Page 37 of Twisted Promise

Before this, whateverthiswas. Before Christmas nicked a cut in their wholesome love, before the crash took away her parents and, in a way, took Anya from him.

Without warning, Anya broke the silence beside him. Her eyes stayed unwavering on the horizon of endless rooftops and wind turbines miles away.

“What if I was the kind of woman who takes your love and money?”

“You already do that.”

She laughed, beautiful and defeated, but still, she didn’t look at him. He wanted her to. The words were right in his throat, yet the serene smile on her lips lulled his yearning back to sleep.

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Perfect,” he indulged her, “I have both.”

He took off the scarf and wrapped it around her neck, cutting off her protest as he tucked the ends securely. Pride flooded his chest; it was about time it made its way back to its owner, and Alessio was honored to be the one to do it.

He’d kept it safe for years, so it was time for it to be of use again.

“You still have this,” she whispered, at peace and in admiration. “I assumed you threw out everything.”

“I kept them,” he disagreed, his tone firmer than the roots of the trees behind them. “All of it. Everything.”

She turned slightly, enough to look him in the eyes like he had only ever wanted, and smiled through the painful curve of her glimmering eyes.

Anya blinked slowly. “There’s a saying: middle part, crazy heart.”

There it was, the cowardice shining through her eyes—here is fine, love, no more.

She smiled wider, but she looked like she wanted to cry.

Deep down in his vile heart, Alessio knew that if this chance escaped, there wouldn’t be another until fate graciously pulled its strings years later, or maybe whichever lifetime after this one.

Maybe never, and this was the last of them. He didn’t believe in reincarnation or prayers of the universe. He believed in himself and what he could do now.

“I want to come home,” he wished to the distress in her eyes, the fragile smile on her quivering lips, and the kindling love in her voice.

Chapter Nine

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Anya

The floorboards creaked. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep that scratched against them, begging to close again.

It smelled of barbecue, with laughter mixed in the background.

She soaked in the surroundings: the walls painted orange, curtainless windows, and the whistle of wind in the cracks of the wooden foundation. Her neck was stiff, her throat ached, and her stomach churned.

She had on what she wore in the morning, and slowly, she remembered paying for a small cabin just to rest her numb mind. She felt sleepy whenever she was confronted with something she didn’t know what to do with or how to solve.

So, avoidance became a default system. If she didn’t think about it, she wouldn’t have to feel anything because if she did, the feelings were mostly bad.

Anya liked being happy, but every emotion had a contradictory partner. She wasn’t strong like Meryl, who faced her feelings head-on and took matters into her own hands.

What was a better way to avoid painful emotions than to not experience the happiness that would come first?

She checked her phone. The battery was almost drained, and it was filled with messages. Anya turned it off and dropped it on her chest, a wheezed breath knocking the sleep out of her limbs.

Getting up from the stiff bed, she lazily stretched and put on her shoes. They felt tight, likely from her feet being slightly swollen after sleeping in an uncomfortable position.

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