7. Adriana #3
Lachlan's voice makes us both jump, and I turn to see him crouching down beside us.
When he speaks again, his voice is gentle in a way I didn't know he was capable of anymore—soft and sincere, almost tender.
It softens me a little, and makes me wonder for the briefest second if I've been too harsh toward him.
But he kidnapped you both. He didn't ask. He demanded and took. Isn't that what he swore he'd never do? What everyone else has always done?
"You don't need to be afraid, Matteo," he says calmly. "I know this is scary. I know you don't understand what's happening. But I promise you—I swear to you—that I will keep you and your mother safe. No one is going to hurt you. Not while I'm here."
Matteo looks at him for a long moment, his small face serious. I can see him trying to decide whether to trust this stranger.
"Okay," he says finally, his voice still uncertain.
Lachlan nods. When he stands up and offers me his hand, I take it without thinking, letting him pull me to my feet. His hand is warm and solid, and for just a moment I let myself lean into that solidity and pretend that maybe he really can keep us safe.
That maybe this isn't just another nightmare with a different face.
"Come on," he says quietly. "Let's get you back to your room."
I don't want to leave Matteo. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to stay here and curl up on that too-big bed with my son and hold him until morning.
But Lachlan is already moving toward the door, and I know that if I fight him on this, if I refuse to leave, it's only going to make things worse and frighten Matteo more.
So I kiss my son's forehead, whisper that I love him, and promise that I'll see him in the morning. Then I follow Lachlan out of the room.
The walk back to the bedroom feels longer than it did before. Every step echoes in the quiet hallway, every breath feels too loud. I'm hyperaware of Lachlan beside me and the way he's watching me out of the corner of his eye, the tension radiating off him in waves.
When we reach the bedroom, he opens the door and steps aside to let me enter first. I move to the center of the room and stop, not sure what to do or what happens next. I'm not sure if he's going to leave or stay or—
He closes the door behind him.
The sound of it clicking shut makes my heart race and my breath catch. Every nerve in my body goes on high alert. We're alone now, and I'm wearing a wedding dress. He's my husband, and I don't know what he expects, what he wants… what he's going to demand.
The old Lachlan would never have demanded anything of me. I had to beg him to take my virginity the way he promised he would. But the Lachlan I knew wouldn't have done any of this.
I haven't had sex since that night. The thought that he might push me to do it now, something that would pervert and ruin the last beautiful memory I have of us before it all fell apart, lets me know that's something I would not survive.
If he makes me sleep with him tonight, even if he couches it in 'necessity,' I don't think I can live with it.
"Adriana." His voice is rough and strained. When I turn to look at him, I see that he's standing with his back against the door, his hands clenched into fists at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from moving closer.
The space between us feels charged, dangerous from the way he's looking at me. His eyes move over my face, my throat, then the curve of my shoulder where the dress has slipped slightly, revealing skin that suddenly feels too exposed.
"I've wanted you for years." His voice sounds raw. "Since that night in the garden. Since I promised I'd come back for you. Every day for ten years, I've thought about you, dreamed about you, imagined what it would be like to have you again."
My throat is tight. I want those words to mean something, to unlock everything I've kept buried for all these years. I want them to unravel me, to make me forget how afraid I am and trust him completely. But I can't. And I can't do this.
"But not tonight," he continues, and it's as if he can hear everything I'm thinking.
I almost collapse with relief, even as I realize that he sounds pained, like this is almost impossible for him to manage.
"Not while you're looking at me like you don't know who I am. Not while you're terrified of me."
He reaches for the door handle behind him. "I want you, Adriana." His eyes meet mine, and I can see the desire and the need, the barely restrained hunger. "I want you so fucking much it's killing me. But I want you to want me too. I want you to look at me the way you used to. I want—"
He stops, shaking his head. I can see the frustration in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. "I want you to remember who I am," he says finally. "Who we were. What we had."
Then he opens the door and steps through it. I'm left standing there in the middle of the room in my wedding dress, watching him walk away from me even though every line of his body is screaming that he wants to stay.
The door closes behind him.
And I hear the lock click into place.