Chapter 9
NINE
WARRICK
I’ve been up for well over an hour when I hear her move the bed in her room.
I thought when I assured her that she was safe here, she’d believed me, but the moment she went upstairs, I heard the sound of the bed scraping across the floor.
The noise had echoed through the ceiling and forced me to admit that she was scared to sleep in this house with me.
I know it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it had been. I don’t want her to be scared of me. I don’t want her to see me as anything but safety, security, and hers. Knowing that she moved the fucking bed so she could feel safe in her home fucking gutted me.
No more sounds came from her room after that, and for a while I wondered if she’d climbed out the window and I’d find the room empty this morning.
I even sat in the yard for a while, watching in case it opened, or she tried to shimmy down the wall.
But the window stayed closed, and she stayed silent, a perfect ghost barricaded in her room.
This house isn’t particularly old, but it’s old enough that the floors upstairs creak and whine, broadcasting every movement anyone up there makes. Holding my breath, I listen to her rush across the landing before the sound of the shower running echoes down the stairs.
My eyes sting from the lack of sleep I got last night, but I ignore my own exhaustion as I start to pull breakfast things from the refrigerator.
Although I found her homeless and living in a tent, I still don’t know anything about her situation.
It’s something I plan to start to rectify today.
She’s skinny, too skinny. If I had to guess, I’d say that her healthy weight would bless her with lush, sexy curves, so it’s clear that she hasn’t been getting as much to eat as she should, or that what she has been eating hasn’t had the nutritional value to keep her healthy.
I need to know why she’s been living in the woods and what circumstances brought her here. I need to know what she’s running from and if anyone is looking for her. I need to know everything, so I know how to keep her safe.
Whisking up a load of eggs, I put chicken sausage and turkey bacon in a pan, letting them brown slowly until I hear the water turn off. Slicing up some avocado, I toast some bread, then portion the food onto two plates, finishing just as she steps off the last step and into the living room.
“Good morning, amore mio,” I say in greeting, not looking up as I split the protein shake I just made between two glasses and carry them both over to the table.
“Morning,” she says quietly.
“Sit down, breakfast is ready.”
“Oh, you didn’t need—”
“Sit, amore mio,” I say again, returning to the kitchen to grab the plates and carry them over to the table. Just like last night, I’ve set the place settings so we’re sitting side by side, not opposite each other.
When she eyes the empty seat beside me, I brace for her to argue, or even for her to move to the other side of the table, but instead she lowers herself into the seat she used last night and immediately lifts her silverware.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asks, staring at the heaped plate in front of her.
“Seven thirty a.m.,” I tell her, picking up my own silverware and starting to eat.
“Is there a bus that runs into town? My volunteering shift usually starts at eight.”
“You’re exhausted. I’m sure you can take the day off.”
“But the bus?” she asks again.
“No, there’s nothing that runs into town from up here. I think there’s a hotel shuttle that runs once a week to the spa resort a little higher up the mountain, but there’s not enough people this far up to warrant a regular service.”
“Do you have to go into town today? Or maybe one of your neighbors?” she asks hopefully.
“I doubt it. My brothers all try to spend as much time with their partners as they can while we’re off shift. Most don’t get out of bed for at least a couple of days,” I say, trying not to grin at her shocked expression.
“Look, Warrick, I really appreciate you letting me stay here, but I think it might be time for me to move on.”
“And where are you planning on moving on to?” I ask, not looking at her as I stab some food with my fork.
She shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. I’m sure I can find a job if I head to one of the bigger resort towns.”
“Look, amore mio, I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but no one is going to employ you without a fixed address.”
“I’ll figure it out,” she says again.
“Why would you want to? You’re tired. You’ve clearly been figuring it out for months without much success, so maybe it’s time to accept some help.
Let me take care of you while you get on your feet again.
You’re skin and bones with black circles beneath your eyes.
Stay here. Sleep. Eat. Recover. Then you can decide what’s next. ”
What I don’t say is that what’s next is her moving into my bed, becoming my woman, and letting me carry on taking care of her for the rest of our lives.
I’m not willing to consider any other options, and if she forces my hand and tries to leave, I’m not actually sure what lengths I’ll go to to keep her here.
“I can’t afford to pay you rent—”
“I wouldn’t take it from you even if you could.”
“Why would you want to help me? If I can’t pay my way and I won’t have sex with you or offer any other kind of trade…then why?”
There’s desperation in her words. She’s begging me to answer, to explain, but honestly, I can’t. I don’t know how I know that she’s mine. I just know it. I can’t explain why having her here feels so right, but I know it does. I can’t explain any of it, so I just say, “Because you need me.”
For several long moments she stares at me, like I’ve spoken in a foreign language.
“Eat your breakfast, amore mio,” I tell her, turning away from her for the first time since she came downstairs.
Neither of us speaks again while we eat. I finish my plate and my protein shake easily, but Verity starts to struggle. It’s clear that she doesn’t want to waste the food, but her stomach has shrunk so much that she can’t manage anymore.
“Are you finished?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, I can’t eat another bite.”
“No apologies, Verity. Please don’t make me remind you again,” I chide her, taking her plate and carrying it into the kitchen.
“I can clear up,” she says, rushing to stand.
“Go, sit. Relax, you need to take it easy.”
“I’m fine,” she says, rolling her shoulders back like she thinks that will make her look stronger, only instead it makes her collarbones stand out against her loose shirt.
“Right now, amore mio, your only job is to rebuild your strength. You’ve done a fucking amazing job of surviving while you’ve had to, but you’re safe now. So allow yourself the grace to just sit for a while…or however long you need.”
“I…” Her lips part, then close again, like she planned to argue, but either changed her mind or couldn’t decide what to say.
Once I’ve finished cleaning up, I join her on the couch, taking her hand in mine the moment I’m seated beside her. The TV is playing, but she doesn’t seem to be watching, and once her fingers are entwined with mine, she turns all of her attention to me.
“Warrick, I don’t get it. No one is this nice. We’re strangers, and either you’re a saint, or you’re actually a sociopath, and I’m going to end up in a shallow grave or chained up in your basement.”
“This house doesn’t have a basement,” I tell her, chuckling softly.
“Why were you living in a tent?” I ask, diverting the conversation away from me having to explain why I brought her here.
I don’t want to lie to her, but if I tell her that I’m confident she’s meant to be my wife, she’s going to run.
“I had to leave my apartment, so I was sleeping in my car while I was looking for a job, but it got stolen. They dumped all of my stuff on the ground, and I had the tent with me, so it felt like a solution to an immediate problem,” she admits.
“Why did you have to leave your apartment?” I question.
“Because it wasn’t safe for me to stay there anymore.”
“Why not?”
Her expression wavers before she suddenly says, “Because I was dancing in a strip club, and the owner wasn’t happy that I would only allow the patrons to look and not touch.
He wasn’t willing to take no for an answer, so I left.
He knew where I lived, so I packed up as much as I could grab in a rush and left. ”
“I’m sorry, amore mio. Did you go to the police?”
Scrunching her nose, she shakes her head. “Why would I? The cops were regulars there. The chief used to stay in his uniform when he came to watch me.”
“Fuck,” I growl, angry at myself. “I’m so fucking sorry. I took you to the sheriff’s department and asked them to vouch for your safety. I had no idea about your experience with the people who should have been protecting you. You should have told me.”
“I don’t know you, and the cops didn’t hurt me, but they knew what was happening at that club. They wouldn’t have done anything to protect me even if I’d asked them to. In the end it was Heather who helped me get away.”
“Heather?” I ask.
“She ran the club. She gave me a job when I needed one, and even though I made her a lot of money, she kept me safe the best she could. When Benito tried to force me to let the patrons do more than just look, she distracted him and gave me a chance to run. I don’t really know what would have happened if she hadn’t been there. ”
“Have you kept in touch?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, amore mio. She sounds like she did her best to take care of you.”
Her shrug is heartbreaking. “What does ‘amore mio’ mean?”