Chapter 47
47
T he leisurely stroll back to the monastery was tranquil, and as they walked, Leslie found herself subconsciously tracing the contours of the pendant Alex had given her. She’d never take it off, she thought. No matter what happened between them, she would carry Alex with her for the rest of her life. Not just around her neck, but in her heart.
Once they reached their room, Alex said he wanted to check in with Father Alessio. He asked Leslie to come, but Leslie said, “I’m sure he’d appreciate a private word with you. Why don’t I stay here.”
Alex instantly tensed. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”
She looked around them and said, “Alex, I’m in a stone monastery. I’ll lock the door. I won’t open it for anyone but you, I promise. I’ll be fine. Given your past, I’m sure he’d appreciate the time alone with you. Besides, we went into the village. You must feel we’re safe here.”
He hesitated, struggling with himself before he said, “You’ll lock the door? And you won’t open it until I come back?”
She nodded.
He pulled out the gun from his holster, released the safety, and laid it on the table. “You remember what I told you on the boat back at Caris?”
Leslie nodded. “Point and shoot. But I won’t need it, Alex.”
After another moment of hesitation, he said, “I’ll only be gone a short time.”
Leslie wanted to do a little dance! Selfish Alex was still poking his head out, passing Protector Alex by one more lap. As soon as Alex left, Leslie locked the door, then sat on the bed.
Her mind circled back to the moments they'd shared in the village and what Alex had confessed to her last night.
"Mia," she murmured to herself, thinking of the woman Alex had lost. A woman he had loved enough to marry, who’d been killed by her own family because she’d chosen Alex instead of a life of organized crime.
Leslie fingered the pendant Alex bought her, wondering if Alex would ever be able to love her the same way. She yearned to be more than just a balm for his scars; she wanted to hold a permanent place in his heart. Yet even if he couldn’t love her in the same way he’d loved his wife, she would still gladly take what he offered. If she told him that, if she assured him that she wouldn’t try to replace Mia in his heart, would he be any more receptive to being with her? Fifteen minutes later, someone knocked on the door.
“It’s me, Leslie,” Alex said.
Leslie unlocked the door to see Alex cradling an artist's sketchpad and a set of pencils in his hands. She immediately thought back to Caris, and how she’d drawn with Bella and made paper dolls with Maria. She prayed once again that they were all safe.
"Thought you might like these," Alex offered, holding them out to her. Their fingers grazed as Leslie accepted the items, a shiver of electricity sparking at the touch.
"Thank you," Leslie murmured, watching him head towards the bathroom.
“I’m going to shower. After you’re done sketching, let’s talk about what you want to do for the rest of the day.”
“Alright.”
As the sound of running water filled the silence, Leslie took a moment to admire the sketchpad, the feel of fresh paper under her fingertips. Then, with a sudden burst of inspiration, she moved towards the room's small desk.
She began with just a single line, a gentle curve that would become the neckline of a dress. Her pencil glided smoothly over the paper, sketching soft drapes and sharp angles, embodying both elegance and edginess. The outfit took form under her skilled hand, a blend of rich velvets and delicate silks, a perfect juxtaposition of textures.
The outfit wasn’t as daring as the dress with leather and chains she’d drawn on Caris, yet with every bold stroke, she felt an exhilarating freedom. Slowly, the style she was going for took shape, one that was half-way between her usual designs and that of Chains and Chiffon, the fashion label she’d joked with Alex about.
Her sketches began to populate the pages of the sketchpad with dramatic capes, plunging necklines, daring splits, and a mix of materials.
She was so engrossed in her work that she barely registered the sound of the shower ceasing in the background. Unaware of Alex's return, she continued to pour her heart into her art, her sketches weaving a visual narrative of her journey with Alex this past week.
Alex stood at the entrance of the bathroom, the steam from the shower still clinging to his skin, and watched Leslie as she remained engrossed in her sketches. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a soft smile playing on her lips as her hand moved effortlessly across the paper. Just as had been the case when he’d watched her sketch on Caris, a sense of peace radiated from her, and it was such a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.
As he slipped into the fresh clothes he had laid out, his mind wandered back to their conversation last night. He had spilled his heart out, speaking about Mia in a way he hadn’t with anyone. While Lee knew about her, knew she’d died, he thought she’d been killed in their Texas house by a home invader. The lie he’d told Lee, just like everything leading up to it, was part of the past he had tried to bury, a wound that would never heal. Yet, sharing it with Leslie, he had felt a semblance of relief, a lifting of a burden he’d carried for almost ten years.
It was fitting that it was Leslie who had brought forth that sense of lightness and ease.
Yet it was those very things, his wonder at feeling them, not just once but several times on this journey with Leslie, that reminded him the feelings were temporary.
That she was his only temporarily.
Would he be able to navigate the transition?
Even assuming he found a way to stay in New York without jeopardizing his friends, how was he supposed to go back to being just friends with a woman who had wormed her way into his heart? The same woman who had broken down his walls, and made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years? She had become a part of him, her presence a balm, her laughter a light in his darkest hours. Could he really stand by and just watch her live her life, find someone else, marry someone else, knowing that he wanted more? Wanted everything?
He had to do it. Because the haunting memories of Mia along with the memories of what had happened in New York and on Caris served as grim reminders of what he could bring into Leslie's life—danger, heartbreak, possibly even death. Now, a part of him wanted to retreat, to put the walls back up and distance himself from the woman who was causing this storm of emotions within him. He needed to face the painful reality of their imminent parting, for it was the only way he could prepare both himself and Leslie.
Struggling with his emotions, Alex slowly walked over to the window. The beautiful terrain seemed to mock his turmoil. He would never completely escape the darkness of his life, which meant so long as Leslie was with him, neither would she.
He needed to remember that even knowing what Mia had been to him and how she’d died, Leslie wasn't aware of the depth of his darkness. His past was a jungle of shadows, while she was the vibrant sun, shedding light where she went. He had to protect her from his past, to equip her to face it if it ever reared its ugly head.
The two self-defense lessons he’s given her on Caris weren’t enough.
He wouldn’t let what happened to Mia happen to Leslie.
"Let's do another self-defense class," he said abruptly.
Leslie looked up from her sketches, her bright eyes searching his. She seemed to sense his shift in mood, the growing shadows in his gaze. Her lips pursed slightly, her concern evident.
"Alex, I don't know if that's..." she began to protest, but he cut her off.
"We need to," he insisted, and something in his tone made her pause.
The casual cheer that once graced her features faded.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“Death.”
“Mia’s?”
“Hers. And Nico’s. Both killed with knives.”
His blunt words made Leslie flinch, but he hardened his heart. She was soft. Too soft to survive without him. He needed to fix that. It was the only way he’d be able to let her go, if he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could take care of herself.
“So are you going to teach me how to fend off someone with a knife then?” she said.
It wasn’t what he’d intended, but now that she mentioned it, it made sense.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “If you’re determined to give me a self-defense lesson, yes.”
He clenched his jaw. “Fine.”
She stood then immediately began to change into some of the clothes that Father Alessio had gotten them from the village. Soon she was dressed in loose clothes appropriate for what they were about to do.
Alex prayed she would never need to utilize the skills he was about to teach her. But in a world that had so cruelly ripped away their peace, hope was no longer a reliable companion. It was survival, and survival alone, that could guide them through this perilous journey.
“Where will we do it?”
“Here,” he said. “You won’t always have room to maneuver.”
Leslie nodded. “Right.”
Alex went to the floorboard in which Father Alessio had told him he’d stashed some weapons. As he retrieved two knives, Leslie said, “I see Father made sure you were prepared.”
“As you know, he’s quite aware how much can be lost if you’re unprepared for a fight.”
Alex weighed the knives in his hands. The sharp blades gave him pause and he deliberately returned one knife to its hiding spot. He held out the knife he’d kept to Leslie.
Leslie looked at the knife in her hand, her expression wary. “Why are you giving it to me? I thought you were going to show me how to evade a knife?”
"That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re going to use that knife as if I’m an attacker coming for you, and in turn, I’ll fend you off, showing you how to do that.”
She opened her mouth, as if wanting to argue with how this lesson was proceeding, but then she nodded.
“Come for me when you’re ready.”
Leslie hesitated. Finally, she stepped up to him, then took a cautious swipe at him with the knife that was laughable.
“Again,” Alex said.
Her next move was just as tentative.
Her caution gnawed at him, conjuring visions of her vulnerability in the face of an actual threat, and her body, limp and lifeless. It struck a terror in him he hadn’t known before.
"Leslie," he commanded, his voice sharper than he intended. "You have to do whatever you can to protect yourself. You can't worry about hurting someone, so don't worry about hurting me."
"Of course I'm going to worry about you," she retorted. “So maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”
"No. It is a good idea. One you brought up, so the possibility of someone coming at you with a knife is on your mind. Imagine I'm someone trying to hurt you," he insisted. "Come at me with the knife. Cut me."
The tension in the room increased, a taut wire ready to snap. Leslie simply stared at him, her green eyes reflecting her inner turmoil. “Cut you?” she said, horrified.
The room seemed smaller to Alex, the ancient stone walls closing in as the tension ratcheted higher. “Yes.”
"No!" she cried, her eyes wide and horrified. He saw the fear there, the uncertainty, the rejection of the reality he was forcing upon her.
He wanted to reassure her, to pull her close and tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn't. Not when the specter of Nico's lifeless body haunted his every waking moment. The stark reality of their situation overwhelmed him, the fear of losing Leslie drowning out every other thought.
Images of her lying still and cold, like Nico, hammered at him, a relentless assault on his sanity. The thought of her in harm’s way, of a knife in the hands of an enemy carving into her beautiful, delicate skin, was unbearable.
“Leslie,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. His eyes, he knew, were mirroring his fear, but he didn’t care. This was too important. “You need to know what it's like to make someone bleed. To feel what it’s like to pierce someone's skin.”
Her eyes grew even wider. "Alex, I—"
“Do it to me,” he clipped out. “Then you’ll be prepared.”
His heart hammered against his ribs, his blood pulsing loudly in his ears. He watched her struggle with the reality of his words, saw the tremble of her hands, the terror in her eyes.
He knew what he was asking of her. He knew the price it could exact on her soul.
But he also knew the cost of ignorance, of unpreparedness.
He had seen it. Felt it. It was a cost he would pay any price to prevent Leslie from experiencing.
He wasn’t sure when he’d fully fallen in love with her, just that it had happened long before they’d left New York. He needed her to survive, not just for her sake, but for his own. His world without her, he realized, would be a far bleaker place than any he had known.
He held his breath, waiting.
"No," she stated again, her voice unwavering despite the fear in her eyes.
He watched as her grip on the knife went lax as if she was repulsed by its very existence. But he needed her to understand, needed her to be ready for the worst-case scenario. And so, he made the choice for her.
With a swift movement, he caught her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers in a grip that was both firm and gentle. He brought the blade to his neck, pushing slightly until the sharp tip pierced his skin.
Her gasp echoed through the room, her eyes wide and her body tensed in shock. He held her gaze, the fear in her eyes slicing through him more painfully than any blade could.
"Alex..." she whispered, her voice shaky.
"Don’t worry about hurting me," he told her, forcing his voice to remain steady, his gaze never leaving hers. His heart was pounding wildly, each throb a painful reminder of what he was asking her to do, of the danger she was in. "I deserve it."
The words hung heavy in the air between them. A confession. An admission of his guilt, of the darkness he had embraced, of the life he had chosen. A life he had never wanted for her. A life he was now training her for.
With his own blood trickling down his neck, he held Leslie's gaze, willing her to understand, to see past her fear. This was their reality now. This was the cost of survival. And he would pay any price, endure any pain, to ensure her safety.