Page 7 of Finding Love

Guilia casts a worried look my way. She can’t answer this one and knows better than to try to explain. Certain things are better left in my hands. At least she’s mature enough to understand that much.

“I’m going to put it to you as straight as I can,” I begin. “The people who did this to you could decide to do it again. I’m sorry to blurt it out this way, but that’s where we are. I can’t leave you on your own. It would be in your best interest to live on the grounds of my family’s compound, where guards are on patrol around the clock. I already made the mistake of taking you off the grounds, and this was the result.”

Guilia winces. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers, though I can’t bring myself to agree, even for the sake of consoling her.

“So I’m trapped, is what you’re telling me?” There’s naked despair in Emilia’s voice. It’s like a noose around my neck that tightens with every breath I take and every silent moment between us.

“Guilia, can we have the room for a minute?” She looks up at me, her mouth open to speak, but I give her a slight head shake. This is not the time to question me. All I’ve managed in the hours since her release was confirmed is to count the minutes until it was time to bring her home where she belongs.

I am in no mood to be questioned or challenged. It’s enough that I must bear Emilia’s distrust.

Guilia excuses herself and retreats to the other half of the suite, sitting in front of the television but watching us from the corner of her eye. When I turn back to Emilia, she sits up a little straighter, always on the alert. “I know this isn’t easy,” I assure her softly. “I can’t begin to imagine. All I want now is for you to have everything you need to get well again. I miss you.” Right away, I regret the admission since all she does is recoil.

She’s that disgusted by me.

We’re back to where we started.

“Have I done anything to hurt you?” I ask, and it isn’t easy to sound loving when what I want is to hurl something across the room and demand she fall in line. This is the woman I love, and that’s true whether or not she can remember she loves me.

I’m learning love is a double-edged sword. Only she could drive me to the brink of shattering what’s left of my self-control when she’s the last person who deserves it.

“Not lately,” she retorts in a soft voice. “But who knows?”

I’ve been wounded in fights. I’ve been stabbed, kicked, and punched, but no physical pain could possibly compare to the anguish her dismissive question brings to life. “I love you. I know you don’t remember, and I know it’s not easy to believe, so I’m not asking for either of those things,” I tell her.

She flinches, and her chin quivers, the only reaction she’s willing to reveal. I told her I love her, and still, she needs to be stoic. “What are you asking for?”

“Trust. I even brought my sister with me to prove this isn’t some fucked-up abduction situation. I’m not taking you somewhere to get rid of you quietly. You’ll have my family with you as well. My mother has already planned a feast for you tomorrow. She loves you, too, as Guilia does. But not half as much as I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she offers, sounding sincere. “It’s so hard to hear that when I can’t remember anything about our history. I am grateful for all the care I’ve received here, and I’m grateful you supplied it. But…” She looks down at her hands, twisting nervously in her lap.

“Emilia. Look at me.” She hesitates, eventually lifting her head until our eyes meet.

My God, she is absolutely exquisite, like a bruised flower that’s somehow more striking though it’s marred. Heat blazes in my chest and spreads through my body, reminding me of the countless times I’ve indulged in her beauty. Her sweetness and her deep, endless passion are still in there somewhere, lurking in the part of her mind that’s been locked away.

Her gaze is steady, and it seems she’s holding her breath as I fight my yearning body’s needs. “Trust me,” I urge in a soft voice. Remember me. Love me. Accept me. Make me whole again because it would be too fucking cruel to ask me to live without you.

Her eyes close before she winces, touching a tentative hand to the back of her head. “It hurts.”

I don’t know whether this is a means of changing the subject or breaking the tension that’s grown between us, but I’m willing to go along if it means easing her pain. “Let’s get you out of here. Once you’re home, you can take a pill and go to sleep.”

I hold out a hand, expecting her to place hers on top.

Shouldn’t I know better by now?

Instead, she stands on her own, gripping the straps of her bag. The same bag I packed for her before taking her to the safe house after I killed the assassin my father sent to the shithole apartment she wants so badly to return to. Completely unprotected and in need of much more security measures than I could reasonably get away with without raising red flags

As if I would let her return there.

I withdraw my offered hand, fighting the burning sting of rejection. “I’ll get you a wheelchair.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” she grumbles, her teeth clenched like the stubborn brat she can be. “I just need a dark room and some quiet.” Yet, for all her bravado, she sways once she gets on her feet. I reach out to her, supporting her thin body before it hits the floor, and my heart leaps for joy.

Here she is…

… in my arms.

Gasping, going stiff, and recoiling like my touch burns. “I’m fine. But maybe I could use a wheelchair, after all.” She grunts as if the admission disappoints her, taking a seat on the bed while I go out to the hall to ask Bruce to grab a chair.

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