Chapter Eleven #2
It’s for the best, my mind whispers. I don’t need anything more with Ari.
He’s my boss. I still haven’t figured out how to tell Liam what happened.
And above all, every time I confess something to Ari, every time we touch, I slip closer and closer to that edge he brought me to in New York.
The edge between keeping myself safe and falling back into the familiar pattern of abandonment.
The more I learn about Ari, the more I realize he wouldn’t leave out of cruelty. But he would leave. Ari’s not the kind of man to fall in love. And even if he were, I don’t think I’d be able to accept it. Wouldn’t be able to live without fear hovering over me.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself as my eyes flutter closed. It doesn’t matter.
Ari
She’s beautiful in sleep. Spread out on her stomach across the bed, her face turned toward me. Her lashes lay dark against her skin, although the rest of her face is pale compared to the bruised half-moons beneath her eyes. She tossed and turned most of the night.
I turn away and move quietly into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Between our adventure yesterday and the rough night, we’re both going to need it.
Her whimpers woke me, the soft, frightened cry of a broken child. When I went to her, when she heard my voice and turned to me, she rocked me to my core.
I’ve never once let a woman get that close.
Losing my mother the way I did, sinking deeper into apathy and using it as a shield against my father, left me with the notion that I would never be capable of loving someone again.
It was easier that way, the concept furthered when I discovered the depths of my father’s mistakes.
Instead of hurting, it made me angry. Anger is empowering.
Grief weakens, brings you to your knees.
I’ve told myself so many times over the past three months that I responded to Diana the way I did in New York because I had started to crack the seal I’d kept over my heart for so many years.
And perhaps it did make me more susceptible to the jolt of emotion I felt when I looked at her.
But I know now, as I watch her sleep, her body rising and falling with soft, even breaths, that not just any other woman would have caused that reaction. It’s her. Diana.
And after what she shared last night, that feeling is stronger.
My admiration for Diana, the fortitude she showed at seventeen when she chose protecting an innocent over her own life, has deepened.
I will do everything in my power to make sure the monster that marked her never sees the light outside prison again.
Her revelation heightened my envy of my brother, too.
Envy, though, not jealousy. I always thought of one being the same as the other.
But last night, for the first time since Liam and Diana walked into that restaurant, I wasn’t jealous of their relationship.
I was grateful for it. Liam had saved Diana’s life.
Saved Lucy. The bond that was created between Liam, Diana, and their friend, Aislinn, is something I don’t fully understand, but I recognize it’s real.
But one glaring fact continues to needle me.
Not once did Diana say anything that indicated any romantic feelings for Liam.
That, coupled with her dodging my questions at the gala, reinforced what she’d been saying from the beginning: she and Liam had not been romantically involved until he proposed.
Was Liam the one in love with her? Did she say yes out of obligation, because he saved her life all those years ago?
More questions. Always more questions.
Her eyes flutter open. She sees me. The slight smile that curves across her face, warm and sleepy, has me curling my hands into fists at my sides so I don’t do something stupid like reach out and touch her.
She blinks. Realization hits her. She sits upright, one arm holding the sheet to her chest. A blush creeps up her throat and over the line of her jaw. I know she’s embarrassed—that I made her feel that way last night.
I want to tell her how bad I wanted her, how all I could think about was touching her, tasting her, claiming her.
But I couldn’t do that. Not when she was in such a state of heightened emotion.
When we come together again, it won’t be because we’re driven by grief and memories of the past. It will be because she wants me.
“We should be safe to drive back to Reykjavik,” I say.
“Okay,” she replies.
“Xenakis texted me this morning.”
The apprehension disappears from her face, replaced by curiosity.
“Oh?”
“He wants to meet as soon as we’re back. Alone, just the two of us.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
She’s looking at me with a mixture of cool professionalism and quiet understanding. Letting me know with one glance that she’ll support my decision to walk away.
“Yes. Either it’ll get us back on track or I’ll leave knowing I need to look elsewhere.”
She throws back the sheet and gets to her feet. Even in gray fleece pants and black shirt, she’s stunning. I watch her carefully, relieved when I don’t see any sluggishness or stiffness to her movements.
“I want you, Malla, and the rest of our team to meet with Xenakis’s. He’s approved it. Find out what feedback they’ve received, if any. Start addressing those concerns. I’ll text or call you as I get more details from Xenakis.”
She nods as she moves over to the bag the concierge brought up last night with our freshly laundered clothes.
“The box underneath is for you, too.”
She stills, frowning at me before setting the bag on the floor and opening the lid of the box. She stares down at the simple black flats nestled in tissue paper.
“You bought me shoes.”
“You lost yours.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. One hand comes up, her fingers tracing over the smooth leather.
“Thank you.”
Her voice is quiet. But the gratitude in those two simple words, the underlying shock, punches straight through me.
I turned away last night when I saw the invitation in her eyes. I wasn’t going to take her in the aftermath of a nightmare, of reliving the most horrible moment of her life. But things have changed. Since the beach, since her confession.
I walk toward her. She straightens quickly, squares her shoulders as she turns to face me. Strong. Stubborn, I think as her chin comes up. Fear in her eyes, but she stands her ground.
“We have to deal with Xenakis first.”
Confusion clouds her gaze. “Yes.”
“And then,” I add softly as I stop a foot away, “we’ll deal with us.”
She blanches. “There is no us.”
“There was.”
And there could be again.
She’s not ready to hear that part yet. There’s still plenty for both of us to consider before taking that step. Plenty to deal with, like Liam and just what the dynamic is between him and Diana.
But I’m done pretending.
“I thought we could push past what happened between us.” I lean down, just an inch, but enough to inhale the scent of her. “But we both know that’s impossible.”
The fear flares. If that were the only emotion in her eyes, I would walk away. I’m not my father.
But I see the longing. The desire. The small shudder that races through her body, the goose bumps on her flesh despite the warmth of the room.
“Soon, Diana.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply as I turn away. I want to push more, kiss her until she’s breathless and soft against me.
Just a little longer, I tell myself as I open the door.
“I’ll get the car warmed up.”
And then I close the door on temptation.