Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Dante sits next to me in bed, the lamplight illuminating his strained features. “I’m here.” He grips my chin, grounding me to the present by forcing me to meet his serious gaze. “You’re safe.”
I inhale, hold the air in my lungs, and exhale a few times, practicing the technique Dr. Chad taught me.
When I’ve calmed a bit, he lets me go but watches me with a deep line running between his thick eyebrows.
Placing a palm on my sweaty brow, I blow out a shaky breath.
He stretches out beside me and rests his head in his hand. The pose is casual, but his body is tense. “Nightmare?”
I manage a jerky nod.
“What was it about?” He runs his fingertips up and down my arm. “Tell me. It may help.”
“I’m not sure.” I frown. “It didn’t make sense. I think it was about my scars.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “About when it happened?”
“I don’t know. I just felt the pain. It was like flames, like being burnt alive.”
He cups my jaw. “I’m sorry, Tatiana.” The fury that sparks in his eyes is raw, but his tone is calm and controlled. “I’d give my life to take that away for you.”
The declaration is sweet. To be honest, I don’t think about the scars that much. I don’t dress in clothes that will reveal them in public, but I don’t go out of my way to hide them at home. I do want to know how I got them, but I want to remember in my own time. A part of me still recognizes instinctively that the truth is going to devastate me, and I’m not ready to deal with that yet.
He searches my face. “From what you recall, is this the first time you’re dreaming about it?”
“Yes, but the dream feels strangely familiar, almost like a recurring dream. Maybe visiting the graves had something to do with it. Perhaps it brought back forgotten pieces of the past.”
He trails the back of his knuckles down my arm. “Have you remembered anything else?”
“Just a few flashbacks here and there, strange notions I can’t explain, but nothing concrete.”
“Strange notions?”
“Such as knowing that Noah didn’t like to hold my hand.”
“Is seeing Dr. Chad helping?”
“Definitely. Her techniques help to calm me and to feel more in control of myself. I tend to get a bit paranoid at times. I just—” I bite off the rest, not wanting to sound ungrateful.
“You just what?”
“I think it will be better if I’m not so bored. Sometimes, it feels as if I have too much time on my hands, too much time to think. The cleaning company comes twice a week, and with Emily taking care of most of the cooking, I don’t have much to do. I adore spending time with Noah, but I need a personal challenge.”
He studies me with a thoughtful look. “What about going back to school?”
I consider the possibility. “That ship has sailed. It doesn’t hold the same appeal it used to.”
“Are you saying you want a job?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Will you let me?”
“If it makes you happy.”
“What about security?”
“We can work around it.”
I sit up. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course.” His smile is terse. “I never said I was going to lock you up in the house and deny you the right to have a career.”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Of course Dante will want what’s best for me. He’s not going to dictate how I’m supposed to live my life as my father had done. My father had controlled and managed me for so long, telling me what I could and couldn’t do, that I sometimes forget I’m no longer living in the condo under his thumb. I’m a wife and a mother. I’m my own woman, and Dante will never take that away from me.
“I’m sorry.” I avert my gaze. “You’re not my father. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re like him.”
“Tatiana.” My name is harsh on his lips. “Do not apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong.”
I slip my hand into his, intertwining our fingers so that our wedding rings press together. “Thanks for not saying no.”
He looks at me from under thick, golden-brown lashes. “What do you want to do?”
“Organizing.”
I sit up straighter. Where did that come from? The word just slipped out. Yet now that the idea is out in the open, excitement mounts inside me.
“As in event organizing?” he asks carefully.
“Home organizing,” I blurt out.
Wait. Exhilaration courses through me.
“I’m good at it,” I exclaim, surprised at the revelation that made itself known and thrilled that I remembered something about myself.
“Oh, my God, Dante.” I climb into his lap and lock my arms around his neck. “I’m good at it!”
Something passes through his eyes, but it’s gone before I can get a read on it.
His question is cautious. “That’s what you want to do?”