He lifts his head and wipes a tear from his eyes. “The problem is she reminds me of too many good memories.” He offers a faint smile. “She is a very smart and sweet girl. Resilient too.”
“She is all that.”And so much fucking more.“I’m sorry that I put this on you. I know you never signed up for this.”
“I signed up for all of it. Whatever it takes, remember?” He holds up his gnarled hands. “I only wish I could be more use.”
I stare at his hands. Once the instruments of an incredibly skilled surgeon. The Brotherhood took that from him when they crushed every bone in them after he saved someone they thought he shouldn’t. Then they made him watch while they raped and murdered his wife and child before they took his eyes, ensuring it would be the last thing he ever saw. I found him shortly after and he swore a lifetime of service to my cause—revenge.
I only wish he could have seen what I did to the sick fucks who hurt his family. He heard though. He listened to their screams for days, begging me to prolong their agony for as long as they could stand. I was happy to oblige. “I would probably starve without your cooking. And besides, you have more than paid your debt to me, Pierre.”
He sniffs. “Well, that is debatable. I will forever be in your debt. And I actually like the babysitting part. We’ve been working our way through the Marvel movies, and she is also becoming a Bruce Springsteen fan.”
That makes me smile. I like that they both have each other for company. And watching their bond develop while painful in some ways, because it is richer and deeper than the one I have with her, is still beautiful to witness. I enjoy seeing the two people I care most about in the whole world finding comfort and happiness in each other. “I figured as much, old man. I’ve never seen you so happy.”
He scoffs. “I wouldn’t say happy exactly. But she gives me a reason to smile.”
Yeah, me too. And I took advantage of her in the worst fucking way.
Sensing my emotion the way he so easily can, he sighs. “The guilt will kill you one day.” He stands and places a comforting hand on my arm. “It is time to let it go.”
He walks out of the room, leaving me to wallow. Although I can acknowledge the truth in his words, I can’t let it go. Not any of it. Not until the Brotherhood are wiped from existence. And to do that I need to find their King.
It’s a little after 6:00 a.m. when I’m ready to leave, and if she’s awake, she’s not out of bed yet. I step into the garden, and even out here, all I’m reminded of is her. Especially out here. The place she enjoys spending so much time and the place where she shines with happiness. The scent of wildflowers and jasmine will always remind me of her smile.
Carefully, I place the parcel on the table, tied with a purple ribbon and I imagine the delight and surprise on her face when she opens it. It’s almost enough to make me stay.
Almost.
Chapter 26
Imogen
The house seems eerily quiet when I go downstairs. Every step I take intensifies the ache between my thighs, and every throb intensifies my guilt and shame. How low did I stoop to practically beg for his touch? And how much further would I let myself slide, given that I long for it again?
Pierre is alone in the kitchen when I enter. He greets me pleasantly, like always, but he seems a little annoyed. Does he know what took place last night and is he angry with me about it, just like Lincoln seemed to be. More shame and guilt washes over me.
“What is it to be, mademoiselle?”
“I’m not feeling very hungry actually, Pierre.”
“You must eat something,monchou. How about a little toast?” His concerned tone suggests he’s not angry with me at all.
“Yes, a little toast would be nice. Thank you. Where is Mr. Knight?”
“Ach!” He takes the bread from its ceramic home. “He left early this morning.”
And now I have a generous helping of sadness to accompany my guilt. Nice! Lincoln has obviously gone because of me and that fact is inescapable.
“I believe he has left you something on the table in the garden,monchou.”
I peer through the window and sure enough there is a small brown paper parcel, tied with a bright purple ribbon. Another gift? And now I’m flooded with elation and hopefulness. It’s all making me feel dizzy.
“Well, go and see what it is,” Pierre gently scolds me, making a tutting sound.
I rush out of the kitchen and into the garden to fetch my parcel, barely able to contain my curiosity. It’s a small parcel, no bigger than a book, but a different shape. Tentatively, I trace my fingertips over the soft purple ribbon, before gliding over the smooth brown paper. It’s all packaged so neatly. Did he wrap this himself, or have someone do it for him? I want it to be the former, and I imagine his large powerful hands carefully folding the fragile paper, and then tying the delicate ribbon, his brow furrowed in concentration. The image I conjure of him in my mind’s eye makes heat bloom in my core.
Gently, I tug open the purple bow, and then slowly unfurl the paper. I used to get one gift every single Christmas from Larissa, and I would open it like this, savoring the anticipation. I cannot even imagine what might lie beneath this paper, and I haven’t held the package and tried to guess, for fear that I might guess correctly and ruin the surprise.
As I peel back the paper, the bright purple fabric is revealed inch by inch. Unable to contain my excitement any longer, I pull the wrapping all the way off, and an unexpected sob catches in my throat. I pick up the purple gardening gloves and hold them to my cheek. They’re made of thick purple suede with palms crafted from some kind of flexible rubber—thick and sturdy enough to prevent thorns from piercing through the fabric. And also there in the package, the blades glinting in the sunlight, are a shiny new pair of pruning shears.
