Page 21 of Vicious Devotion

The door opens, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I press one hand to my chest, feeling my thudding heartbeat under my palm, as Gabriel walks in with a tray of what smells like pancakes.

“Breakfast,” he says, setting down the tray on the bed. There’s a covered plate, glasses of orange juice and water, and tiny sealed jars of syrup next to the plate. I look at it, still feeling half-asleep.

“Did you cook this?”

Gabriel snorts. “Absolutely not. Here.” He takes the lid off of the tray, and I breathe in the steam—the smell of sweet dough and butter. “Fresh pancakes and fruit.”

“What about you?”

“I grabbed something while Agnes was putting this together for you. Checked in on the kids, too.” He sinks down on the bed next to me, picking up a fork and nudging it into my hand. “You need to eat, Bella.”

“Is it even breakfast time where we are?” I have no idea what time zone difference there is between New York and Italy, or what time of day it is right now. But the pancakes do smell wonderful, if I can make myself eat. My stomach still feels tied up in knots, swimming with nausea every time I remember what’s coming for us, and the sense of dread returns.

Gabriel shakes his head with a chuckle. “No. We’ll land in about two hours. So it’s about four in the afternoon where we’re going. Technically, this is a very late brunch. But I thought you’d like this.” He hesitates. “I thought it might make things feel a little more normal for you right now. Waking up to breakfast food, even if it’ll be dinnertime in a few hours.”

I bite my lip, feeling my chest tighten at his thoughtfulness. He’s always like this with me—gentle and thoughtful and sweet—and it makes all of the feelings that I have for him so much harder to manage. How can I not fall in love with a man like this?

But how can I let myself fall for him, when he’s made it abundantly clear that love is off the table when it comes to us? When just having me here is putting him and his family in an impossible amount of danger?

“Thank you,” I manage, taking the fork and reaching for the glass of orange juice. My mouth feels dry, and the cold liquid is exactly what I need. It’s sweet and a little tart, and I lean back against the pillows, feeling myself relax just a little.

Up here in the air, I’m safe. I don’t know what will happen once we land in Italy, or what Igor will do, but for at least the next two hours, I have nothing to fear. I need to let myself lean into that, to push away the dread for at least that brief amount of time, or I know I’m going to fall apart. No person is meant to be this afraid, all of the time. I’m tough, but even my strength has limits.

My gaze flicks to Gabriel, and I have the flicker of a thought that we could spend the next two hours together. Here, in this bed. He could wipe away everything bad that’s happened in the last few days, just for a little while. That would keep me from thinking about what might happen, once Igor finds out where we’ve run to.

I look away quickly, before he can catch me staring at him. I reach for the bowl of fruit instead of the pancakes, something easy to nibble on, and try to think about anything other than the possibility that Igor is going to chase me all the way to another continent.

Beside me, Gabriel lets out a slow sigh. “I keep wanting to ask if you’re alright,” he says quietly. “And I know that’s a ridiculous question to ask because, of course, you’re not. You can’t possibly be.” He goes silent, and when I look at him again, he’s pressing his lips together into a thin line.

I reach out, gently, and touch the side of his hand. “I’m better than I was yesterday,” I tell him softly.

At the moment, it’s true. And for right now, that’s going to have to be enough.

—

The chaos of getting off of the plane once we land is enough to distract me for a little while. There’s baggage to collect, and two small children to corral as Gabriel organizes getting his security together, taking them to one end of the plane to talk quietly as Agnes helps me with Cecelia and Danny, getting us all ready to deplane. I found several options for clothes in the bag that Gabriel packed for me, and I opt for a pair of jeans and a black chiffon button-down. I feel comfortable enough to roll the sleeves up, putting my hair into a no-nonsense ponytail, and I see Gabriel glance at my bare arms as I walk into the aisle. There’s a flicker of relief there—he knows well enough that me showing any skin means I feel somewhat safe—and then a slight flare of heat that makes me press my lips together to keep from laughing.

This is where we’re at, thanks to my hang-ups. A man getting aroused over my bare arms like I’m in a Victorian romance novel.

That bit of levity is what I need, though. We all make our way off of the jet to find two black SUVs waiting for us, and I glance at Gabriel as a couple of security guards collect the bags to stow them in the trunks.

“Bet you wish you had your Ferrari right now,” I murmur softly. He glances at me with a look that warms me all over, even more than the late afternoon Italian sun.

“You have no idea,” he responds, his voice low and quiet, and something jolts inside of me. I bite the inside of my lip, wondering if he’s thinking of that afternoon that we parked it out in the woods, of him laying me out on the sun-warmed metal and devouring me like I was his last meal. Of all the things he made me feel, made me want, that helped me relearn how I thought about sex and pleasure.

That’s what I think about now, when I think about his favorite car. But I can’t tell if that’s what he’s remembering, or if he just wishes he had it to open it up on the winding countryside roads that I can see from here.

The truth is that it would be better, safer for him if he didn’t want me. He’s put himself in danger twice over now for me, and it will only be made more dangerous if emotions are involved. But my emotions are already there, and what my heart wants silently wars with what my better sense tells me would be best for all of us.

Instead of the Ferrari, we slide into the icy, air-conditioned interior of one of the SUVs—Gabriel, Agnes, Aldo, Cecelia, Danny, and I all packed into one, Gabriel’s security in the other. I slide into the seat nearest the window on one side, Cecelia wedges between Agnes and me as Danny gets into the back with Gabriel, and Aldo in the passenger’s seat. As the car pulls away from the tarmac, I feel a flutter of nerves in my belly, but also some that feel excited. Anticipatory.

I’ve never been out of the country before. Next to me, Cecelia is leaning over me to look out of the window, her excitement palpable. She’s forgotten about all of the fear and trauma of what happened a few days ago, and while I’m sure it will bother her again, right now, the thrill of what’s happening and where she is is overriding it.

I want to feel more like that. Hopeful. Excited. Not so damaged that all I can think about is the fact that the good moments don’t last, and the bad ones always come crashing back in, overwhelming everything to the point that it’s hard to remember that anything good ever happened before. Not so afraid of what’s going to happen to us that all I can think about is the inevitability of this ending in grief, when Igor finds out where I’ve gone.

I try to focus on the countryside rolling by, the beauty of it, the green grass and rolling hills and winding paths, vineyards dotting the landscape. There are old stone and tile houses, animals cropping grass in pastures fenced with uneven stone, and it takes my breath away as I lose myself in it for a little while. I’ve never seen anything like it outside of movies and photos, and my fingers suddenly itch for my camera, to capture all of this.

“Your camera and your lenses are packed,” Gabriel says quietly behind me, as if he could hear my thoughts. As if he just knows me that well. “I thought you’d want to get pictures of this, once you were here.”

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