Page 133 of I Will Mend You

“What do you mean?” I blurt.

“Anything you want. I can leave you alone to get into the bath, leave you alone to bathe, or come in later to scrub your back.”

The tension around my chest loosens, and air floods my lungs. “Is this a trick?”

He shakes his head. “You can even say no to the bath.”

“And have you thinking I’m fragile?” I snap.

He raises a brow. “Amethyst.”

“I want this.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.

He takes a step forward, making me flinch. Instead of approaching me, he walks toward the towel rail. Taking advantage of the opening, I rush behind him to the bath. My heart pounds as I slip off the robe and submerge myself in the warm water.

It sluices against my skin like a warm caress, encasing me in its floral fragrance. But I’m too busy staring at Xero’s tattooed back to appreciate it fully.

He takes his time selecting the towels. I track the way he strokes the soft fabric before placing them on the counter. He peels open a bar of soap with the kind of loving caresses that make my heart flutter.

I lie back in the tub, wondering how it would feel to have those fingers on my flesh. As he continues fondling the inanimate objects, my skin aches for his touch. Steam rises, creating a cocoon of lavender that soothes my frayed nerves.

“Ready, little ghost?” he asks with his back still turned.

“Yes,” I squeak.

He turns around, and our eyes meet for a brief, electrifying moment. The intensity in his gaze makes my spine shiver with both fear and anticipation. I grip the edge of the tub, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions.

The room shrinks, the air thickens, and the world condenses to Xero, me, and the frantic beat of my heart.

When he finally breaks eye contact, I drop my gaze to his tattooed chest, and my lips part with a tiny gasp. It’s silly because I’ve committed the prison photos to memory. We’ve seen each other naked hundreds of times, but everything feels new.

It’s like I emerged from that asylum as a different woman, still shedding layers of who I used to be, discovering who I am now in the heat of his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a frown.

I slide beneath the water, submerging myself to the neck. “It’s my scars. They’re ugly.”

The word ‘ugly’ hangs in the air like a storm cloud, threatening to rain on what should be a special moment. Then my scars throb. I can’t tell if the pain is phantom or if the memories of getting them have crystallized into my flesh.

Xero’s chest heaves, and he closes the distance between us to cup my cheek with his warm fingers. Tears sting my eyes, and Ilower my lashes. In a minute he’ll realize I’m a burden. Then it will be just like it was with Mom. Xero will make an excuse to move me away, and all I’ll have of him are memories.

“Amethyst, look at me,” he says.

I force our gazes to meet.

His pale eyes lock onto mine with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. I search his face for traces of impatience, but all I see is unwavering love.

“Nothing about you could ever be ugly. Not your past, not your trauma, and certainly not your body.”

My shoulders rise to my ears. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Those scars tell your story, just as much as Rapunzelita. They’re proof of your strength and your survival.”

“You don’t have to say that,” I mutter.

“Do you know why I replied to your letter above all others?”

I shake my head, my curls bouncing, my gaze dropping to the water.

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