VICTORIA
AFTER THE FIGHT with Damon, I spend the next few days eating my meals alone in my room, sulking. I’m still reeling over the onslaught of information Damon confessed to, and I feel angry and betrayed. But more than those two emotions, I feel heartache the most.
My soul is aching for its counterpart.
Even after all that Damon did, I still love him and miss him so much that it physically hurts. Maybe I’m the biggest fool in the universe, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
Still, I don’t know if I can ever forgive him. And so, for right now, I need space. More space than this house is providing by having him sleeping across the hall from me.
I’ve been driving myself crazy by listening for his footsteps every morning when he gets up and every night when he goes to sleep. Last night, I heard him stop outside of my door. He even knocked, but I pretended to be asleep.
Yeah, I need to get the hell out of here before I go completely insane with worry and regret.
I think a little space is just the thing we both need right now.
So, on the third day of ignoring Damon, I pack a small bag of clothes, ready to move back to my apartment.
I make it as far as the front door before I’m stopped by an armed guard. “Mr. Romero has us on strict orders that you’re not allowed to leave the premises, Miss Ciccone.”
I glare at him in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me,” I hiss under my breath. Turning on my heel, I stalk into Damon’s office without knocking.
He’s on the phone, and he abruptly ends his call when he sees me barreling into his private space. His eyes dart from my face down to the bag in my hand, and his expression morphs from surprise to anger in two-point-five seconds. He stands up, folding his arms across his chest in defiance.
“Your men have been ordered to not let me leave?” I ask incredulously, hoping that it’s not true.
“Yes,” he says, confirming my worst fear.
I’ve been a prisoner in my own home for far too long. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to have friends when I was a little girl, let alone ever have a sleepover or go to the movies. I refuse to be kept in this house under lock and key again.
“I want to go back to my apartment. I want toleave,” I say, stressing the last word.
“You’re not leaving this house, Victoria. Your apartment isn’t safe. And I won’t put your life in danger,” he informs me sternly.
“So you’re just going to keep me here like some kind of prisoner?” I shout.
He scowls at me. “I’mprotectingyou, Victoria. So, if you’d rather go out on your own and get kidnapped by the Farrell familyagain, then be my guest.” He waves his hand toward the tall windows and sneers, “Brody Farrell is still out there, and he’ll do anything to get revenge for his family. He won’t stop until you’re dead. And trust me when I say your death won’t be a quick one. He’ll be trying to prove a point this time.”
Memories of my kidnapping come flooding back to me, and I stumble back, gripping the wall for support. When Damon steps forward, I put my hand up, stopping him. “Don’t.” I can’t bear to have him touch me right now, because I might just crumble into a million little pieces.
His emerald eyes narrow as he stares at me. “I’m keeping you safe. That’s all I can do right at this moment. And I won’t fuck that up too.”
His words have so much more meaning behind them than he’s letting on. He feels guilty for what happened to me, but not all of it was his fault. Who could have predicted that Nolan Farrell would exact revenge onmefor his son’s death instead of my father?
“Damon,” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“We’re done here, Victoria,” he says harshly, waving me off and retreating back to his desk.
Anger wells up inside of me. Just when I was going to say something profound…tell him that I appreciate him for saving me…he dismisses me like I’m some nuisance that he can’t wait to get rid of.
I wait, thinking he’ll talk to me or even justlookat me again, but he simply stares at his computer, annoyingly clicking on something.
I grow angrier by the second until all the frustration and overwhelming anguish I have felt from the past several weeks pours out of me like a rushing waterfall. “I hate you!” I blurt out without truly thinking before I opened my big, fat, lying mouth.
That statement gains his attention. His large hands grip the edge of the desk as he glares at me. “Thank you for clearing that up,” he says, his voice eerily calm. Then, he turns his attention back to his computer without a second glance to me.
Backing away towards the door, I scamper out of the room with tears in my eyes. Once inside my room, I toss my bag to the floor and throw myself onto the bed with dramatic fashion. I hate myself for what I said to Damon, but I don’t hate him. In fact, I love him so much it hurts. I love him so much that it’s slowly killing me from the inside out knowing that things may never be right between us again and knowing that I might lose him forever.
And by professing my hate for him to his face, I might have already lost him.
