He didn’t say it, but I saw it in his eyes when I’d catch his stare.
You played it reckless with my biggest fear, and now I’m stuck in the nightmare for however long with no way out.
Other times, he would turn away from me, not even meeting my eyes. The thought lingered between us.
Can I trust you again?
That night, the oversized recliner swallowed me up. Cooler weather had moved in, and I was up to my neck in blankets, staring out the window at the full moon. It was so plump that it bled out most of the black in the sky. I silently cried myself to sleep.
Later, I felt the blankets stir and a weight keeping them down.
“Brando?” I blinked. “Do you need—”
I went to get up, but he put a hand to my shoulder, stopping me. The weight I felt was his blanket on top of mine. My entire body convulsed from cold, my teeth almost to the point of chattering.
“Rest, baby. You were upset in your sleep. You kicked off your covers.”
I nodded, trying to push down the emotions. “Can’t sleep?” I spoke softly, not to disturb the tender connection he offered me.
“No,” he whispered. He sat forward, putting a hand to my neck, his fingers finding their way deep into my hair. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I wasn’t trying to be…clever,” I said, remembering what he had called me. “I was curious.”
It was my God’s-honest truth. I wanted to know what it felt like to be a woman—well, what a woman meant to me. I had never experienced what most girls had, and the truth of the matter was that Iwascurious, more than anything. It almost felt like a burning desire to know.
“I can hear your thoughts as clear as my own,” he said, his fingers tightening, his thumb finding my cheek, stroking. “You’re wrong. So fucking wrong. That’s not my biggest fear. It’s my second. Losing you, that’s my biggest fear. That terrifies me more than anything. I fear only you, my little Ballerina Girl.”
The words were not said in a whisper, or spoken out of tenderness, just cold, hard fact—I fear losing you, and that’s out of my control, but the second fear, that is in my control, and I refuse to give in.
His soft touch was the apology I would never hear from his mouth—I refuse to give you this one thing you want and I’m sorry.
“What if I am?” I hesitated, almost afraid to speak the word. “Pregnant?”
The question felt like a burden, yet it hung between us, weightless, suspended in midair.
“You need sleep,” he said, voice broken. He released me and fell back into his own bed, closing his eyes. “We’re going home tomorrow. Released or not.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Scarlett
Time refuses to heal the broken when time itself has become the enemy. Brando raged against time, because it was in control, and he had no sway over my body, whether it rejected him or accepted him fully.
He became more sullen, even moodier. Nothing seemed to satisfy him.
Soup is too bland, though he was having stomach issues.
My arm is fine, though the doctor put restrictions on his activity, if he wanted to keep the shoulder in good condition.
My clothes are in the wrong spot, though I had put them away like I had always done.
The villa needs work…restrictions again.
I have nothing to do—
Go for an effing walk!
Three weeks of this made time crawl, as spiteful as a soul with retribution in mind.
