Page 53 of Before Broken Vows
"He's my son."
"And mine," I counter. "You can't just waltz in after three minutes of knowing about him and make these decisions."
"Three minutes because you gave me no choice," he hisses, stepping closer.
The space between us fills with tension. I smell his cologne—that damned scent that's haunted my dreams.
"You want to bring him here? To Greece? To the Kastaris compound?" I gesture around us. "The same place where your father was planning your life without us in it? The same father who told me I had to disappear because I was of no use to the family alliance and not from this world?"
Theo's jaw tightens. "My father is dead."
"And whoever killed him might be the same person threatening our son," I say, the words cutting my throat on their way out. "Bringing Xander here would be like painting a target on his back."
"Nobody would dare touch him under my protection."
"Your protection? Theo, look at what's happening. Your family is at war. Your father was murdered. You're hunting down his killers. And now someone knows about Xander when it's almost impossible to have known."
He towers over me for a second before he takes a step back.
"Okay then. So what's your brilliant alternative? Leave him with your friend? Away from me?"
I'm the one stepping toward him now, stopping just short of touching him.
"Italy," I say softly.
"What?"
"We meet in Italy. Neutral ground. Not connected to your family, not where they'd expect him to be." I take a deep breath. "I arrange for him to fly there with Marlena. We meet them. Together."
Theo's eyes narrow. "And then what?"
"Then we decide, together, what's best. Once you've met him. Once you understand exactly what's at stake."
"What I understand," he says, his voice sharp, "is that someone is threatening my son. My blood. And you want to keep playing games."
"This isn't a game!" My voice rises. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I've spent four years looking over my shoulder for fun? I have kept him safe, Theo. Every single day."
"And now you can't anymore," he says, the words landing like a slap. "You said it yourself."
I feel tears threatening, but I blink them back. I won't cry. Not now.
"You're right. But we do this smart. Not rash. Not emotional."
He forces air out of his nose and looks away for a moment before looking back to me.
"Fine. You did always help me see things clearly when I needed it," he says, almost reluctantly.
"Give me a few days," I say. "Let me arrange it properly. Safely. I'll talk to Marlena, set everything up. We'll go to Italy, and," I say and put my hand on his chest, drawn by that familiar gravity between us, "you'll finally meet your son."
His eyes darken. I feel his chest rise and fall more quickly. We're standing too close now, the heat from his body radiating against mine. Even after everything—the years apart, the accusations, the revelation about Xander—this hasn't changed. This impossible pull.
"I never stopped, you know," he says quietly.
I smile.
"I know. Theo, I?—"
But I don't get to finish. In one fluid movement, he grabs my arms, his fingers pressing into my skin. He pulls me so close I crash up against his hard body.
