Page 42 of Wedlocked

I flicked the bedcovers aside and pushed to my feet. “It’s nice to know I’ll have future holidays to look forward to.”

I made my way to the shower before he could answer. I’d rather not hear what he might say. I was strong but not that strong. Too much had happened this last week and a bit, and it had worn me down to a nub.

Fifteen minutes later I’d showered and wrapped a bathrobe around myself, then entered the kitchen to find Ethan flipping pancakes.

He glanced at me and nodded toward the nearby dining table. “There’s a couple of pancakes already cooked for you, along with maple syrup, honey, cut up bananas and strawberries, and a few other toppings I thought you might like.”

My stomach wrenched with hunger at the tantalizing smell. “Thank you.”

He smiled, the glint of tenderness in his eyes almost my undoing. Until he swept a hand toward some bags on the floor and said, “Your clothes are in there if you want to get dressed first. I wanted to make sure you were protected for our ride.”

Something inside me wrenched then went numb before I asked stiffly, “What do you mean by ride, exactly?”

He looked at me as though I’d lost my damn mind. Perhaps I had? “I want to take you for a cruise on my bike. With helmets on no one will even know who we are. We’ll get to be alone with no threat to our safety.”

I turned to the table and sat with my back to him, my insides quaking. I didn’t want him to know how I was feeling. I didn’t want to have to explain that I hadn’t been on a motorbike since I was twelve. But mostly, I didn’t want him to ask why I hadn’t been on one and uncover my biggest fear while cracking open emotions I kept deep inside of me.

Riding was no longer my passion, it was my greatest fear and phobia.

I selected a pancake and poured some maple syrup over it, my mind shutting down even further as it went into protective mode.

Ethan’s tread closed in behind me. “You don’t seem overly enthusiastic,” he murmured from behind me. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I swallowed hard, then said in a strained voice, “You agreed that I’d live longer if I told you some things about me…about my family.”

“I did.”

I swiveled in my chair and looked up at him, my eyes burning. “When I was younger my favorite thing in the whole world was riding pillion behind Salvatore every weekend. It also happened to be my mother’s favorite thing. She rode pillion behind my dad.” I sucked in a heavy breath. “Until their bike was struck by a hit and run driver. My father survived. My mother didn’t.”

Tell him who killed her! Tell him how his father killed your mother!

I pushed down the need. I couldn’t risk Salvatore’s life, not for anything.

I cleared my throat and added, “Salvatore and I saw the whole thing. W-we watched our mother die.”

Ethan crouched low and drew me into his arms, his voice gentle. “I’m so sorry, angel.” His reaction was so unlike the merciless don I’d come to know it was almost disquieting. “We both lost our moms at a young age.” He drew back with a frown. “Did the hit and run driver ever get caught?”

It was obvious my husband had played no part in her murder, and despite the fact he had blood on his hands in many other nefarious activities, I couldn’t help but release a shaky, relieved sigh. “No,” I averted my eyes, “w-we never did find out who did it.”

Until recently. But I wasn’t about to tell Ethan that, not when the truth might well get my brother murdered, too. If the former Agostino don had killed my mother, he’d have no qualms about killing my brother.

Ethan cupped my chin and drew my eyes back up to meet his. “If you prefer not to ride, I completely understand.”

I shook my head. “No. I think I need this opportunity to get over my phobia once and for all.”

“You’re sure?”

I blinked at him. Who was this compassionate man? I finally nodded. “If anyone can help me overcome my fears, you can.”

What a paradox it was to discover my future killer was also the one man who made me feel safe.

He took my hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Then eat first. You’ll need all your energy.”

I managed to do just that and kept down a pancake, then left him to devour the rest while I grabbed the bags and slipped back into the bedroom to try the motorcycle gear on. Snug leather pants, a long sleeved shirt with reinforced elbows, a thick leather jacket with carbon-fiber supports and long leather boots.

I had all the safety gear, including the helmet I’d yet to put on, but my legs shook and my stomach rebelled. This was crazy. I didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. And yet, I did. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t the terrified twelve year old girl anymore. Too bad I was breathing erratically, almost hyperventilating.

I needed to stay strong—for whatever was in my future.

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