together.
It wasn't until he was in the hotel room with the door behind him that he started to feel something, and underneath that numbness was rage. It wasn't rage directed at Marnie or even himself. It was a rage at the world for being the way it was, and for forcing people into the roles that never suited them. He was going to lose Marnie a second time, and for the same damned reason, and suddenly the fury of that broke him apart.
Before he knew what he was doing, there was a lamp in his hands and he flung it straight across the room where it smashed into the fireplace. Then a ceramic bowl followed it, and then a chair.
By the time Philip was done, the room was trashed, but there was a calmness in him. He realized now that the anger was merely hiding something much different, and at the bottom of it all was grief.
The anger made sense, but the grief was something he had to live with. It didn't matter how or why, but he had lost. He had lost Marnie, and he had lost Victoria. Less than a month after discovering the family that he had never even known that he wanted, he was losing them, and the pain that that caused was so intense he wasn't even sure that he would survive it.
Tears burned at his eyes, and he swiped them away angrily. Marnie, in one gloriously unguarded moment, had said that she loved him. Fool that he was, he hadn't said it back to her. Now Philip wondered if it would have made a difference. If she knew that he suffered at the idea of being together but legally apart as well, would she have changed her mind?
Philip knew it didn't matter.
One of the things that he had always respected about Marnie was the fact that she was incredibly decisive. She knew her own mind, and she knew what she could and could not stand. If she could not stand the arrangement that he had proposed, she would not agree to it, no matter how much she loved him.
Finally, Philip collapsed on a small armchair, the last bit of undamaged furniture in his room. With a nearly careless gesture, he dialed his mother.
"Philip! You got the message! What are you doing? What's happening there —?"
"I'm fine, mother," he said hollowly. "I'm coming home. I'm getting married. I am done with this."
To his surprise, his mother didn't crow over her victory like his father might have done. Instead, there was a silence at the end of the line as she considered what must have changed to make him sound like that.
"It will be for the best, you will see," she said. "Ever since you were born, I have known that you have a grand destiny in front of you. Now that you are willing to submit to it, there is no end to the good you can do."
He knew what she was talking about. Navarra was a wealthy country, one that had a great deal of influence throughout the world. Both at home and abroad, there were many different social goods he could do.
When he thought about doing good and taking care of things, however, what he thought of was a dark-haired girl with black eyes, glancing up at him as he looked down at the paints. He thought about her solemnly taking his hand and making sure that he knew how to draw. Then he saw her flying towards him, her hands full of paint and her eyes full of
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