She starts cleaning up the medical supplies, moving with the kind of nervous energy that comes after a crisis.
"Damon, back at the house, when the attack started... you could have left me."
"No, I couldn't have."
"You could have. It would have been easier to get out alone."
"Viviana—"
"Why didn't you?"
The question hits deeper than it should. Because the honest answer isn't something I'm ready to say out loud. The honest answer is that the thought of leaving her never even occurred to me.
"Because I gave your father my word to protect you."
"Is that the only reason?"
I look at her sitting there on the old couch, her clothes dirty and torn, her hair messed up from our escape, and she's still the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.
"No," I admit. "That's not the only reason."
"What's the other reason?"
"Because the thought of something happening to you makes me want to kill everyone who might be a threat to you. Because somewhere between protecting you and arguing with you and fucking you, you became someone I can't walk away from."
She shifts closer on the couch, her knee brushing against mine. "And that scares you."
"Terrifies me. And completely screws up everything I thought I knew about myself."
"Because of your family?"
"Because of everything. Your family, my family, the life I've built, the responsibilities I have. All of it."
"And if none of that mattered? If it was just you and me?"
I think about that. About what it would be like to have a normal life with her. To wake up next to her every morning without worrying about who might try to kill us. To take her out to dinner, introduce her to friends, plan a future that doesn't involve bulletproof windows and escape routes.
"If it was only you and me," I say finally, "I'd never let you go. You're everything I never knew I wanted. But wanting something and being able to have it are two different things."
"Are they?"
"In our world? Yeah."
"Maybe we could change our world."
"How?"
"I don't know. But there has to be a way."
"Viviana—"
"There has to be. Because I can't go back to pretending this doesn't matter. I can't go back to my old life and act like meeting you didn't change everything."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm willing to fight for this. Whatever this is. Are you?"
The question hangs between us, tempting and impossible.
