Page 58 of Captured in Love
The coast guardtake their sweet time.
I change out of the wetsuit and take a quiet shower in the boat’s small bathroom, nodding to Raphaël who holds a sleeping Nora in his arms.
I wish I could spend an eternity in the shower, washing away the tiredness and tension of the past day, but the water pressure is miserable, and I’m afraid I’ll run out of water mid-rinse, so I get out of there and rub myself down.
When I return to the cabin, I find Raphaël seated at the edge of the bed, his clothes back on, his expression thoughtful as he gazes at Nora. At my approach, he blinks and focuses on me.
He raises his black eyebrows and inclines his head toward the woman we both love. “Did you want to speak with her?”
“Let her sleep,” I murmur. “She needs it.”
He sends me a disapproving glare. “You both need it.”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. I’m still too wired to rest, and even if my body wasn’t hurting in strange new ways after our ordeal, my buzzing thoughts are enough to keep me awake.
Ineedto tell Nora about my father’s involvement in her mother’s death. The secret has been weighing on me for months, ever since I found my great-grandmother’s grimoire in our family library. That fateful conversation with my father, the absolute calm with which he stared at me, never denying the accusation I slung at him.
I had a missed call from him when we landed in Reykjavik, and I haven’t returned it. There’s nothing I have to say to him, but the knowledge that he tried contacting me bugs me. Henevercalls unless he wants something.
Turning my back on Nora and Raphaël, I gather up some of the leftover food from the other bed and head for the deck again. Behind the boat’s wheel, I wrap a raincoat around my shoulders and huddle down, waiting for our rescue.
Minutes later, Raphaël appears beside me, quiet as a cat. I eye him warily as he sits on the bench beside me and closes his eyes, a picture of relaxed calm. We sit in silence for several minutes, the boat rocking gently on the waves.
Finally, Raphaël lets out a deep sigh. “Want to explain to me what happened with your father?”
I put down the wedge of cheese and wipe my hands on a paper napkin. “Not really.”
I’ve had a lot time to think about my father over the past year, and I’ve gone through a range of emotions. The one that stuck with me most is shame. Not horror, because I’ve always known he’s capable of atrocious behavior. I grew up in his house, after all, and witnessed how he manipulated my mother, myself, and my younger brother.
What bothers me most, though, is that this time, he took his games outside of our family. That he hurt Nora’s mother and Nora’s entire family. That Nora suffered because of him.
Raphaël is silent for so long, I think he might have dropped the subject.
Then he murmurs, “Was your father abusive when you were little?”
I glance at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”
His dark gaze holds a combination of understanding and pity. “I sensed your emotions. Back in Egypt, I mean. Through your blood.”
Blood rushes in my ears, and I bury my face in my hands to hide my reaction.Fuck!Raphaël must have felt how scared I was of the man who raised me, how worried that I would turn out just like him. A manipulative, violent son of a bitch.
I want to get angry at the vampire. For invading my privacy. For forcing me to confront this fucking situation.
But there’s a small part of me that wonders if I’malreadytoo much like my father. I’ve been keeping this shitty secret from Nora, all the while playing her loyal friend. She trusts me, and I have betrayed her. Over and over again.
A hand lands on my shoulder. Raphaël squeezes his fingers, and his reaction is exactly the opposite of what I expected.
I glance up at him, dropping all pretense. “Would you like to see more?” I ask. Rolling back the cuff of the raincoat, I offer him my wrist. “You can take a look.”
Maybe if he sees how the full story unfolded, he won’t think so badly of me.
He strokes my cheek, cups the back of my neck, and forces me to look up at him. “You did nothing wrong then. And I’m not the person you need to explain it to.”
I swallow and nod, grateful for his absolution. No, I didn’t do anything wrong when my father admitted to murdering Nora’s mother. I’d protested, and he’d told me in no uncertain terms that the safety of my mother and younger brother depended on my continued silence about the matter. And I believed him. He was ruthless enough to hurt them both if I stepped out of line.
But every day I’ve spent in Nora’s company, the weight of the knowledge has pressed on me. I’ve made up a hundred excuses for not telling her. Her mother was already dead, and spilling the secret would only endanger Nora and the rest of her family. Nora was better off not knowing, because it’s easier to believe a loved one got sick, not murdered. I’d played through a thousand scenarios where I finally broke down and confessed.
And now, the time has come to finally take that plunge.
