Page 115 of The Image of You

“I should have been angry with you. I should have pushed you away and told you off. I’m engaged. I belong to someone else—”

It was my turn to shake my head. “No,” I growled, interrupting her. “You belong to me.”

“I’m so confused,” she whispered. “You left me. You never came back…”

“No, I did. I came back. You were taken from me.” I drew in a deep breath. “I don’t understand everything that happened, but somehow, someone split us up. I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I don’t understand.” She gripped her hair and shook her head. “There was an accident…”

“I know. And we’ll figure everything out. Together, we’ll put the pieces together, and we’ll find the answers.”

“My mother and Ronald—were they…?” She left the question in midair.

“Yes. I’m certain they had something—” I drew in a deep breath “—everything, to do with this.”

“I’m sorry.” She clasped my hand. “I remember they didn’t like you. But I never thought—” Her eyes met mine. “Bradley?”

“He’s involved too. And we’ll get to the bottom of it. But this isn’t your fault,” I insisted. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

“My head kept aching. I couldn’t relax, and the storm was bothering me. Little things kept coming into my head. Flashes, I guess. I kept seeing this place, but different. I saw you taking my picture. I heard your voice telling me you loved me and calling me your Nightingale. I saw picnics on the floor over there.” She pointed to the middle of the room. “I remembered being in your bed.” She rubbed her temples. “I thought I was going crazy—I didn’t know if the flashes were real or if they were something I was dreaming up. I had this feeling I was standing at the edge of a cliff and my next step would either send me over or save me.”

I pressed the mug to her lips. “Another sip.” When I had gotten more hot liquid in her, I set it down and clasped my hands around hers. “Keep going.”

“I needed to do something—concentrate on anything but the pain in my head and the thoughts I kept having. My feet were cold, and I found a pair of socks in a box that was overlooked. I decided to empty it out and see what was inside. My mother had told me it was just some clothes, so I hadn’t bothered to look before now. But at the bottom of it, I found this little box, wrapped in my dad’s T-shirt. I remember wrapping it up before I went away and tucking it into the drawer for safekeeping.” Her forehead furrowed. “It was a carved, wooden one—with a nightingale on it.”

“Yes.” I nodded in encouragement. “I sent that to you.”

She nodded. “I kept looking at it, and I started to remember things. I opened the box, and inside was everything. The necklaces, the small, lacquered case. I even had the little painted tile on my bedside table. I took it with me everywhere—it meant something special, I just didn’t know what. Things you had sent or given me.” She touched her earlobes, where the diamonds I had given her still glimmered. “I could never take these out. I had no idea why they were so important, but they were.” A tear ran down her face. “And it all came back. All the months I was missing. The memories.” Her voice started to quiver. “And every single one of those missing moments was filled with you.”

Our gazes locked, and I saw it all. Her beautiful eyes were swimming with feelings—the ones I had missed seeing all these months: understanding, acceptance, and love.

Her love for me.

It was right there again.

Our history, our story, was reborn in her eyes, and the emotion of the moment hit us both.

“Ally.”

“You asked me to marry you.”

I wanted to reach out and grab her. Hold her hard so she couldn’t leave again. But I didn’t want to frighten her. Instead, I simply said, “Yes, I did.”

“You gave me a beautiful ring I couldn’t wear because it was getting sized.”

“That’s right.”

“I belong to you.”

I groaned at those words. “Yes, my Nightingale. You always have.”

A wild sob escaped her mouth, and I dragged her into my arms, enfolding myself around her. Lifting her, I settled her on my lap as she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding me tight. I pulled her as close as I could, allowing our emotions to escape. Her tiny frame shook with the force of her sobs, and I let her cry. My own tears soaked into her hair. I rocked us, running my hands up and down her back, her arms—anywhere I could touch to soothe her and let her know I was right here. She was exactly where she belonged, and I wasn’t letting her go again.

A shudder raced through her, and I realized how cold she still was. Her clothes were damp, her hair wet, and the blanket wasn’t helping her. I stood, striding to the bathroom, keeping her close to my chest. I sat her on the counter, gently tugging on her arms. Her grip tightened, and I lowered my mouth to her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I need to warm you up. Let me do that, baby. Please.”

She loosened her grip, and I slid her hands down from my neck, kissing the knuckles as I laid them in her lap. Her shoulders were still shaking with her emotions, and I hurried to turn on the water, letting the air fill with steam. I lifted her face, carefully wiping away the tears. Her eyes were shut, long lashes fluttering across the tips of my fingers. Dark circles were bruised into her pale skin, and her face was drawn and exhausted. “Open your eyes, Ally,” I whispered.

Blue irises, all at once so lovely but tormented, met mine. Questions, pain, doubt, and fear filled them. I wanted all of that gone. Once she was dry and rested, we would talk more so I could erase the pain and fear. I was worried about the sudden onslaught of emotions and how she was coping, and if this affected her medically.