Page 73 of The Strength Of A Woman

The room is not fancy in the slightest, not by modern standards. There is no marble, no sculptures, no fountains, no serving crew.

I’m exaggerating just to make my point.

It’s a cozy, elegant space now dripping with history. And it’s not only the history of those who lived in the past cloying the air.

It’s the history of us beginning to shape up.

I don’t know how long I’ll need to keep this woman with me to teach her to trust people again and live the rest of her life in a modicum of peace. To coach her about the business of life and allow her to open her heart to me like a flower under the sun’s tender touch.

I don’t know how long it will take to replace her abject memories with better ones and allow the child in her to heal and be ready to gift someone else her love.

Whatever it takes, I’m ready to provide.

I want Leilani Gallo to become whoever she was supposed to be in the first place. Before everyone else took a piece of her and made her into a crazed woman who, more often than not, has lived on edge.

Her power is real, but so is her pain.

I’m about to step back and let her enjoy her food when she flicks her eyes up and catches sight of me.

A ribbon of sunlight threads through her gaze, making her eyes look like globes of tears.

A smile touches her lips.

“You’re back,” she says, setting her fork down.

Happiness reads in her eyes.

“Come. Join me,” she says with the type of graciousness I’ve never had the chance of witnessing. “Are you hungry?”

I set myself in motion, drop my jacket on a chair by the wall, and reach the table.

“I’m fine. I had breakfast. How’s the food?”

“Food is good,” she says, brushing her hair away from her face and sliding it all over one shoulder. “You can keep me company,” she says with a smile.

“Sure.”

I take a seat close to her.

“Do I need to do anything today?” she asks.

I rest my forearms on the table while she surreptitiously checks my tattoos.

“You need to call Rory and tell her you’re all right.”

Her smile fades as if wiped away by a magic wand.

“Something happened,” she says, her eyes filled with gore.

“Eat in peace. Nothing happened. She left for New York earlier than she anticipated, and she was worried about you.”

“How do you know?” she asks suspiciously.

I ponder a good answer.

“I was there.”

The blood drains from her face as she leans away from her food as if she’s no longer allowed to eat.