Chapter 13Anna
Chapter Thirtee n
ANNA
After four days of house arrest, I was going stir-crazy. There was zipp-ity do dah to do other than watch TV, read, or cook. I had no idea a man could have that many cookbooks in his study. What was he? A master chef?
I stretched, my toes hitting the end of the mahogany leather sofa. It felt like I was lying on butter. Soft, supple, and without a doubt the most comfortable couch my butt had ever touched. Two black damask patterned wing-back armchairs complemented it, framing the wood and black iron coffee table in the middle.
Rolling my head, the little blue box glared at me from where Ari had placed it. Merely looking at it threw me back in time. He'd teased me about the kiss, and I was determined to fight his magnetism. One second I was huffing and puffing, the next he had me across his lap, forcing me to look at him.
As my gaze drifted around the room, I found myself noticing details I'd overlooked in my initial anger. The whole space exuded a warmth and taste that I hadn't expected, a stark contrast to the cold, ruthless man I'd imagined Ari to be. As I looked around, I realized how much this space reflected Ari himself—warm, tasteful, and unexpectedly comforting. It made me wonder what other surprises he might hold.
The thought brought me back to that moment in the limo. He wanted me to want him. That statement had rocked my world, and then he'd pulled a rock from that little box. I'd never laid eyes on a piece of jewelry more beautiful. One he'd had made for me. He didn't even know me, and he'd thought I was worthy of more than something generic. How stinking romantic was that?
It’d been a beautiful moment he’d ruined when he told me that Thea had been through my apartment. The fury hit so fast and so hard that I couldn’t think straight. I was so blind with rage that I’d hurled anything hurtful that came to mind.
Our gazes had connected, and I could still see the anguish in his eyes. It’d been hours later when that vision had tugged at me. It broke my heart that I’d been the reason. He’d held me without question, told me that he wanted me to remember that he was redeemable, and the first time he did something I didn’t like, I’d raged like a spoiled toddler instead of listening to him. I wanted him to treat me as an equal, but the way I’d handled it was wrong.
There was no one to talk to, either. It was hard to make friends with people when everyone kept dumping me. I had a few casual friendships with people at work. I hadn’t even had a chance to make friends with Claire, and I didn’t even know if that was possible with Thea. I certainly didn’t feel comfortable enough to call or text them. They’d be on Ari’s side anyway .
Who was on my side? I snagged my phone from the coffee table and pulled up Papa’s number. He’d left me. Did I trust him not to hurt me again? Maybe this was a way we could start small. At least I’d have someone to talk to. This solitary confinement was pressing down on me so hard that I was ready to pop.
I typed out six different texts before I settled on one.
Hey Papa, how about we start slow? Tell me how you’ve been. What was Greece like?
Anna! Where have you been? I stopped by your apartment, and your neighbor across the hall said a tall woman had helped herself into your apartment. It’d been three days since she saw you. Are you okay?
I laughed. What a joke. Was I okay? No. I hadn’t been okay since I met with Jason. Did I tell him that? That was a little too deep for whatever thin relationship tightrope we were walking.
I promise I’m safe. I hope to return home soon.
Where are you? May I come see you?
Ari’s home was his sanctuary. This wasn’t a place he blasted out for public gatherings. I’d been too ticked to even look around the first day. It’d taken a full twenty-four hours to even peel myself off my current spot and check the place out. It was filled with warm colors and tasteful furniture, and decorated in a way that filled me with peace.
The guest bedroom I’d claimed was exquisite. Soft linens covered the bed, and the first time I laid down, I could have sworn I’d died and gone to heaven. The mattress was squishy and comfortable, and compared to my bed, massive. I couldn’t even reach the ends fully stretched out. I knew because I’d tried. If I were being honest, I loved his home. That didn’t mean I wanted to be cooped up in it. However, there were worse places to be.
Even if I wanted to pummel Ari, there was no way I could destroy his sanctuary.
Not right now. I promise when I’m home, I’ll text you. Maybe you could come over and we could have dinner. Catch up.
All right. I’ll take your word that you’re safe and I would love to catch up. I’ve missed you. I can’t wait to hear about all the things you’ve done.
Okay, talk soon.
I let the phone drop to my chest and stared at the smooth cream ceiling. How could anyone fault me for wanting to have a relationship with my father? I was in the middle of trying to answer that when another thought hit me.
As frustrating as Ari could be, at least he was here. Present. Trying, in his own complicated way. Unlike Papa, who'd left me wondering and waiting for years. The realization made me uncomfortable. I wasn't ready to admit that Ari's constant, if sometimes frustrating, presence might be more dependable than Papa's promises.
I shifted on the couch, trying to shake off the unsettling comparison. That's when the distinct sound of a key being forced into a lock caught my attention and I sat up.
When the door opened, a ragged-looking Ari shuffled inside and shut the door behind him. He was filthy. He’d had a suitcoat when he left, but now it was missing. His untucked white button-up was trashed, and I could see a slash on his thigh through one of the cuts in his pants.
My heart leapt into my throat, a surge of concern washing over me. All my earlier anger evaporated in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming need to help him. I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved, halfway to him when I stopped myself. That wasn't dirt on his shirt. There were blood stains on it. What on earth had happened to him?
Despite my lingering frustration with the situation, all I wanted was to take away his pain. The sight of him so battered and vulnerable stirred something deep within me, something I wasn't quite ready to name.
"Ari?" My voice came out softer than I'd intended, laced with worry I couldn't hide.
His gaze dipped to the hand with my ring finger, over to the coffee table, and returned, our eyes meeting. He had the same heart-wrenching look he’d given me in the limo. The one that had haunted my dreams the last four days.
Pain laced his expression as he took a step and stumbled. “I need to get cleaned up, but I have to take a second and sit down.”
I strode to him as he attempted to take another step. When I put my arm around his waist, he went rigid.
“A little lower if you could.” Each word was saturated with pain.
Nodding, I settled my hand around his hip and helped him to the couch. He held his breath as he braced his hand on the arm and slowly lowered himself. His eyes closed as soon as his head touched the back of the couch.
“I think you need a doctor.”
“No, no doctor. Some sleep. After getting cleaned up.”
Now that I was closer, I was even more shocked at his condition. I didn’t know where to begin. Had he fought an army?
There was a jagged slice over the bridge of his nose, and dried blood was caked around it. There was more dried blood on the corners of his mouth, and it was split in two places. Ari’s knuckles looked like hamburger meat. It seemed like someone had taken a knife to the left side of his shirt as clean as the cut was. A long, shallow cut and the beginnings of a bruise were visible through it. It matched the one that covered the right side of his jaw.
His eyes cracked open a fraction. “You didn’t die of boredom?”
“No, but I came pretty close,” I said as I kneeled on the couch facing him.
He started to laugh, and his breath caught while one arm wrapped around his middle. “I’m glad you’re still in the land of the living.” His labored breath brought tears to my eyes. My guy was hurt. It wasn’t lost on me that I’d thought my . I wasn’t ready to think about what that meant either.
The longer he remained seated, the less labored he sounded. He took a shallow inhale. “If I stay seated, I’m not going to be able to get up.”
“Do you want to take a bath or a shower?” I asked, wondering if he could do either. Given how haggard and exhausted he appeared, I wasn’t sure he could.
“I’ll decide when I get there.”
He peeled himself off the couch, pausing as he braced his hand on the arm. His features were strained while his lips pressed tight.
I couldn’t stand it. He was my knight. Kneeling in front of him, I took his face in my hands. Haunted eyes stared back at me. I wanted to kiss away his pain, make him whole and unblemished. “Tell me how I can help you.”
“I need to get up the stairs. Could you help me do that?”
“Yeah,” I replied and waited for him to make the first move to get up. The last thing I wanted to do was cause more damage.
With more grunts and groans than I could count, we made it up the stairs and into the bathroom. I’d avoided this room. It didn’t feel right being in it without him.
“Shower. I think I’ll take a shower. I wouldn’t be able to get out of the tub.” He rested his back against the wall next to it.
“Okay. Let me get the water heating up.”
The bathroom was spacious with a separate shower and the largest tub I’d ever seen. It was the centerpiece of the entire room. Large enough for a man Ari’s size to sit comfortably. A flash of a scene played in my mind. Me sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his chest, kissing his neck. That thought lit a fire in my core. I shook the image away. My timing was awful.
Inside the shower, a bench went from wall to wall and was deep enough that there was no fear of falling off. Glass mosaic tile in a shimmery green and blue lined the walls accented with black subway tile. An inset shelf held bottles of shampoo, shaving cream, and body wash.
He’d undone two buttons on his shirt before I could return and help him. With every button, more bruising was revealed. I swiped a tear that tried to roll down my cheek.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ve been worse. Not much, but close.”
His face contorted as I helped him take his shirt off. Even bruised and battered, he was fuel for my engine. “Leave your boxers on, and you can sit on the bench while I get you cleaned up.”
No argument. Not so much as a joke cracked.
I went to one knee and began slipping off his shoes and socks. When I was done with them, I helped him with his pants. Now nearly stripped, he shuffled into the shower and stood under the wide, round showerhead, letting the water rain over his body with his arms loose by his sides and his head back.
Heaven help me if I didn't breathe a little harder. He was solid tanned muscle in tight black boxers—a buffet for the eyes. If he weren't so broken and battered, it'd be an excellent advertisement for those Ron Dorffs he wore .
I stood there, frozen for a moment, caught between admiration and concern. The water cascaded over his battered form, washing away dirt and revealing more bruises. Each newly uncovered mark made my heart clench a little tighter. He'd remained under the water a good five minutes before I shook myself out of my daze and helped him sit down on the bench.
As I began bathing him, I was struck by the intimacy of the moment. The sight of him so vulnerable, relying on me entirely, was a stark contrast to his usual commanding presence. It stirred something deep within me, a protective instinct I hadn't known I possessed. My hands trembled slightly as I pushed them through his hair, soaping it up and scrubbing his scalp.
When a low, guttural moan escaped him, it was music to my ears. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself desperately wanting to make him feel better, to erase every bruise and cut marring his skin. The depth of my concern surprised me, but I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.
After washing what I was comfortable with, I left him to take care of the rest. My clothes were soaked, but I wanted to make sure he had something to change into when he got out of the shower, so I found him some bottoms and set them on the bed.
On the way to my room, I stopped by the cracked bathroom door. “I’m going to put on dry clothes, and then I’ll be back, okay?”
“Okay,” was his breathy response.
I didn’t take my time. I raced to my room, stripped, and slapped on the first pair of pajamas I could find. I didn’t care if I was welcome in his bed or not. I wasn’t leaving. He needed me.
He needed me and I needed to be needed.
Stopping at the door to his bedroom, I waited until I heard the water shut off. Several soft grunts later, he said, “I’m dressed.”
I stepped inside and nearly broke down right where I stood. Fresh out of the shower, he smelled great and looked worse. Old scars littered his body. A potentially life-threatening wound ran from side to side, low on his stomach, as if someone had tried to gut him. The new bruises were more defined, like continents. He had cuts galore, and I wondered whether a couple needed to be stitched.
My feet moved before my brain even engaged, and I was next to him, sitting on the edge of the bed where he was stretched out. I couldn't stop myself from brushing my fingers over his skin. "I hate this."
"I'm sorry."
I braced my hand on the bed as I leaned over him. "No, I'm sorry. I can't take this from you. I want to wiggle my nose and make you all better."
The thought of leaving him alone in this condition was unbearable. I realized with a start how much I'd come to care about his well-being. My anger from earlier seemed petty in the face of his pain. Whatever complications lay between us, I knew one thing for certain—I needed to be here for him.
"Would you lie down with me?"
He didn't have to ask twice this time. I was next to him before he took his next inhale.
“I didn’t say please .”
Smiling, I sat up enough to grab the edge of the covers and pulled them over us. “Yeah, you did, just not with your mouth.”
“I forced you to stay here.”
Leaning in, I brushed my fingers through his wet hair. “I think you had your reasons, and I’m sorry for saying hurtful things to you.” When he woke up, I’d have that ring on my finger too. It’d take King Kong to remove it ever again.
It was like I'd given him permission to relax. The deep furrow between his brows smoothed out, the tight lines around his eyes softening. The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. Even his breathing changed, becoming slower and more even. “So, we’re good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” I punctuated it by touching my lips to his forehead. “We’re great.”
That was the last thing he heard. When I pulled back, his chest was rising and falling evenly. I smiled as I swept my gaze over his gorgeous face.
As I watched him sleep, I reflected on the past few days. My anger had faded, replaced by a growing understanding of the complex man beside me. He wasn't perfect—far from it. But there was so much more to him than I'd initially thought. His strength, his vulnerability in letting me care for him, even the way his home reflected a warmth I hadn't expected—all of it was becoming dear to me in ways I hadn't expected.
I thought about how he held me without question when I was upset, how he wanted me to see him as redeemable. The memory of his anguished eyes when I'd lashed out at him tugged at my heart. Maybe we'd both been too quick to judge, too stubborn to see past our own defenses.
My fingers itched to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, but I didn't want to risk waking him. Instead, I lay there, taking in every detail of his face, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the blankets covering us.
I was falling in love with him.
It terrified me. I’d lost people I cared about so many times. If I lost him, I’d never recover.