Page 29 of Defy

After several minutes, she startles me when she squeezes me tighter and crashes her lips to mine before whimpering, “Cas, I’m so sorry,” through the tears that have finally come. At first, I think I heard her wrong until she offers an explanation. “How could you ever want to be with me if I’m a constant reminder of what you fought so hard to forget?”

Relief and overwhelming gratitude flood my system. She didn’t cry when learning her real identity. She didn’t cry when she found out she was adopted. No, the tears only came when she thought I wasn’t going to want her anymore. “Libby, I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you as long as you’ll have me,” though the gravity of our situation weighs heavily on me.

“I found out something you might want to know.” Her eyes light up with remembrance.

I cock an eyebrow at her encouraging her to continue even as I run my hands over every inch of her exposed skin. My wounds heal more every day and I want to be inside her almost more than I can bear.

“I was cleaning around your father’s office today and I overheard him on the phone. Your name came up several times. He kept trying to deny that you were here.”

I stay silent because there’s obviously more to the story.

“He was talking to Marcus Van den Tweel. Apparently, Marcus is threatening to flush money to Mateo Santos,” she pauses as if she’s rolling a new flavor around on her tongue to see if she likes it, “myfather, in order to take everything from your family… specifically, your life.”

An eye for an eye. I’ve now killed one of Mateo’s daughtersandthe Van den Tweel’s son. If they team up to come after me, that’s a battle I’m not sure even I can win.

So much for the eighteen years of peace the Hielos had in my absence.

I hear the fear in Libby’s voice.

“Princess, my life has been in danger since the day I was born. Try not to let it worry you.”

“Not worry me? Cas, we’re in the lions’ den and they’re starting to circle. You don’t have any allies here.”

That’s not entirely true, although, instead of arguing the point, I keep it short.

“I’m working on it.”

The devil’s in the details and I don’t want the details anywhere near Libby.

Eleven

TOO WIRED TO SLEEP, my brain counting off a thousand plans to get Libby out of here and even more ways for those plans to fail, I head down to the kitchen hoping to find some decaf coffee. As much as I wanted to stay and console her, she assured me she would be okay and I had to agree when she said she didn’t want to risk ruining our progress by getting caught.

It’s approaching one a.m. and to my surprise, the kitchen isn’t deserted.

“Camila,” I say on a whisper. If ever there was a time in my life when I was more emotionally confused than I am right now, I don’t know when it would have been. Seeing Camila in the quiet of the night brings back a flood of memories. Moments I regret. Moments I’ve longed for for years. Moments of tenderness. Moments of thinking I’d seen her for the last time. And of course, the time itwasthe last time.

Yeah, I fucked a lot of women in my previous life, but Camila was the closest thing I’d had to a relationship, until Libby.

“Dominic,” she breathes my name like it’s the first time she’s inhaled since I left.

The look on her face lets me know she’s as confused about what to feel as I am. Our interactions have been laced with anger and distrust since my return but neither of us can deny what we were. What we had. Especially when it’s just the two of us in a deserted kitchen that already holds so many memories.

“Huh,” she huffs in realization, “I thought I’d never say your name again. At least not to your face.” The knife gets pushed in a little deeper when she adds in a barely-there whisper, “I was told I screamed it in my sleep for months after you left.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” I say gruffly until her eyes narrow and I realize how it came out. “I just meant I wasn’t planning on coming back.”

“You could have told me you were leaving.” She’s busying her hands with sugar packets on the counter, not meeting my gaze. “I would have understood. Hell, I would have gone with you so you didn’t have to go alone. It’s not like there was anything for me here.” I watch years of anger, sadness, abandonment, surprise, and the small light of hope surge across her features as she talks.

Guilt chews through my defenses. I know now that she would have understood but at the time it was too risky. I drop my own eyes to the floor, too ashamed to keep them on her as I explain.

“I didn’t know where I was going to end up or if I’d find asylum. It could have gone either way and I couldn’t risk your life like that. Not after what I’d just done.”

When I bring my eyes back up to hers, she isn’t staring at my face, which is mostly healed, she’s staring at my bare torso. My sweatpants are riding low and I have no shirt on. My bruising has turned mostly light green which is hidden by the natural bronze color of my skin.

Her breathing is ragged.

She’s dressed in wide leg trousers and a silk blouse at midnight. She, like my mother, are never caught looking anything other than their absolute best. In fact, I didn’t even realize women owned pajamas until I moved to Aruba. Despite our current interaction feeling like the most genuine we’ve had, it isn’t lost on me that although Camila lives on the property, her family has an entire apartment to themselves in the eastern wing of this place. If she’s in our kitchen at this hour, she’s probably trolling.

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